He hasn't memorized even one piece of poetry

>he hasn't memorized even one piece of poetry

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there once was a man from madras...

I know one sonnet by heart, it is not an enjoyed party trick.

>tfw know Voluspa by heart in the original

>he thinks he can get away with ordering a skimmed cappuccino

an irish airman foresees his death because i'm that bad

>he hasn't the entire DC memorized

Break, break, break,
on thy crags oh sea

Yes
YES
The poem is memorised

Me too.

Fanatics have their dreams wherewith they weave
A paradise for a sect; the savage too
From forth the loftiest fashion of his sleep
Guesses at heaven. Pity these have not
Trac'd upon vellum or wild Indian leaf
The shadows of melodious utterance.
But bare of laurel they live dream and die;
For Poesy alone can tell her dreams
With a fine spell of words alone can save
Imagination from the sable charm
And dumb enchantment. Who alive can say,
"Thou art no poet, mayst not tell thy dreams"?
Since every man whose soul is not a clod
Hath visions and would speak if he had loved
And been well nurtured in his mother tongue.
Whether the dreams now purpos'd to rehearse
Be poet's or fanatics will be known
When this warm scribe my hand is in the grave.

When you were young you were the king of carrot flowers...
And so on.

I've memorized several soliloquies and speeches from Shakespeare, does that count?

Do Psalm 23 and Song of Solomon count?

>used to know all of the walrus and the carpenter
>struggles after three stanzas trying to remember it now
damn, i knew i was pleb but i didn't know i was regressing

Big Hitch actually inspired me to memorize a Housman poem

Does In Flanders Fields count?

yo mister dopeman, you think you're slick
you sold crack to my sister and now she's sick
but if she happens to die because of your drug
i'm putting in your culo a .38 slug

Back when I was a faggy teen I memorised some Keats and Shelley

Nowadays I have enough trouble remembering what I had for lunch yesterday, who gives a shit if I remember some poem. I haven't even enjoyed poetry since I was an angsty over emotional teenager.

I am the king of Siam
For women I don't give a damn
But a good looking boy
Is such a joy
They call me a bugger I am

That's a shame, user.

We real cool. We
Left school. We
Lurk late. We
Strike Straight. We
Sing Sin. We
Thin jin. We
Jazz June. We
Die Soon.

that and

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day...

but i had a couple words wrong there, so i guess fuck me, right.

and some snippets of dylan thomas

It is a shame, but poetry is pretty much dead in the modern age.

I can recite The Raven drunk, exhausted, or roused from sleep as recently as 10 seconds previous.

el oh el

That's not a reason not to enjoy it. If you don't like it, sure, but don't make excuses.

Please, enlighten me with all the amazing contemporary poets, I would love to be proved wrong.

"September 1913" for me.

>premise: there are no contemporary poets
>conclusion: poetry, however old, isn't enjoyable

use to be able to recite Dylan Thomas' In My Craft Or Sullen Art

now I'm just a degenerate prole.

youtube.com/watch?v=BHoAQW_DBI4

/ourguy/

Vivamus mea lesbia, atque amemus
Rumorsque senum severiorum
unius aestimumus assis!

Peter really and truly is Veeky Forums incarnate, both the good parts and the bad.

>There was an old man from Peru
who dreamed he was eating his shoe.
When he woke in a fright
in the dark of the night
he found it was perfectly true

Michael Rosen

No

t. leaf

There once was a man from Nantucket
with a dick so long he could suck it
as he wiped off his chin
he said with a grin
>If my ear were a cunt I would fuck it

I've always wanted to ask him on twitter whether Traps are gay but I'm afraid he'd block me and I love his tweets so much smdh help me Veeky Forums

Vice is a monster, so frightful a means
as to be hated, but needs to be seen
Seen too oft, familiar with her face
First we endure, then pity, then embrace

Strings in the earth and air make music sweet

Rap is the new poetry

Mi abuelo

Tyger tyger burning bright
in the forests of the night
What immortal hand or eye
could frame thy fearful symmetry?

'Twas Brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe
All mimsy were the borogoves, and the mome raths outgrabe

"Beware the jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch
beware the jubjub bird and shun
The frumious bandersnatch"

He took his vorpal sword in hand, long time the manxome foe he sought
So rested he by the tumtum tree and stood awhile in though

And as in uffish thought he stood, the jabberwock, with eyes of flame
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood and burbled as it came!

One-two, one-two
and through and through the vorpal blade went snicker-snack
He left it dead, and with its head he went gallumphing back

"and hast though slain the jabberwock? come to my arms my beamish boy!
Oh frabjous day! callooh callay!"
He chortled in his joy

twas brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe
all mimsy were the borogoves and the mome raths outgrabe


I even pronounce everything as Carrol intended (sly-the, etc.)

Poetry is for queers.

There once was a hermit named Dave
Who kept a dead whore in his cave.
"I know it's a sin,"
He said with a grin,
"But think of the money I save!"

>Psalm 23
Nice.
>Song of Solomon
I don't really see the appeal of this book desu, but it's impressive that you memorized it.

>tfw had Isaiah 40 memorized
I had to learn it in school, but I forgot it soon after because I didn't really appreciate the Bible back then.

Set up a secondary Twitter account and ask him using that one.

Batter my heart, three-person'd God, for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town to another due,
Labor to admit you, but oh, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be lov'd fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy;
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

It was on the good ship Venus,
by Christ you should have seen us,
the figurehead was a whore in bed,
the mast a massive penis.

The Captain of this lugger,
he was a dirty bugger,
he wasn't fit to shovel shit
from one place to another

Frigging in the rigging,
frigging in the rigging,
frigging in the rigging
there was fuck all else to do.

All I can think of is this guy.

Why did Donne want to bang God so bad?

he's hot

Dr. Pavel, I'm Cia. You don't get to bring friends.
They're not my friends. Don't worry, no charge for them.
Why would I want them?
They were trying to grab your prize. They work for the masketta man. The mercenary.
etc.

...

ah, what avails the sceptr'd race
ah, what the form divine
what every virtue, every grace
rose aylmer, all were thine!
rose aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes
may weep but never see
a night of memories and of sighs
i consecrate to thee

There you go senpaitachi, fine short poem to memorize

For I will consider my Cat Jeoffry.
For he is the servant of the Living God, duly and daily serving him.
For at the first glance of the glory of God in the East he worships in his way.
For is this done by wreathing his body seven times round with elegant quickness.
For then he leaps up to catch the musk, which is the blessing of God upon his prayer.
For he rolls upon prank to work it in.
For having done duty and received blessing he begins to consider himself.
For this he performs in ten degrees.
For first he looks upon his forepaws to see if they are clean.
For secondly he kicks up behind to clear away there.
For thirdly he works it upon stretch with the forepaws extended.
For fourthly he sharpens his paws by wood.
For fifthly he washes himself.
For sixthly he rolls upon wash.
For seventhly he fleas himself, that he may not be interrupted upon the beat.
For eighthly he rubs himself against a post.
For ninthly he looks up for his instructions.
For tenthly he goes in quest of food.
For having considered God and himself he will consider his neighbor.
For if he meets another cat he will kiss her in kindness.
For when he takes his prey he plays with it to give it a chance.
For one mouse in seven escapes by his dallying.
For when his day’s work is done his business more properly begins.
For he keeps the Lord’s watch in the night against the adversary.
For he counteracts the powers of darkness by his electrical skin and glaring eyes.
For he counteracts the Devil, who is death, by brisking about the life.
For in his morning orisons he loves the sun and the sun loves him.
For he is of the tribe of Tiger.
For the Cherub Cat is a term of the Angel Tiger.
For he has the subtlety and hissing of a serpent, which in goodness he suppresses.
For he will not do destruction if he is well-fed, neither will he spit without provocation.
For he purrs in thankfulness when God tells him he’s a good Cat.
For he is an instrument for the children to learn benevolence upon.
For every house is incomplete without him, and a blessing is lacking in the spirit.
For the Lord commanded Moses concerning the cats at the departure of the Children of Israel
from Egypt.
For every family had one cat at least in the bag.
For the English Cats are the best in Europe.
For he is the cleanest in the use of his forepaws of any quadruped.
For the dexterity of his defense is an instance of the love of God to him exceedingly.
For he is the quickest to his mark of any creature.
For he is tenacious of his point.
For he is a mixture of gravity and waggery.
For he knows that God is his Saviour.
For there is nothing sweeter than his peace when at rest.
For there is nothing brisker than his life when in motion.
For he is of the Lord’s poor, and so indeed is he called by benevolence perpetually--Poor Jeoffry!
poor Jeoffry! the rat has bit thy throat.

For I bless the name of the Lord Jesus that Jeoffry is better.
For the divine spirit comes about his body to sustain it in complete cat.
For his tongue is exceeding pure so that it has in purity what it wants in music.
For he is docile and can learn certain things.
For he can sit up with gravity, which is patience upon approbation.
For he can fetch and carry, which is patience in employment.
For he can jump over a stick, which is patience upon proof positive.
For he can spraggle upon waggle at the word of command.
For he can jump from an eminence into his master’s bosom.
For he can catch the cork and toss it again.
For he is hated by the hypocrite and miser.
For the former is afraid of detection.
For the latter refuses the charge.
For he camels his back to bear the first notion of business.
For he is good to think on, if a man would express himself neatly.
For he made a great figure in Egypt for his signal services.
For he killed the Icneumon rat, very pernicious by land.
For his ears are so acute that they sting again.
For from this proceeds the passing quickness of his attention.
For by stroking of him I have found out electricity.
For I perceived God’s light about him both wax and fire.
For the electrical fire is the spiritual substance which God sends from heaven to sustain the
bodies both of man and beast.
For God has blessed him in the variety of his movements.
For, though he cannot fly, he is an excellent clamberer.
For his motions upon the face of the earth are more than any other quadruped.
For he can tread to all the measures upon the music.
For he can swim for life.
For he can creep.


I just like cats.

Never read any poetry that I thought was good. I like flowery rhetoric but poetry is seemingly always shit. Post some and prove me otherwise.

I know The Lamb, but mostly because of the Tavener version, which seems a bit like cheating.

though i've belted and i've flayed you, by the livin gawd that made you, you're a better man than i am, gunga din.

i just have smatterings of kipling from my grandfather bellowing them out here and there in my youth.
As to a full poem that has spoken to me, i read a sonnet on distance between lovers many months ago, but failed to write the sonnet's number down, probably one of the few that has ever spoken to me. not much poetry does. shakespeare's sonnets feel like language puzzles that pop open full of sweets when you marvel at them long enough. any other poets that rival shakespeare's sonnets?

the part in A Time of Gifts where he spends three full pages talking about all the poetry he had memorized and recited to himself as he walked at 18 year olds made me feel really pathetic

Herr! es ist Zeit, der Sommer war sehr groß
Leg deine Schatten auf den Sonnenuhren
Und auf den Fluren laß die Winde los.

Befiehl den letzte Früchten voll zu sein
Gib ihnen noch zwei südlichere Tage
Dränge sie zur Vollendung hin und jage
Die letzte Süße in den schweren Wein.

Wer jetzt kein Haus hat, baut sich keines mehr.
Wer jetzt allein ist, wird es lange bleiben
Wird wachen, lesen, lange Briefe schreiben
Und wird in den Alleen hin und her
Unruhig wandern, wenn die Blätter treiben.

And some chunks of the Bible, T. S. Eliot, Shakespeare etc.

Of course they can't memorise poetry when they've rotted their minds with wicked poisons

I know that one with the pleasure dome!

>tfw you've memorised all twelve books of Paradise Loft and woo laypeople with it at the summer fetes for the local church

i have several memorized. longest is probably tennyson's ulysses. not nearly enough, and i haven't memorized any new ones in several years.

But I do.
>tfw patrician

Why would ever want to memorise a poem?

mother love me long time long time
sucky sucky fucky fucky wonton
Hong Kong Hong Kong wonton Hong Kong wonton
one time one time wonton love me long time
feed on my long schlong go back to Hong Kong gong
I'll send u back to Hong Kong pair a wonton wonton

As Hermes once took to his feathers light
While baffled Argus, lulled, swooned and slept;
So on a Delphic reed, my idle sprite so played,
So charmed, so conquered, so bereft
The dragon world of all its thousand eyes;
And, seeing it asleep, so fled away;
Not to pure Ida, with it's snow-cold skies,
Nor unto Tempe where Jove grieves a-day:
But to that second circle of sad hell,
Where, mid the gust, the whirlwind and the flaw
Of rain and hailstones, lovers need not tell
Their sorrows. Pale were the sweet lips I saw,
Pale were the lips I kissed: and fair the form
I floated with, about that melancholy storm.

I know a ballad, two sonnets, one lyrical hexameter and several lines from the Odyssey (not related) and around 20 verses from the Mountain wreath

R U P I

This is the biggest since the silent era

His views on sexuality makes the point quite clear.
>There is this ideal and everything outside of it is not good
>The ideal is penis in vagina in marriage

kek you know you can just go ahead and tell everyone you're a pleb you don't have to do it the roundabout way

Oh were my love yon lilac fair
with purple blossoms to the spring
and I a bird to shelter there
when wearied on my little wing

How I would mourn, when it was torn
by autumn wild and winter rude
but I would sing on wanton wing
when youthful may it's bloom renewed

I doubt that's 100% accurate, but close enough desu
The idea of memorising poetry is a very romantic idea and I'd love to pull my finger out at some point and memorise some more

You don't happen to be or to have had a certain English teacher in a certain school in NY state?

I know The Tiger, The Sick Rose both by Blake, The Fall of Gil-galad by Tolkien, Ozymandias by Shelley and This Be The Verse by Larkin

I know the entirety of Misty Mountains Cold and the Song of Durin's Awakening, which is more or less the extent of my autism these days. I can't claim that's impressive though.

The world was young, the mountains green
No stain yet on the moon was seen
No words were laid on stream nor stone
When Durin woke and walked alone
He named the nameless hills and dells
He drank from yet untasted wells
He stooped and looked in Mirrormere
And saw a crown of stars appear
As gems upon a silver thread
Above the shadows of his head
The world was fair, the mountains tall
In Elder days before the fall
of mighty Kings in Nargothrond
and Gondolin who now beyond
The Western Seas have passed away
The world was fair in Durin's Day
A King he was on carven throne
In many-pillared halls of stone
With golden roof and silver floor
And runes of power upon the door
The light of sun and star and moon
In shining lamps of crystal hewn
Undimmed by cloud or shade of night
There shone forever fair and bright
There hammer on the anvil smote
There chisel clove and graver wrote
There forged was blade and bound was hilt
The delver mined the mason built
There beryl, pearl, and opal pale
And metal wrought like fishes' mail
Buckler and corslet, axe and sword
And shining spears were laid in hoard
Unwearied then were Durin's folk
Beneath the mountains music woke
The harpers harped, the minstrels sang
And at the gates the trumpets rang
The world is grey, the mountains old
The forge's fire is ashen cold
No harp is wrung, no hammer falls
The darkness dwells in Durin's halls
The Shadow lies upon his tomb
In Moria in Khazad-dum
But still the sunken stars appear
In dark and windless Mirrormere
There lies his crown in waters deep
'Til Durin wakes again from sleep

I actually memorized that exact one that Peter recited because it's great. And short.

are you a fellow Tolkien ensemble fan?

I miss the old Kanye, straight from the 'Go Kanye
Chop up the soul Kanye, set on his goals Kanye
I hate the new Kanye, the bad mood Kanye
The always rude Kanye, spaz in the news Kanye
I miss the sweet Kanye, chop up the beats Kanye
I gotta to say, at that time I'd like to meet Kanye
See I invented Kanye, it wasn't any Kanyes
And now I look and look around and there's so many Kanyes
I used to love Kanye, I used to love Kanye
I even had the pink Polo, I thought I was Kanye
What if Kanye made a song, about Kanye?
Called "I Miss The Old Kanye," man that'd be so Kanye
That's all it was Kanye, we still love Kanye
And I love you like Kanye loves Kanye

no but I know this (i hope)

A screaming comes across the sky. It has happened before but there is nothing to compare it to now. It is too late. The Evacuation still proceeds but it's all theatre. There are no lights inside the cars, no lights anywhere. Above him lift girders old as an iron queen and glass somewhere far above that would let the light of day through, but it's night. He is afraid of the way the glass will fall, - soon - it will be a spectacle, the fall of a crystal palace, but coming down in total blackout without one glint of light, only great invisible crashing.

There's some that's so short you don't even have to try to memorize

My love is lying in the ground
And I must weep alone

The apparition of these faces in the crowd
Petals on a wet black bow

(probably got this wrong lmao)

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.

If it doesn't rhyme, its not poetry. You're just forcing me to read your shitty prose like Im Christopher Walken.

>When that retarded poem isnt that far from reality
youtube.com/watch?v=3bYiUN1oN7w
Someone get me out of this place

>not knowing the entirety of lepanto

is that ted cruz

Shit bitch fuck cunt cocksucker motherfucker, tits, fart, turd, and twat.
I fucked your mom

ashbery is still kicking. henri cole. louise gluck.

also, everyone in every age has at some point complained that "x is dead, there are no more great people who do x" ya ya ya. even that fuck wordsworth was writing the same shit. and yet, x goes on.

/thread

Yeah I'm very fond of the Ensemble, Christopher Lee's involvement is an added bonus of course. Nice to see someone else that knows of them.

jack be nimble
jack be quick
jack jump over
my big black dick

april is the cruelest month breeding
lilacs out of the dead land mixing
memory and desire stirring
dull roots with spring rain
...

>he hasn't memorised a full-length narrative

youtube.com/watch?v=cIGml1G6-fE

fucking madman

Genuinely impressed. And kind of creeped out.