God-tier poetry thread

god-tier poetry thread

alright!
Robert Duncan - The Fire
1/5

I reject your irony.

here's some serious stuff

2/5

3/5
My Prof lent me a David Bottoms collection recently! The dude's good

4/5

this is shit, I'm an intelligent young man who requires substance and beautiful language to unravel the mysteries of, not some elderly dotard playing word search out of a drug store word-game book while in hospice

5/5

yeah, he's on my list of to read poets.
I'm going to have to check this Robert Duncan out as well.

Well, it's not a word search, but I get why you're afraid. Here's something more straight forward (but just as good or better)

Eurydice
BY H. D.
I

So you have swept me back,
I who could have walked with the live souls
above the earth,
I who could have slept among the live flowers
at last;

so for your arrogance
and your ruthlessness
I am swept back
where dead lichens drip
dead cinders upon moss of ash;

so for your arrogance
I am broken at last,
I who had lived unconscious,
who was almost forgot;

if you had let me wait
I had grown from listlessness
into peace,
if you had let me rest with the dead,
I had forgot you
and the past.

II

Here only flame upon flame
and black among the red sparks,
streaks of black and light
grown colourless;

why did you turn back,
that hell should be reinhabited
of myself thus
swept into nothingness?

why did you glance back?
why did you hesitate for that moment?
why did you bend your face
caught with the flame of the upper earth,
above my face?

what was it that crossed my face
with the light from yours
and your glance?
what was it you saw in my face?
the light of your own face,
the fire of your own presence?

What had my face to offer
but reflex of the earth,
hyacinth colour
caught from the raw fissure in the rock
where the light struck,
and the colour of azure crocuses
and the bright surface of gold crocuses
and of the wind-flower,
swift in its veins as lightning
and as white.

III

Saffron from the fringe of the earth,
wild saffron that has bent
over the sharp edge of earth,
all the flowers that cut through the earth,
all, all the flowers are lost;

everything is lost,
everything is crossed with black,
black upon black
and worse than black,
this colourless light.

1/2

IV

Fringe upon fringe
of blue crocuses,
crocuses, walled against blue of themselves,
blue of that upper earth,
blue of the depth upon depth of flowers,
lost;

flowers,
if I could have taken once my breath of them,
enough of them,
more than earth,
even than of the upper earth,
had passed with me
beneath the earth;

if I could have caught up from the earth,
the whole of the flowers of the earth,
if once I could have breathed into myself
the very golden crocuses
and the red,
and the very golden hearts of the first saffron,
the whole of the golden mass,
the whole of the great fragrance,
I could have dared the loss.

V

So for your arrogance
and your ruthlessness
I have lost the earth
and the flowers of the earth,
and the live souls above the earth,
and you who passed across the light
and reached
ruthless;

you who have your own light,
who are to yourself a presence,
who need no presence;

yet for all your arrogance
and your glance,
I tell you this:

such loss is no loss,
such terror, such coils and strands and pitfalls
of blackness,
such terror
is no loss;

hell is no worse than your earth
above the earth,
hell is no worse,
no, nor your flowers
nor your veins of light
nor your presence,
a loss;

my hell is no worse than yours
though you pass among the flowers and speak
with the spirits above earth.

VI

Against the black
I have more fervour
than you in all the splendour of that place,
against the blackness
and the stark grey
I have more light;

and the flowers,
if I should tell you,
you would turn from your own fit paths
toward hell,
turn again and glance back
and I would sink into a place
even more terrible than this.

VII

At least I have the flowers of myself,
and my thoughts, no god
can take that;
I have the fervour of myself for a presence
and my own spirit for light;

and my spirit with its loss
knows this;
though small against the black,
small against the formless rocks,
hell must break before I am lost;

before I am lost,
hell must open like a red rose
for the dead to pass.

2/2

sage sage sage dage

this has been one of my favorites lately

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Duncan's brilliant. Maybe my favorite out of the Black Mountain school. I found him through my love of HD, and it was great that it did.

Motorcycles in september
vroom vroom
your hot fire engine
brrr brrr
fury on the road and in the garage
ninng nginng
cruise down the road in style

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>t. meta-post-ironing Rupi Kaur shill

unironically

Always to me beloved was this lonely hillside
And the hedgerow creeping over and always hiding
The distances, the horizon's furthest reaches.
But as I sit and gaze, there is an endless
Space still beyond, there is a more than mortal
Silence spread out to the last depth of peace,
Which in my thought I shape until my heart
Scarcely can hide a fear. And as the wind
Comes through the copses sighing to my ears,
The infinite silence and the passing voice
I must compare: remembering the seasons,
Quiet in dead eternity, and the present,
Living and sounding still. And into this
Immensity my thought sinks ever drowning,
And it is sweet to shipwreck in such a sea.

Do you feel funny when you post this overdone meme? Grin as you click 'post' and give yourself a pat on the back?

I'm grateful for when anybody posts it, best poem in the thread so far.

yea

It's one of the best poems posted here in a while. and the writer is the corresponding age of posters too.

fuck off tigerlet

Why is English so useless for poetry? Even mediocre poems in my language sound better than this garbage

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What do normal people do?

You just have shit taste, what's your language? It better not be romantic or you're double shit

Bulgarian. But even French is better than English, I don't speak anything else but I'd be surprised if Spanish and Italian weren't better as well.

still brilliant

>I don't speak anything else
I see.

I speak 4 languages and I still prefer french and german poetry to english, anglo poetic tradition is really weird desu, after Shakesmeme sonetts everything went to shit

>I don't speak anything else but I'd be surprised if Spanish and Italian weren't better as well.
Of course they are

Nael will forever be a better poet than you, brainlet.

and even there its people gazed into space and dreamt of forlorn places.

>weird

Just say trash f am, because it’s just that. Not much worth reading after Shakespeare. Whitman maybe. I like some Ezra and Eliot but if you read their essays on literature you’d find they were steps behind mainland European literature. Eliot’s “objective correlative” is circlejerked over, never mind that pretty much all literature before and after him employed it. Ezra’s imagism was nothing new either, and he had to know as someone who lived in Paris and was as well-read as him. Also:
>writes book on poetry
>full of good ideas, cites the best of lit
>proceeds to do the opposite

Robert Frost is meh but at least I can recognize poetic tradition in his works. It’s sad when that only puts you above most other poets of your language.

It’s a straight path to Rupi Kaur level shit. If not her, then another “poet” would’ve wrote the same with for the same success, and it might have been a straight white man.

>be Hungarian
>buy book from contemporary poet
>he’s a college student, nowhere near a pro
>what the fuck is this
>reads like artsy tumblr posts and/or English poetry
>check reviews
>author says he wouldn’t call it poetry, just quick notes that sounded vaguely poetic
>tfw a college student shits out pieces English academia has been raving about for decades

Lookout, best poem so far coming through

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I speak three languages and I like English poetry desu.

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>we thot burning

pretty much objectively wrong here. English poetry far superior and I doubt anybody who isnt French and knows anything would say otherwise.

You're just making vaguely damning accusations about a tradition you don't understand.
>but muh Kaur
she's not indicative of the tradition anymore that Theophilus Marzials was back when. It's fine to prefer your home language, and I get the problem with people thinking the objective correlative is groundbreaking (i literally can't think of anyone in the English language that follows the ideal more closely than Poe and he was obviously before Eliot)
but looking at the YA equivalent of poetry, and claiming someone like Eliot caused it makes no sense.

and what mainland European movement was similar to "Pound's" imagism? I know that eastern poetry had done the same thing for a while, but I'm not sure what westerners I should be reading for it.

i know this is a meme here but I think this poem is fucking amazing. I don't know why, but it really resonates with me

It's telling when Robert Frost and TS Elliot sound better in their French translation

best free verse i've ever read

I'm not even french dude stop projecting
english is just a mediocore language for poetry, it's (unironically) the best language for sci-fi and fantasy tho, so stick to that
I doubt anyone who is deeply familiar with the major poetic traditions of europe (and read them in their resp. langs) would say otherwise
even anglo's (if they could be bothered to learn langs and think objectively)

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t. cagelet

Fucking lost

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It's the second yes that gets me

fucken kek

what a fucking tigger

fuck off retard

BEGONE

I like this. Donne is pretty good

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