Poetry

[Lowtone]

Who's into poetry?
I think its gr8 to read but for some reason I never take note of authors etc.
What poems do u like and what poets do you like?

[poprock]

Jeanne Marie Spicuzza.

http://www.seasonsandamuse.com/jeanne.html

Erm... Jeff Noon, when he can be arsed to write poetry - Cobralingus is the only real book full of peotry he's done - kinda poetry, kinda concrete poetry, kinda systems art... He basically runs selected texts through a series of logic gates, or filters if you prefer - taking the output and feeding that into another filter, and so on until he's happy with the result. It's a fascinating process.

[Lowtone]

Originally posted by poprock
Jeanne Marie Spicuzza.

http://www.seasonsandamuse.com/jeanne.html

Erm... Jeff Noon, when he can be arsed to write poetry - Cobralingus is the only real book full of peotry he's done - kinda poetry, kinda concrete poetry, kinda systems art... He basically runs selected texts through a series of logic gates, or filters if you prefer - taking the output and feeding that into another filter, and so on until he's happy with the result. It's a fascinating process.

Jeysus man - get over Jeff Noon ya mawd goff

[poprock]

Hehe. What can I say? Favourite author. He made an impression.

That's the first time I've been called a goth. Or goff, for that matter. Cheers!

[Lowtone]

Originally posted by poprock
Hehe. What can I say? Favourite author. He made an impression.

That's the first time I've been called a goth. Or goff, for that matter. Cheers!

lol...dontcha kno? Im a mawd goff as well. We're all mawd goffs in our bright yellow non politically charged mind

[deviantchild]

charles bukowski and philip larkin are my favourite poets.
i write alot too, had one poem published.

[hyperfiction]

dylan thomas.

here's one of his - it was the first one of his that i read, and it got me hooked :

'beofre i knocked' :

before i knocked the flesh let enter
with liquid hands tapped on the womb,
i who was as shapeless as the water
that shaped the jordan near my home
was brother to mnetha's daughter
and sister to the fathering worm

i who was deaf to spring and summer,
who knew not sun nor moon by name,
felt thud beneath my flesh's armour,
as yet was in a molten form,
the leaden stars, the rainy hammer
swung by my father from his dome

i knew the message of the winter,
the darted hairl, the childish snow,
and the wind was my sister suitor;
wind in me leaped, the hellborn dew;
my veins flowed with the eastern weather;
ungotten i knew night and day

as yet ungotten, i did suffer;
the rack of dreams my lily bones
did twist into a living cipher,
and flesh was snipped to cross the lines
of gallow crosses on the liver
and brambles in the wringing brains

my throat knew thirst before the sturcture
of skin and vein around the week
where words and water make a mixture
unfailing till the blood runs foul;
my heart knew love, my belly hunger;
i smelt the maggot in my stool

and time cast forth my mortal creature
to drift or drown upon the seas
acquainted qith the salt adventure
of tides that never touch the shores.
i who was rich was made the richer
by sipping at the vine of days

i, born of flesh and ghost, was neither
a ghost nor man, but mortal ghost.
and i was struck down by death's feather.
i was mortal to the last
long breath that carried t my father
the message of his dying christ.

you who bow down at cross and altar,
remember me and pity Him
who took my flesh and bone for armour
and doublecrossed my mother's womb.

[*starla*]

Wheee. A poetry thread that's not the usual "goth"/death/blood shite that people seem to think goes under the catagory.

Well my favourite poet has to be Sylvia Plath. Typical, I know, but I adore her work.

Visit http://www.plathonline.com, it has pretty much all of her work there.

There's umpteen other poems/potes I like, but as lowtone said, I always forget to remember [if that makes any sense at all] the names.

I also write "poetry" or whatever you want to call it by the book load. I've got quite a lot of it up on http://gurlpages.com/prettyimperfect. Honest, it's not a plug for my site, it's actually in dire need of updating right now anyway.

I don't suppose anyone else has head of "Burning Letters" by Jonathan Price? After studying it for my english exams, and not liking it much to begin with, I've grown to love it.

[Lowtone]

Originally posted by *starla*
Wheee. A poetry thread that's not the usual "goth"/death/blood shite that people seem to think goes under the catagory.

Well my favourite poet has to be Sylvia Plath. Typical, I know, but I adore her work.

Visit http://www.plathonline.com, it has pretty much all of her work there.

There's umpteen other poems/potes I like, but as lowtone said, I always forget to remember [if that makes any sense at all] the names.

I also write "poetry" or whatever you want to call it by the book load. I've got quite a lot of it up on http://gurlpages.com/prettyimperfect. Honest, it's not a plug for my site, it's actually in dire need of updating right now anyway.

I don't suppose anyone else has head of "Burning Letters" by Jonathan Price? After studying it for my english exams, and not liking it much to begin with, I've grown to love it.

Ill check it out
For some reason i read poetry and udnerstand it and love it on reading.....but i only enjoyy it for the time of reading and never take not of the name or nuthin. Stupid i suppose. I spend a lot of time online reading poetry and kno what im lookin for.....and ppl go "ah u like poetry...whos ur fave poet/poem".....and i dont hav one lol. I read em, enoy them, understand them then cast them away.

[beelze-babe]

Tim Burton wrote a really good book of poetry called "The Melacholy Death Of Oyster Boy." Any Burton fan should read it...i love it....its quite child-like and innocent in its appearance, much like his movies but most of them are very moving...with the occasional very funny one. Plus the illustration is so endearing. No one can resist this book.

Other than that to be very,very obvious Edgar Allan Poe. The Sleeper is my favourite poem....

At midnight, in the month of June,
I stand beneath the mystic moon.
An opiate vapor, dewy, dim,
Exhales from out her golden rim,
And, softly dripping, drop by drop,
Upon the quiet mountain top,
Steals drowsily and musically
Into the universal valley.
The rosemary nods upon the grave;
The lily lolls upon the wave;
Wrapping the fog about its breast,
The ruin molders into rest;
Looking like Lethe, see! the lake
A conscious slumber seems to take,
And would not, for the world, awake.
All Beauty sleeps!–and lo! where lies
Irene, with her Destinies!

O, lady bright! can it be right-
This window open to the night?
The wanton airs, from the tree-top,
Laughingly through the lattice drop-
The bodiless airs, a wizard rout,
Flit through thy chamber in and out,
And wave the curtain canopy
So fitfully–so fearfully-
Above the closed and fringed lid
'Neath which thy slumb'ring soul lies hid,
That, o'er the floor and down the wall,
Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall!
Oh, lady dear, hast thou no fear?
Why and what art thou dreaming here?
Sure thou art come O'er far-off seas,
A wonder to these garden trees!
Strange is thy pallor! strange thy dress,
Strange, above all, thy length of tress,
And this all solemn silentness!

The lady sleeps! Oh, may her sleep,
Which is enduring, so be deep!
Heaven have her in its sacred keep!
This chamber changed for one more holy,
This bed for one more melancholy,
I pray to God that she may lie
For ever with unopened eye,
While the pale sheeted ghosts go by!

My love, she sleeps! Oh, may her sleep
As it is lasting, so be deep!
Soft may the worms about her creep!
Far in the forest, dim and old,
For her may some tall vault unfold-
Some vault that oft has flung its black
And winged panels fluttering back,
Triumphant, o'er the crested palls,
Of her grand family funerals-
Some sepulchre, remote, alone,
Against whose portal she hath thrown,
In childhood, many an idle stone-
Some tomb from out whose sounding door
She ne'er shall force an echo more,
Thrilling to think, poor child of sin!
It was the dead who groaned within.