/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.4739116]

Favourite Poems?

Mine's definitely The Raven, just because it's incredibly macabre throughout and really sets a melancholy for about 5 minutes whilst reading.

[Anonymous No.4739128]

Baby Wipes by Radric Davis

[Anonymous No.4739147]

I am currently learning this translation of Pangur Bán by heart.
>http://www.ling.upenn.edu/~beatrice/pangur-ban.html

[Anonymous No.4739148]

Based Darth Vader
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LlgQQgDhH7U

[Anonymous No.4739153]

Darkness - Byron

Although the title of the german translation fits it best. It is Finsternis he describes, darkness seemed a more dreamy, weak and flowery title.

I like it because gives you hollow hopelessness.

[labtop2016 !!Aiw95wipmhA No.4739162]

fern hill is probably my favorite but too long to post so here's another one


Feeling Fucked Up
By Etheridge Knight

Lord she’s gone done left me done packed / up and split
and I with no way to make her
come back and everywhere the world is bare
bright bone white crystal sand glistens
dope death dead dying and jiving drove
her away made her take her laughter and her smiles
and her softness and her midnight sighs—

Fuck Coltrane and music and clouds drifting in the sky
fuck the sea and trees and the sky and birds
and alligators and all the animals that roam the earth
fuck marx and mao fuck fidel and nkrumah and
democracy and communism fuck smack and pot
and red ripe tomatoes fuck joseph fuck mary fuck
god jesus and all the disciples fuck fanon nixon
and malcolm fuck the revolution fuck freedom fuck
the whole muthafucking thing
all i want now is my woman back
so my soul can sing

[Anonymous No.4739163]

John Keats - Ode to a Nightingale.

[Anonymous No.4739175]

Probably 'As the Ruin Falls' by C.S. Lewis.

As the Ruin Falls

All this is flashy rhetoric about loving you.
I never had a selfless thought since I was born.
I am mercenary and self-seeking through and through:
I want God, you, all friends, merely to serve my turn.

Peace, re-assurance, pleasure, are the goals I seek,
I cannot crawl one inch outside my proper skin:
I talk of love --a scholar's parrot may talk Greek--
But, self-imprisoned, always end where I begin.

Only that now you have taught me (but how late) my lack.
I see the chasm. And everything you are was making
My heart into a bridge by which I might get back
From exile, and grow man. And now the bridge is breaking.

For this I bless you as the ruin falls. The pains
You give me are more precious than all other gains.

[Anonymous No.4739210]

I just got into poetry and really like this one by Byron. When I read it I place stresses on the second of every three syllables so it sounds like tribal war drums.

Tambourg! Tambourgi! thy 'larum afar
Gives hope to the valiant, and promise of war;
All the sons of the mountains arise at the note,
Chimariot, Illyrian, and dark Suliote!
Oh! who is more brave than a dark Suliote,
In his snowy camese and his shaggy capote?
To the wolf and the vulture he leaves his wild flock,
And descends to the plain like the stream from the rock.
Shall the sons of Chimari, who never forgive
The fault of a friend, bid an enemy live?
Let those guns so unerring such vengeance forgo?
What mark is so fair as the breast of a foe?
Macedonia sends forth her invincible race;
For a time they abandon the cave and the chase:
But those scarfs of blood-red shall be redder, before
The sable is sheathed and the battle is o'er.
Then the pirates of Parga that dwell by the waves,
And teach the pale Franks what it is to be slaves,
Shall leave on the beach the long galley and oar,
And track to his covert the captive on shore.
I ask not the pleasures that riches supply,
My sabre shall win what the feeble must buy;
Shall win the young bride with her long flowing hair,
And many a maid from her mother shall tear.
I love the fair face of the maid in her youth,
Her caresses shall lull me, her music shall soothe;
Let her bring from the chamber her many-toned lyre,
And sing us a song on the fall of her sire.
Remember the moment when Previsa fell,
The shrieks of the conquer'd, the conquerors' yell;
The roofs that we fired, and the plunder we shared,
The wealthy we slaughter'd, the lovely we spared.
I talk not of mercy, I talk not of fear;
He neither must know who would serve the Vizier:
Since the days of our prophet the Crescent ne'er saw
A chief ever glorious like Ali Pashaw.
Dark Muchtar his son to the Danube is sped,
Let the yellow-hair'd Giaours view his horse-tail with dread;
When his Delhis come dashing in blood o'er the banks,
How few shall escape from the Muscovite ranks!
Selictar! unsheathe then our chief's scimitar:
Tambourgi! thy 'larum gives promise of war.
Ye mountains, that see us descend to the shore,
Shall view us as victors, or view us no more!

[Anonymous No.4739219]

>>4739116
The Ballad of Reading Gaol by Oscar Wilde for sure

[Anonymous No.4739222]

Nachtgesang by Jakob van Hoddis

[Anonymous No.4740323]

>>4739210
sestina altaforte by pound also feels this way