/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.5979065]

What's your favorite poem, /lit/?

[Anonymous No.5979074]

>>5979065

Disposable teens - marilyn manson

[H.Q.S.S.G No.5979078]

>>5979065
Tough question
I'd say either "I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud" by Wordsworth, "A Spirit Passed Before Me" by Byron, or "Ephemera" by Yeats.

Wby OP

[Anonymous No.5979079]

all all and all the dry worlds lever

[Anonymous No.5979081]

>>5979065
Anything by Death Grips.

[Anonymous No.5979084]

>>5979065
Daffodils

[Anonymous No.5979089]

No man is an island,
Entire of itself,
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thy friend's
Or of thine own were:
Any man's death diminishes me,
Because I am involved in mankind,
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
It tolls for thee.

[Anonymous No.5979132]

>>5979065
Invictus by Henley

[Anonymous No.5979157]

no purpose? no meaning? no struggle?
and your sad?
you have no reason to live
fuck cry, rejoice!
you're free to die mate
on the date of your choice

crying cos you've got nothing fucking keeping you here no fucking meaning to keep you pushing that rock why don't you just stop for a fucking second and realize your freedom

you have no reason to keep living, you're free to die!

[Anonymous No.5979183]

the raven

[Anonymous No.5979262]

Church going.

[Anonymous No.5979409]

>>5979065
Time to get all Earl of Rochester up in here;
A Ramble in St James' Park by John Wilmot

'Much wine had passed with grave discourse,
Of who fucks who, and who does worst.
When i who still took care to see,
My drunkenness relieved by lechery.
Went out into st james park,
To cool my head, and fire my heart.'

[Anonymous No.5981134]

>>5979065
To Autumn by John Keats

Simply perfect. Makes me weep each time I read it.

[Anonymous No.5981325]

>>5979065
>What's your favorite poem, /lit/?
>>5979065
> Tell Tale of a Heart. Edgar Allen Poe

[Anonymous No.5981330]

Hamlet

[Anonymous No.5981332]

Either Annabel Lee by Poe or "I Felt A Funeral in My Brain" by Dickinson
>tfw i stopped reading new poetry after high school so my taste is high school as fuck

[Anonymous No.5981342]

I guess "Aedh Wishes For the Cloths of Heaven" by Yeats. It's the only poem longer than a haiku that I can recite perfectly from memory - not that I often have occasion to do so, although I did once accidentally make my ex cry with it.

[Anonymous No.5981353]

Fitter Happier
Radiohead

Fitter, happier, more productive,
Comfortable,
Not drinking too much,
Regular exercise at the gym
(Three days a week),
Getting on better with your associate employee contemporaries,
At ease,
Eating well
(No more microwave dinners and saturated fats),
A patient better driver,
A safer car
(Baby smiling in back seat),
Sleeping well
(No bad dreams),
No paranoia,
Careful to all animals
(Never washing spiders down the plughole),
Keep in contact with old friends
(Enjoy a drink now and then),
Will frequently check credit at (moral) bank (hole in the wall),
Favors for favors,
Fond but not in love,
Charity standing orders,
On Sundays ring road supermarket
(No killing moths or putting boiling water on the ants),
Car wash
(Also on Sundays),
No longer afraid of the dark or midday shadows
Nothing so ridiculously teenage and desperate,
Nothing so childish, at a better pace,
Slower and more calculated,
No chance of escape,
Now self-employed,
Concerned (but powerless),
An empowered and informed member of society
(Pragmatism not idealism),
Will not cry in public,
Less chance of illness,
Tires that grip in the wet
(Shot of baby strapped in back seat),
A good memory,
Still cries at a good film,
Still kisses with saliva,
No longer empty and frantic like a cat tied to a stick,
That's driven into frozen winter shit
(The ability to laugh at weakness),
Calm,
Fitter,
Healthier and more productive
A pig in a cage on antibiotics.

[Anonymous No.5981360]

The Raven

[Anonymous No.5981371]

>>5981353
I like it because of all the symbolism and the message of being a perfect and our model citizen dehumanized one self making them like>"a pig in a cage on antibiotics"

[Anonymous No.5981386]

Now my life has gained some meaning
since these sinful eyes behold
the sacred land with meadows greening
whose renown is often told.
This was granted me from God:
to see the land, the holy sod,
which in human form He trod.

Splendid lands of wealth and power,
I've seen many, far and near,
yet of all are you the flower.
What a wonder happened here!
That a maid a child should bear,
Lord of all the angels fair,
was not this a wonder rare?

Here was He baptized, the Holy,
that all people might be pure.
Here He died, betrayed and lowly,
that our bonds should not endure.
Else our fate had been severe.
Hail, O cross, thorns and spear!
Heathens, woe! Your rage is clear.

[Anonymous No.5981391]

INTO my heart on air that kills
From yon far country blows:
What are those blue remembered hills,
What spires, what farms are those?

That is the land of lost content,
I see it shining plain,
The happy highways where I went
And cannot come again.

[Anonymous No.5981392]

This Be The Verse

[Anonymous No.5981414]

Darkness by Lord Byron
I wont post it all because is too lenghty for the post's form.
Is not about being edgy I just enjoy the language.

I am not a native speaker yet I feel that it manages to use a language within the sweet spot, it doesnt need a theusaurus to be enjoyed yet sports words that are rare enough to make it sound fresh and lively.

Is also capable to easily evoke images of the events described.

[Anonymous No.5981443]

>>5981414
Very surprised to see this, but it is one of my favorite poems too. It just works.

I also admire Eliot's Preludes and a lot of Dickinson.

[Anonymous No.5981461]

>>5979081
This.

[Anonymous No.5981492]

>>5981391
Fuck off peter hitchens

[Anonymous No.5981496]

>>5981492
lel I just watched that question time 5 minutes ago

[Anonymous No.5981615]

>>5979065
Consolation of Hair by Antun Gustav Matos

[Anonymous No.5981622]

Child Roland to the Dark Tower Came by Keats

[Anonymous No.5981624]

"that stone Buddha deserves all the birdshit it gets
I wave my skinny arms like a tall flower in the wind"

Ikkyu

[Anonymous No.5981636]

>>5979081
this
this

[Anonymous No.5981640]

>All these poems that don't rhymes
Disgusting

[Anonymous No.5981647]

Everness by Borges

[Anonymous No.5981649]

Le Cor by Vigny or Le Mendiant by Hugo

[Anonymous No.5981664]

Do not go gentle into that goodnight

[Anonymous No.5981977]

http://www.bartleby.com/265/299.html
I usually stay away from translations, but the poems from Cathay are just too good. Specifically Rihaku and T'ao Yuan Ming are great. Hard to say what my favorite is, but West Wall by W.S. Merwin instantly came to mind.

West Wall

In the unmade light I can see the world
as the leaves brighten I see the air
the shadows melt and the apricots appear
now that the branches vanish I see the apricots
from a thousand trees ripening in the air
they are ripening in the sun along the west wall
apricots beyond number are ripening in the daylight.

Whatever was there
I never saw those apricots swaying in the light
I might have stood in orchards forever
without beholding the day in the apricots
or knowing the ripeness of the lucid air
or touching the apricots in your skin
or tasting in your mouth the sun in the apricots.

[Anonymous No.5981988]

TYGER TYGER BURNING BRIGHT

IN THE FORESTS OF THE NIGHT

[Anonymous No.5981995]

A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.

How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
And how can body, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?

A shudder in the loins engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead.
Being so caught up,
So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?

[Anonymous No.5982002]

Late summer, and at midnight
I smelt the heat of the day:
At my window over the hotel car park
I breathed the muddied night airs off the lake
And watched a young crowd leave the discothèque.

Their voices rose up thick and comforting
As oily bubbles the feeding tench sent up
That evening at dusk—the slimy tench
Once called the doctor fish because his slime
Was said to heal the wounds of fish that touched it.

A girl in a white dress
Was being courted out among the cars:
As her voice swarmed and puddled into laughs
I felt like some old pike all badged with sores
Wanting to swim in touch with soft-mouthed life.

[Anonymous No.5982006]

>>5979065
I'm in love with the coco
I'm in love with the coco
I got it for the low, low
I'm in love with the coco

Hit my plug, that's my cholo (mi amigo)
Cause he got it for the low, low
If you snitchin' I go loco (go crazy)
Hit you with that treinta ocho
Niggas thinkin' that I'm solo
Fifty deep, they like, "oh, no"
Heard the feds takin' photos
I know nothin', fuck the popo

Bakin' soda, I got bakin' soda
Bakin' soda, I got bakin' soda
Whip it through the glass, nigga
I'm blowin' money fast, nigga

Thirty six, that's a kilo (aqui)
Need a brick, miss my free throw
I'm in love, just like Ne-Yo
Bustin' shots, now he Neo
Free my homies, fuck the C.O
Fuck the judge, fuck my P.O
All this coke, like I'm Nino
Water whip, like I'm Nemo

[Tallis !!y+12CeFwYOo No.5982020]

Ta douleur, du Périer, sera donc éternelle,
Et les tristes discours
Que te met en l'esprit l'amitié paternelle
L'augmenteront toujours

Le malheur de ta fille au tombeau descendue
Par un commun trépas,
Est-ce quelque dédale, où ta raison perdue
Ne se retrouve pas ?

Je sais de quels appas son enfance était pleine,
Et n'ai pas entrepris,
Injurieux ami, de soulager ta peine
Avecque son mépris.

Mais elle était du monde, où les plus belles choses
Ont le pire destin ;
Et rose elle a vécu ce que vivent les roses,
L'espace d'un matin.

Puis quand ainsi serait, que selon ta prière,
Elle aurait obtenu
D'avoir en cheveux blancs terminé sa carrière,
Qu'en fût-il advenu?

Penses-tu que, plus vieille, en la maison céleste
Elle eût eu plus d'accueil ?
Ou qu'elle eût moins senti la poussière funeste
Et les vers du cercueil ?

Non, non, mon du Périer, aussitôt que la Parque
Ote l'âme du corps,
L'âge s'évanouit au deçà de la barque,
Et ne suit point les morts...

La Mort a des rigueurs à nulle autre pareilles ;
On a beau la prier,
La cruelle qu'elle est se bouche les oreilles,
Et nous laisse crier.

Le pauvre en sa cabane, où le chaume le couvre,
Est sujet à ses lois ;
Et la garde qui veille aux barrières du Louvre
N'en défend point nos rois.

De murmurer contre elle, et perdre patience,
Il est mal à propos ;
Vouloir ce que Dieu veut, est la seule science
Qui nous met en repos.

[Tallis !!y+12CeFwYOo No.5982027]

>>5982020
or this

Qu'avoir été seigneur ! ... Que dis ?
Seigneur, las ! et ne l'est-il mais ?
Selon les davitiques dits
Son lieu ne connaîtras jamais.
Quant du surplus, je m'en démets :
Il n'appartient à moi pécheur ;
Aux théologiens le remets,
Car c'est office de prêcheur.

Si ne suis, bien le considère,
Fils d'ange portant diadème
D'étoile ni d'autre sidère.
Mon père est mort, Dieu en ait l'âme !
Quant est du corps, il gît sous lame.
J'entends que ma mère mourra,
Et le sait bien, la pauvre femme,
Et le fils pas ne demourra.

Je connais que pauvres et riches,
Sages et fous, prêtres et lais,
Nobles, vilains, larges et chiches,
Petits et grands, et beaux et laids,
Dames à rebrasser collets,
De quelconque condition,
Portant atours et bourrelets,
Mort saisit sans exception.

Et meure Pâris ou Hélène,
Quiconque meurt, meurt à douleur
Telle qu'il perd vent et haleine ;
Son fiel se crève sur son coeur,
Puis sue, Dieu sait quelle sueur !
Et n'est qui de ses maux l'allège :
Car enfant n'a, frère ni soeur,
Qui lors voulait être son plège.

La mort le fait frémir, pâlir,
Le nez courber, les veines tendre,
Le col enfler, la chair mollir,
Jointes et nerfs croître et étendre.
Corps féminin, qui tant est tendre,
Poli, souef, si précieux,
Te faudra il ces maux attendre ?
Oui, ou tout vif aller aux cieux.

[Anonymous No.5982161]

>>5982027
Having been lord ! ... What say ?
Lord, las ! and it is the but ?
According to said davitiques
His place will never know .
As for the rest, I Demets me :
It belongs to me a sinner ;
Theologians put it back ,
For it is office preacher.

If 'm well considers ,
Angel son wearing tiara
On no other star amazes .
My father died , God is the soul !
As is the body, it underlies blade.
I hear my mother die,
And well known, the poor woman ,
And the son did not demourra .

I know that rich and poor,
Wise and foolish , priests and lays,
Nobles, villains , wide and chick ,
Large and small , beautiful and ugly ,
Ladies rebrasser collars,
Of any condition
Wearing attire and beads ,
Death submit, without exception .

And die Pâris or Helen,
Whoever Dies, Dies in Pain
Such that it loses wind and breath;
His gall die on his heart,
Then sweats, God knows what sweat!
And is that the sill of its ills :
For child has , brother or sister,
Who wanted to be at his plege .

Death makes him shudder , pale ,
The nose bend the tender veins,
The swollen neck soften the flesh ,
Joined and nerves grow and expand .
Female body , which is so tender,
Poli Suef , so precious,
You will have to wait for it these evils ?
Yes, alive or going to heaven.

I translated it. This is dog shit, get better taste, anon.

[H.Q.S.S.G No.5982176]

>>5982006
>no WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP
dropped

[Anonymous No.5982574]

>>5979081
>le hobo man screaming
this

[Anonymous No.5982580]

>>5979065
"Contre ceux qui ont le goût difficile"

Quand j'aurais en naissant reçu de Calliope
Les dons qu'à ses Amants cette Muse a promis,
Je les consacrerais aux mensonges d'Esope :
Le mensonge et les vers de tout temps sont amis.
Mais je ne me crois pas si chéri du Parnasse
Que de savoir orner toutes ces fictions.
On peut donner du lustre à leurs inventions ;
On le peut, je l'essaie ; un plus savant le fasse.
Cependant jusqu'ici d'un langage nouveau
J'ai fait parler le Loup et répondre l'Agneau.
J'ai passé plus avant : les Arbres et les Plantes
Sont devenus chez moi créatures parlantes.
Qui ne prendrait ceci pour un enchantement ?
"Vraiment, me diront nos Critiques,
Vous parlez magnifiquement
De cinq ou six contes d'enfant.
- Censeurs, en voulez-vous qui soient plus authentiques
Et d'un style plus haut ? En voici : "Les Troyens,
"Après dix ans de guerre autour de leurs murailles,
"Avaient lassé les Grecs, qui par mille moyens,
"Par mille assauts, par cent batailles,
"N'avaient pu mettre à bout cette fière Cité,
"Quand un cheval de bois, par Minerve inventé,
"D'un rare et nouvel artifice,
"Dans ses énormes flancs reçut le sage Ulysse,
"Le vaillant Diomède, Ajax l'impétueux,
"Que ce Colosse monstrueux
"Avec leurs escadrons devait porter dans Troie,
"Livrant à leur fureur ses Dieux mêmes en proie :
"Stratagème inouï, qui des fabricateurs
"Paya la constance et la peine. "
- C'est assez, me dira quelqu'un de nos Auteurs :
La période est longue, il faut reprendre haleine ;
Et puis votre Cheval de bois,
Vos Héros avec leurs Phalanges,
Ce sont des contes plus étranges
Qu'un Renard qui cajole un Corbeau sur sa voix :
De plus, il vous sied mal d'écrire en si haut style.
- Eh bien ! baissons d'un ton. "La jalouse Amarylle
"Songeait à son Alcippe, et croyait de ses soins
"N'avoir que ses Moutons et son Chien pour témoins.
"Tircis, qui l'aperçut, se glisse entre des saules ;
"Il entend la bergère adressant ces paroles
"Au doux Zéphire, et le priant
"De les porter à son Amant.
- Je vous arrête à cette rime,
Dira mon censeur à l'instant ;
Je ne la tiens pas légitime,
Ni d'une assez grande vertu :
Remettez, pour le mieux, ces deux vers à la fonte.
- Maudit censeur, te tairas-tu ?
Ne saurais-je achever mon conte ?
C'est un dessein très dangereux
Que d'entreprendre de te plaire. "
Les délicats sont malheureux :
Rien ne saurait les satisfaire.

>>5981649
>Le Cor by Vigny
Fucking great

>>5982020
>Le pauvre en sa cabane, où le chaume le couvre,
>Est sujet à ses lois ;
>Et la garde qui veille aux barrières du Louvre
>N'en défend point nos rois.
Good old Malherbe

[Anonymous No.5982618]

WHEN I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high pil`d books, in charact'ry,
Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And feel that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour!
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love;—then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think,
Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink

[Anonymous No.5982623]

There once was a plumber from Lee,
who was plumbing his girl by the sea,
she said “Stop your plumbing”,
“there’s somebody coming”,
said the plumber still plumbing… “It’s me!”

[Anonymous No.5982629]

Dylan Thomas - Do not go gentle into that good night

Bukowski - trapped

that one TS Eliot poem where he talks about how he can't focus because of the heaving breasts of a woman before him as she breathes

[Anonymous No.5982657]

The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock. Especially the first stanza:

LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats 5
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question…. 10
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.

And the final section:

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use, 115
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old … I grow old … 120
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me. 125

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown 130
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

[Anonymous No.5982672]

I reared digital moonlight
You read its clock, scrawled neon across that black
Kismetly ... ubiquitously crest fallen
Thrown down to strafe your foothills
...I'll suck the bones pretty.

Your nature perforated the abrasive organ pumps
Spray painted everything known to man
Stream rushed through and all out into
Something Whilst the crackling stare down sun snuck
Through our windows boarded up
He hit your flint face and it sparked.

And I bellowed and you parked
We reached Marfa
One honest day up on this freedom pole
Devils not done digging
He's speaking in tongues all along the pan handle
And this pining erosion is getting dust in

My eyes
And I'm drunk on your morsels
And so I look down the line
Your every twitch hand drum salute
Salutes mine.

[Anonymous No.5982676]

>>5981622
lol that's not by keats

[Anonymous No.5982684]

>>5982676
it's good therefore it's by keats

[Anonymous No.5982715]

Welsh poetry is the premium, god tier level poetry lads.

The Lonely Farmer by RS Thomas.

Poor hill farmer astray in the grass;
There came a movement and he looked up, but
All that he saw was the wind pass.
There was a sound of voice on the air.
But where, where? It was only the glib stream talking
Softly to itself. And once when he was walking
Along a lane in spring he was deceived
By a shrill; whistle coming through the leaves;
Wait a minute, wait a minute-four swift notes;
He turned, and it was nothing, only a Thrush
In the thorn bushes easing its throat.
He swore at himself for paying heed,
The poor hill farmer, so often again
Stopping, staring, listening, in vain,
His ear betrayed by the heart’s need.

[Anonymous No.5982729]

>>5979065
Pic related

[Anonymous No.5982731]

>>5979065
The Hollow Men.

[Anonymous No.5983391]

>>5979065
The Waste Land

[Tallis !!y+12CeFwYOo No.5983417]

>>5982161
Google* translated it.

[Anonymous No.5983452]

I love you Jesus Christ
Jesus Christ, I love you, yes I do
I love you Jesus Christ
Jesus Christ, I love you, yes I do

And on the lazy days
The dogs dissolve and drain away
The world it goes and always waits
The day we are awaiting

Up and over, we go through the wave and undertow
I will float until I learn how to swim
Inside my mother in a garbage bin
Until I find myself again, again

Up and over we go with mouths open wide and spitting still
I will spit until I learn how to speak
Up through the doorway as the sideboards creak
With them ever proclaiming me, me

Up and over we go, the weight it sits on down and I don't know
I will shout until they know what I mean
I mean the marriage of a dead dog sing
And a synthetic flying machine, machine

[Anonymous No.5983455]

Álvaro de Campos [Fernando Pessoa]

Ao volante do Chevrolet pela estrada de Sintra


Ao volante do Chevrolet pela estrada de Sintra,
Ao luar e ao sonho, na estrada deserta,
Sozinho guio, guio quase devagar, e um pouco
Me parece, ou me forço um pouco para que me pareça,
Que sigo por outra estrada, por outro sonho, por outro mundo,
Que sigo sem haver Lisboa deixada ou Sintra a que ir ter,
Que sigo, e que mais haverá em seguir senão não parar mas seguir?
Vou passar a noite a Sintra por não poder passá-la em Lisboa,
Mas, quando chegar a Sintra, terei pena de não ter ficado em Lisboa.
Sempre esta inquietação sem propósito, sem nexo, sem consequência,
Sempre, sempre, sempre,
Esta angústia excessiva do espírito por coisa nenhuma,
Na estrada de Sintra, ou na estrada do sonho, ou na estrada da vida...
Maleável aos meus movimentos subconscientes do volante,
Galga sob mim comigo o automóvel que me emprestaram.
Sorrio do símbolo, ao pensar nele, e ao virar à direita.
Em quantas coisas que me emprestaram guio como minhas!
Quanto me emprestaram, ai de mim!, eu próprio sou!
À esquerda o casebre — sim, o casebre — à beira da estrada.
À direita o campo aberto, com a lua ao longe.
O automóvel, que parecia há pouco dar-me liberdade,
É agora uma coisa onde estou fechado,
Que só posso conduzir se nele estiver fechado,
Que só domino se me incluir nele, se ele me incluir a mim.
À esquerda lá para trás o casebre modesto, mais que modesto.
A vida ali deve ser feliz, só porque não é a minha.
Se alguém me viu da janela do casebre, sonhará: Aquele é que é feliz.
Talvez à criança espreitando pelos vidros da janela do andar que está em cima
Fiquei (com o automóvel emprestado) como um sonho, uma fada real.
Talvez à rapariga que olhou, ouvindo o motor, pela janela da cozinha
No pavimento térreo,
Sou qualquer coisa do príncipe de todo o coração de rapariga,
E ela me olhará de esguelha, pelos vidros, até à curva em que me perdi.
Deixarei sonhos atrás de mim, ou é o automóvel que os deixa?
Eu, guiador do automóvel emprestado, ou o automóvel emprestado que eu guio?
Na estrada de Sintra ao luar, na tristeza, ante os campos e a noite,
Guiando o Chevrolet emprestado desconsoladamente,
Perco-me na estrada futura, sumo-me na distância que alcanço,
E, num desejo terrível, súbito, violento, inconcebível,
Acelero...
Mas o meu coração ficou no monte de pedras, de que me desviei ao vê-lo sem vê-lo,
À porta do casebre,
O meu coração vazio,
O meu coração insatisfeito,
O meu coração mais humano do que eu, mais exacto que a vida.
Na estrada de Sintra, perto da meia-noite, ao luar, ao volante,
Na estrada de Sintra, que cansaço da própria imaginação,
Na estrada de Sintra, cada vez mais perto de Sintra,
Na estrada de Sintra, cada vez menos perto de mim...

[Anonymous No.5983471]

>>5979089
my nig

[Anonymous No.5983474]

WHEN we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.
The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow —
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame:
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.
They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me —
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well: —
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.
In secret we met —
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee? —
With silence and tears.

[Anonymous No.5983482]

Adlestrop by Edward Thomas

Yes, I remember Adlestrop --
The name, because one afternoon
Of heat the express-train drew up there
Unwontedly. It was late June.

The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.
No one left and no one came
On the bare platform. What I saw
Was Adlestrop -- only the name

And willows, willow-herb, and grass,
And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,
No whit less still and lonely fair
Than the high cloudlets in the sky.

And for that minute a blackbird sang
Close by, and round him, mistier,
Farther and farther, all the birds
Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.

[Anonymous No.5983718]

>>5981332
I'm not judging your taste or anything but Annabel Lee makes me gag

[Anonymous No.5983725]

>>5982006
kek

[Anonymous No.5983793]

>>5981664
That's some pretty shit-tier poetry, son

[Anonymous No.5983807]

No more

I spoke of light and love, opportunities, look up!
You spoke of dark and despair,
no more, just go...

Please, take my hand, there's so much for us to see!
The way is dark and my load is heavy,
no more, I've seen enough...
Young and free, it's all here. Take it, it's all for you!
This is not me, there's nothing there
no more I want of this earth...

And so I joined you,


our eyes meet
my load grew heavy upon my back
I did not want this, you should have left me, in the dark with no light to be seen
But now I am here, the darkness is fading
no more of the comfort it brings

[Anonymous No.5984022]

It loses most of its charm in translation but still:

Christ of the City
by Julian Tuwim

They danced on the bridge,
They danced through the night.

Thugs, hangmen, destitutes,
The executed, prostitutes,
Syphylitics, knife-wielding followers,
Rogues, thieves, vodka swallowers.

They danced on the bridge,
They danced until dawn.

Mendicants, evening performers,
Lunatics, cunning informers,
Danced dancing streets followed
By streetlights and gallows,
Dogcatcher's souls.

They danced on the bridge
Magnificent gents:
Varlets:

Debauched old men, flesh-peddling waiters,
Self-conscious masturbators,
Joined hands,
Stomped their feet,
As accordians played chords,
Till twilight was complete,
They danced their wild dance:
Further, Farther!
Eating. Drinking. Swayed.

But there was one stranger,
There was one unknown,
At whom they stared scowling,
Shrugged their shoulders at,
And spat.

They took him aside:
They spoke, speaking, they asked.
But he was silent.

Ginger drew near, red in the face:
“What a... ?”
But he was silent.

Another drew near, missing a nose,
Pimple-skinned,
“What a... ?”
But he was silent.

A drunkard drew near, slurred out,
“What a... ?”
But he was silent.

Magdelene drew near:
She recognised, she said...
He wept...

Quiet descended. Murmuring.
They all fell to the dirt. Weeping.

[Anonymous No.5984213]

Rudyard Kipling had a few good ones

[Anonymous No.5984340]

>>5982623
kek

[Anonymous No.5984342]

>>5982623
did she accuse him of rape afterwards

[Anonymous No.5984547]

>>5983452
c'mon man, that's easily the worst song on the album

[Anonymous No.5984576]

Frost. I liked that one about the west running brook.

[Anonymous No.5984615]

Anybody know of any poets like Max Ehrmann?
Anything with spirituality.

[Anonymous No.5984659]

>no Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

HAD I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet: 5
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

[Anonymous No.5984729]

Robert Bridges:

The idle life I lead
Is like a pleasant sleep,
Wherein I rest and heed
The dreams that by me sweep.

And still of all my dreams
In turn so swiftly past,
Each in its fancy seems
A nobler than the last.

And every eve I say,
Noting my step in bliss,
That I have known no day
In all my life like this.

[Anonymous No.5985026]

>>5981353
>No more microwave dinners and saturated fats
>No more... saturated fats
kek enjoy having low test and no gains

[Anonymous No.5985060]

>>5981640
lulz rhyming is tacky

[Anonymous No.5985077]

>>5982623

[Anonymous No.5985090]

>>5983452
I like Jeff's pseudo-nonsense style, but he went full word salad on this one

[Anonymous No.5985100]

There once was a youth named Brown,
Who bum rushed a cop with a frown,
Six bullets later,
He met his creator,
Then his homies burnt down the town.

[Anonymous No.5985101]

>>5984659
that was great until the random '5'. wtf was he thinking?

[Anonymous No.5985107]

>>5985100

[Anonymous No.5985145]

>>5979065
Now I am quietly waiting for
the castastrophe of my personality
to seem beautiful again,
and interesting, and modern.

The country is grey and
brown and white in trees,
snows and skies of laughter
always diminishing, less funny
not just darker, not just grey.

It may be the coldest day of
the year, what does he think of
that? I mean, what do I? And if I do,
perhaps I am myself again


DOHOHOHO

[Anonymous No.5985159]

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone.
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling in the sky the message He is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever, I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun.
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

I've always felt that it captured the wailing grief of a loved one dying

[Anonymous No.5985176]

The solemn breathing air is ended-
Cease, O Lyre! Thy kindred lay!
From the poplar-branch suspended
Glitter to the eye of Day!

On thy wires hov'ring, dying,
Softly sighs the summer wind:
I will slumber, careless lying,
By yon waterfall reclin'd

In the forest hollow-roaring
Hark! I hear a deep'ning sound-
Clouds rise thick with heavy low'ring!
See! th'horizon blackens round!

Parent of the soothing measure,
Let me seize they wetter string!
Swiftly flies the flatterer, Pleasure,
Headlong, ever on the wing.

[Anonymous No.5985200]

>>5979065

We real cool. We
Left school. We

Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We
Die soon.

[Anonymous No.5986998]

"Je suis le Ténébreux, - le Veuf, - l'Inconsolé,
Le Prince d'Aquitaine à la Tour abolie :
Ma seule Etoile est morte, - et mon luth constellé
Porte le Soleil noir de la Mélancolie.

Dans la nuit du Tombeau, Toi qui m'as consolé,
Rends-moi le Pausilippe et la mer d'Italie,
La fleur qui plaisait tant à mon coeur désolé,
Et la treille où le Pampre à la Rose s'allie.

Suis-je Amour ou Phébus ?... Lusignan ou Biron ?
Mon front est rouge encor du baiser de la Reine ;
J'ai rêvé dans la Grotte où nage la sirène...

Et j'ai deux fois vainqueur traversé l'Achéron :
Modulant tour à tour sur la lyre d'Orphée
Les soupirs de la Sainte et les cris de la Fée."

Probably one of the best poem ever written

[Anonymous No.5988010]

>>5982657
Mah boi. That's my favorite poem as well

[Anonymous No.5988026]

The Trees - Philip Larkin

The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.

Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too,
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.

Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.

[Anonymous No.5988169]

>>5985026

True. Thom was a silly cunt with that line. Trans fat is the bad fat.

[Anonymous No.5988180]

>>5985200
I hope "WE JAZZ JUNE" is scrawled in blood over the kitchen of the next Manson Family incarnation's murders.

[Anonymous No.5988219]

>>5979065
I don't very much into poetry as of yet, so so far I'll have to go with all I know. And that's:

the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh.

there's no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.

nobody ever finds
the one.

the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill

nothing else
fills.


And
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h1MIsh50bG8

[Anonymous No.5988258]

L'Albatros

Souvent, pour s'amuser, les hommes d'équipage
Prennent des albatros, vastes oiseaux des mers,
Qui suivent, indolents compagnons de voyage,
Le navire glissant sur les gouffres amers.

À peine les ont-ils déposés sur les planches,
Que ces rois de l'azur, maladroits et honteux,
Laissent piteusement leurs grandes ailes blanches
Comme des avirons traîner à côté d'eux.

Ce voyageur ailé, comme il est gauche et veule!
Lui, naguère si beau, qu'il est comique et laid!
L'un agace son bec avec un brûle-gueule,
L'autre mime, en boitant, l'infirme qui volait!

Le Poète est semblable au prince des nuées
Qui hante la tempête et se rit de l'archer;
Exilé sur le sol au milieu des huées,
Ses ailes de géant l'empêchent de marcher.

— Charles Baudelaire

[Anonymous No.5988265]

>>5979065
The Tiger, by Blake

[Anonymous No.5988268]

>>5988258
>>5988258
trans:

The Albatross

Often, to amuse themselves, the men of a crew
Catch albatrosses, those vast sea birds
That indolently follow a ship
As it glides over the deep, briny sea.

Scarcely have they placed them on the deck
Than these kings of the sky, clumsy, ashamed,
Pathetically let their great white wings
Drag beside them like oars.

That winged voyager, how weak and gauche he is,
So beautiful before, now comic and ugly!
One man worries his beak with a stubby clay pipe;
Another limps, mimics the cripple who once flew!

The poet resembles this prince of cloud and sky
Who frequents the tempest and laughs at the bowman;
When exiled on the earth, the butt of hoots and jeers,
His giant wings prevent him from walking.

[Anonymous No.5988325]

Gielgud and Holst make this a winner

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bmDoT1TXV3k

[Anonymous No.5988397]

>>5984547

I might kill you

[Anonymous No.5989886]

Rat for lunch! Rat for lunch!
Yum! Delicious! Munch munch munch!
One by one or by the bunch--
Rat, or rat, oh rat for lunch!

Scrambled slug in salty slime
is our choice at breakfast time,
but for lunch, we say to you,
nothing but a rat will do.

[Anonymous No.5990174]

Before I Knocked
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mreHHZGJXXM

[Anonymous No.5990271]

I was out walking, sweaty and with hair plastered
to my face
when I saw Ernesto Cardenal approaching
from the opposite direction
and by way of greeting I said:
Father, in the Kingdom of Heaven
that is communism,
is there a place for homosexuals?
Yes, he said.
And for impenitent masturbators?
For sex slaves?
For sex fools?
For sadomasochists, for whores, for those obsessed
with enemas,
for those who can't take it anymore, those who really truly
can't take it anymore?
And Cardenal said yes.
And I raised my eyes
and the clouds looked like
the pale pink smiles of cats
and the trees cross-stitched on the hill
(the hill we've got to climb)
shook their branches.
Savage trees, as if saying
some day, sooner rather than later, you'll have to come
into my rubbery arms, into my scraggly arms,
into my cold arms. A botanical frigidity
that'll stand your hair on end.

[Anonymous No.5990276]

>>5989886
kick ur shoes 2 dis shit son

[Anonymous No.5991913]

Those girls, those girls, those lovely seaside girls,
All dimples, smiles, and curls — your head it simply whirls!
They look all right, complexions pink and white;
They've diamond rings and dainty feet,
Golden hair from Regent Street,
Lace and grace and lots of face — those pretty little seaside girls.

[Anonymous No.5992653]

Bump
would like to know what Spanish/Italian/German-speaking /int/intellectuals will choose

[Anonymous No.5993390]

>>5985101
You have to be joking