Hear Bloom call him one of the greatest American poets

>hear Bloom call him one of the greatest American poets
>start reading him
>his work is either completely undecipherable or cringe-inducingly sentimental
Why do people like him? His poems don't make any sense, and when they do make sense, you wish that they didn't.

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Maybe they have a different literary sensibility than you

>O brilliant kids, frisk with your dog,
>Fondle your shells and sticks, bleached
>By time and the elements; but there is a line
>You must not cross nor ever trust beyond it
>Spry cordage of your bodies to caresses
>Too lichen-faithful from too wide a breast.
>The bottom of the sea is cruel.

I will admit he can be overblown but "You must not cross nor ever trust beyond it" is a very good line. "Too lichen-faithful from too wide a breast" sounds wonderful and means a lot to all even though we don't actually know what that means. Very powerful for a poet to make you feel as if you know the underlying meaning without really being able to put a finger on it.

if they don't make sense it means you are not intelligent enough

you can either take that info and become more intelligent or you can defend your petty ego and say he is bad

>completely undecipherable

I have bad news: it's not him, it's you.

stick to cuss-word coloring books, kid

I think it's either about getting drowned or pedophilia.
I had almost the same reaction, minus the sentimentality part, but I'm too ashamed too admit I don't understand such poetry. Same with Stevens and Eliot.

Jerk your dog off and have homo stick (penis) and shell (butt) fights but ignore women

Friendly reminder it's absolutely okay not to like him despite the bloom fangirls on this board claiming otherwise.
poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/articles/69119/the-hart-crane-controversy

>Very powerful for a poet to make you feel as if you know
Yeah the hallmark of any good modern artist. Clinton 2020!

>having to cite other people's opinions because you're too stupid and timid and to have one yourself

>completely undecipherable
You mean indecipherable then.

Just a thought. When you come in swinging, it only makes you sound like you have a fragile ego to protect. In future present a more thorough and even handed analysis, so that people who disagree with you can respond to something concrete.

c'mon op you can understand this

How many dawns, chill from his rippling rest
The seagull’s wings shall dip and pivot him,
Shedding white rings of tumult, building high
Over the chained bay waters Liberty—

Then, with inviolate curve, forsake our eyes
As apparitional as sails that cross
Some page of figures to be filed away;
—Till elevators drop us from our day . . .

I think of cinemas, panoramic sleights
With multitudes bent toward some flashing scene
Never disclosed, but hastened to again,
Foretold to other eyes on the same screen;

And Thee, across the harbor, silver-paced
As though the sun took step of thee, yet left
Some motion ever unspent in thy stride,—
Implicitly thy freedom staying thee!

Out of some subway scuttle, cell or loft
A bedlamite speeds to thy parapets,
Tilting there momently, shrill shirt ballooning,
A jest falls from the speechless caravan.

Down Wall, from girder into street noon leaks,
A rip-tooth of the sky’s acetylene;
All afternoon the cloud-flown derricks turn . . .
Thy cables breathe the North Atlantic still.

And obscure as that heaven of the Jews,
Thy guerdon . . . Accolade thou dost bestow
Of anonymity time cannot raise:
Vibrant reprieve and pardon thou dost show.

O harp and altar, of the fury fused,
(How could mere toil align thy choiring strings!)
Terrific threshold of the prophet’s pledge,
Prayer of pariah, and the lover’s cry,—

Again the traffic lights that skim thy swift
Unfractioned idiom, immaculate sigh of stars,
Beading thy path—condense eternity:
And we have seen night lifted in thine arms.

Under thy shadow by the piers I waited;
Only in darkness is thy shadow clear.
The City’s fiery parcels all undone,
Already snow submerges an iron year . . .

O Sleepless as the river under thee,
Vaulting the sea, the prairies’ dreaming sod,
Unto us lowliest sometime sweep, descend
And of the curveship lend a myth to God.

he's one of my favorite and least favorite poets. He has some of the best lines in modern poetry, and some of the best metaphors and imagery of modern poetry, and his musical sense is disturbingly fantastic; but he often does veer into the vapid sentimentality of weaker poets and many times tries too hard to make metaphorical leaps that aren't good to begin with.

I don't think The Bridge is that great of a work, either. It has many fantastic portions, but it's not a "great work" like Bloom tries to make it seem. He's best as a short lyricist. The shorter the better.

poems like The Broken Tower show that he could've been comparable to TS Eliot if he didn't kill himself, but I think that his death was determined (perhaps not by fate, but determined) at least a decade before it occured. He was going to kill himself either way.

There's an unfinished poem of his that is roaringly hilarious. I can't remember the name but it references an early Renaissance Italian painter in the later lines. Anyone know it/can bring it up?

I think she has a chance

or...you are a plen?

tedious modern jobs, cinema robbing people of the links between making them instead focus on fake, short term pleasures such as motion pictures, merging romantic ideas of nature with technological wonders, the passing of time is just a routine as seen from the moving sunlight, people are so estranged that they meet like creepers in the dark, he is also gay so he must be secretive, the bridge is a new myth/god because tech is what people focus on, etc. , the are puns with his name and derricks (cranes)... quite easy desu

I'm not American so I don't know which exactly he's referring to, but is this about a bridge?

Finnegan's wake sucks

yeah, from Brooklyn Bridge, the prelude

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