Name a better opening for a poem than:

Name a better opening for a poem than:
>I was the shadow of the waxwing slain
>By the false azure in the windowpane

pro tip: you can´t

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cells interlinked within cells interlinked

Deep in the shady sadness of a vale
Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn,
Far from the fiery noon, and eve's one star,
Sat gray-hair'd Saturn, quiet as a stone,
Still as the silence round about his lair;
Forest on forest hung about his head
Like cloud on cloud. No stir of air was there,
Not so much life as on a summer's day
Robs not one light seed from the feather'd grass,
But where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest.

>Spesso il male di vivere ho incontrato

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.

Achilles’ wrath, to Greece the direful spring
Of woes unnumber’d, heavenly goddess, sing!
That wrath which hurl’d to Pluto’s gloomy reign
The souls of mighty chiefs untimely slain;
Whose limbs unburied on the naked shore,
Devouring dogs and hungry vultures tore.
Since great Achilles and Atrides strove,
Such was the sovereign doom, and such the will of Jove!

>Sing in me muse, and through me tell the story of that man skilled in all ways contending

Τranslations are for kids.
Greek is for men

Μῆνιν ἄειδε, θεά, Πηληϊάδεω Ἀχιλῆος
οὐλομένην, ἣ μυρί᾽ Ἀχαιοῖς ἄλγε᾽ ἔθηkε,
πολλὰς δ᾽ ἰφθίμους ψυχὰς Ἄϊδι προΐαψεν
ἡρώων, αὐτοὺς δὲ ἑλώρια τεῦχε kύνεσσιν
5 οἰωνοῖσί τε πᾶσι, Διὸς δ᾽ ἐτελείετο βουλή,
ἐξ οὗ δὴ τὰ πρῶτα διαστήτην ἐρίσαντε
Ἀτρεΐδης .

>The tiger
>He destroyed his cage

You are but a feeble 20th century Russian
Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?

>the second line doesn't scan right

how do i read this

Get get get get
Got got got got
Blood rush to my
Head lit hot lock
Poppin’ off the
Fuckin’ block knot
Clockin’ wrist slit
Watch bent thought bot

Não sou nada.
Nunca serei nada.
Não posso querer ser nada.
À parte isso, tenho en mim todos os sonhos do mundo.

poet John Keats
#12 on top 500 poets

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Poems by John Keats : 7 / 217

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A Thing Of Beauty (Endymion) - Poem by John Keats
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A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its lovliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

kill me for this shit

Why don't more writers insist so rigigly on the sound of writing like Joyce, Pound, and Nabokov. Hemingway called prose extended poetry and all the best writers do it.

Moй дядя, caмых чecтных пpaвил
Кoгдa нe в шyткy зaнeмoг
Oн yвaжaть ceбя зacтaвл
И лyчшe выдyмaть нe мoг

fucking fight me, pseud

It is true. Keats got very lucky with that verse. Indeed, it is the best opening in the history of poetry, even if much of that poem is mediocre.

Overall, Dante, Homer (Iliad, that is), Virgil, Goethe, Camões, Pound (very intelligently using a translation of a translation of Homer), Chaucer, TS Eliot, Ariosto and other have much better opening sequences, but the very best opening line is, indeed, that one by Keats.

Não é comparável ao que há de melhor.

But Hemingway didn't. His prose is dry, his ideas simplistic and I doubt he would ever be able to write a simple sonnet without sounding like a fraud.

What you are looking for is Baroque writing. Check Marvell and Donne. TS Eliot commented a lot on Lancelot Andrewes, but I was never able to find his works in my country. Other than that, learn Italian and read Petrarca, Tasso and Ariosto, as well as Poliziano. Dante and Cavalcanti too, although in their case sound and meaning are equally important, which makes them superior poets.

After Italian, go for the troubadours (Arnaut, Rimbaut) and the great Iberians (Góngora, Quevedo, Camões).

>Não é comparável ao que há de melhor.

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>'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house,
>Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse

Because hemingway matched Shakespeare through rhetoric, unlike every other writer who have to use fancy syntax to match Shakespeare in style or insight. He stripped down the best writers into the most distilled prose ever written. Better realist than Tolstoy, more honest than Twain and better than every one of his contemporaries, except maybe Joyce.

For me, if you have to choose between sound and sense, always go with sense. (If you can have both, then by all means, do it).

In poetry, the greatest thing is the metaphor, not the sound. If you will need to sacrifice your metaphor to find better-sounding words and fit the meter you are doing it wrong.

You can't be serious.

there was a baboon who one afternoon
said "i think i will fly to the sun"

Good God Pope is so bad

house-mouse, kek

>I have been one acquainted with the night

Based Frostposter,

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Wisdom, the dawns break with unskilled rays
No longer do I have the right to plain words
My heart dims, my eyes are ablaze.

yuh agreed, just a pretentious shithead with no substance to his style

>Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita
>mi ritrovai per una selva oscura
>che la diritta via era smarrita

“‘There must be some kind of way out of here,’
Said the joker to the King.”

Glad you could grace us with your presence, ye great arbiter of all that is good in the world of literature, ye reader of all poems ever written

Ed Sheeran isn't poetry you fucking pleb

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table

Ces nymphes, je les veux perpétuer.