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#11 (permalink) | |
Music Addict
Join Date: Oct 2012
Posts: 286
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Poetry doesn't have to rhyme. It comes in many different forms-- just like music. So here's a rhyming poem. A favorite of mine from Plath. This poem is a villanelle. These particular poems have a refrain and there is a definite rhyme scheme-- all the second lines rhyme(or in this case, a slant rhyme). Besides the repeating pattern, the content is a favorite subject. Mad Girl Sylvia Plath "I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my lids and all is born again. (I think I made you up inside my head.) The stars go waltzing out in blue and red, And arbitrary blackness gallops in: I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane. (I think I made you up inside my head.) God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade: Exit seraphim and Satan's men: I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. I fancied you'd return the way you said, But I grow old and I forget your name. (I think I made you up inside my head.) I should have loved a thunderbird instead; At least when spring comes they roar back again. I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. (I think I made you up inside my head.)"
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Split the Lark-- and you'll find the Music - Emily Dickinson Last edited by katsy; 03-27-2013 at 08:01 AM. Reason: missing words |
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#12 (permalink) | |
Facilitator
Join Date: Jun 2009
Location: Where people kill 30 million pigs per year
Posts: 2,014
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katsy, I also love poetry and so I'm glad you made this thread!
Recently, thanks to someone who joined MusicBanter and was here briefly, I learned about the poet Philip Larkin. I'm very happy I did, because Larkin wrote a poem that is now one of my favorites: * * * * * The Mower by Philip Larkin (1922 - 1985) The mower stalled, twice; kneeling, I found A hedgehog jammed up against the blades, Killed. It had been in the long grass. I had seen it before, and even fed it, once. Now I had mauled its unobtrusive world Unmendably. Burial was no help: Next morning I got up and it did not. The first day after a death, the new absence Is always the same; we should be careful Of each other, we should be kind While there is still time.
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#13 (permalink) |
Music Addict
Join Date: Oct 2012
Posts: 286
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I like Larkin, though I have never read that one before. I enjoyed it very much, thanks for posting! It's nice to have another poetry fan around.
Read this one yesterday on Verse Daily, and WOW. It is truly beautiful. The Comet Emma Törzs I re-named the comet but nothing stuck. What do I know of bone- deep lonely, of the beautiful freeze, of running a circuit through the stars until all landmarks are my own staring eyes: of families in general, what do I know? Say I'm young. Say I am the aftertaste of all my parents' grief, a childhood spent in the downwind of chicken blood, recurring dreams of being left behind—my mother kneeling by the VCR to watch a video of her lost daughter— and this is Hell: believing you can be a lens and meet your loved ones' eyes beyond the screen, smacking your pain against glass like a doomed swallow The half-life of loss is forever.There is hope we don't get over. When my son began to die, I did not record his voice, but let him simmer, speechless, in my memory, while I tried to gain the faith to think we'd meet again. I held his fist against my lips, I closed my teeth around the juncture of his throat and chest, I said you'll be the fire of the sun, and I will circle you until you draw me close, until our nearness breaks me into pieces and you burn me whole. I would have ripped his heart out and consumed it if I'd thought that it would choke me: I would have been the eternal mouth. Say I'm young. Say the speeding rock of my body is as bright as any resurrection, and I have time to shake before I hit the earth.
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Split the Lark-- and you'll find the Music - Emily Dickinson |
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#14 (permalink) |
DO LIKE YOU.
Join Date: Feb 2010
Posts: 629
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everything this guy does rips my heart out and gives me hope simultaneously. it's definitely spoken word, and i'm not privy to the vernacular of poetry classifiers, so i don't know if it belongs here, but's a bunch of words coming out of a guy's mouth and it's so god damn beautiful...
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#15 (permalink) |
Music Addict
Join Date: Oct 2012
Posts: 286
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PAN, thanks for posting. I would say it belongs here, spoken word is a performance art and the speaker here is for sure using poetry. He has some really great/witty/clever lines. Interestingly enough, after I did some research, today's spoken word originated from the poetry of the Harlem Renaissance.
So, I've decided to share a poem from one of the greats from that time. Langston Hughes is not a favorite of mine, but the following is pretty heavily anthologized. He does have a book of short stories, "The Ways of White Folks", which I happen to like very much. Langston Hughes "The Negro Speaks of Rivers" I've known rivers: I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins. My soul has grown deep like the rivers. I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young. I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep. I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it. I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy bosom turn all golden in the sunset. I've known rivers: Ancient, dusky rivers. My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
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Split the Lark-- and you'll find the Music - Emily Dickinson |
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#16 (permalink) |
Music Addict
Join Date: Mar 2013
Location: Italy
Posts: 128
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Currently I'm living in Italy,and here I started to love Hermeticism,which is a suggestive form of poetry. I'll post a couple of my favorite ones.
VIGIL (BY GIUSEPPE UNGARETTI) A whole night thrown near the body of a slain comrade his mouth snarling at the full moon his clawed fingers ripping into my silence I wrote letters full of love Never did I so cling to life. XENIA (BY EUGENIO MONTALE) Your arm in mine, I've descended a million stairs at least. And now that you're not here, a void yawns at every step. Even so our long journey was brief. I'm still en route, with no further need of reservations, connections, ruses, the constant contempt of those who think reality is what one sees. I’ve descended millions of stairs giving you my arm, not of course because four eyes see better. I went downstairs with you because I knew the only real eyes, however darkened, belonged to you.
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Thought he lost everything then he lost a whole lot more.... |
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#17 (permalink) |
Killed Laura Palmer
Join Date: Sep 2010
Location: Ashland, KY
Posts: 1,679
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I love poets reading their poetry. I don't know why, but my favorite has been Sylvia Plath reading "Daddy."
I love her speaking voice. Also, there are several lines in this poem which give me absolute chills. I know, it's very, very well-know, but I think that's for good reason. It's really fantastic. So daddy, I'm finally through. The black telephone's off at the root, The voices just can't worm through. If I've killed one man, I've killed two-- The vampire who said he was you And drank my blood for a year, Seven years, if you want to know. Daddy, you can lie back now. There's a stake in your fat black heart And the villagers never liked you. They are dancing and stamping on you. They always knew it was you. Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through. Also, TS Eliot reading "The Hollow Men" gives me chills. I actually read this for a public speaking class. And Bukowski reading his poems, wonderful. I chose "Style," because Bukowski says the word 'style' better than any person who has ever lived. Also I love this poem. And, just for kicks, my favorite thing Christopher Walken has ever done:
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It's a hand-me-down, the thoughts are broken
Perhaps they're better left unsung |
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#18 (permalink) |
Groupie
Join Date: Oct 2012
Posts: 15
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Spoken word is more about performance than poetry. The problem (depending on your perspective)/ strength (depending on your perspective) is that there are cliches stacked on cliches. Therefore, we "identify" with the poem/speaker because we've heard the sentiment before.
Having said that, there are lots of witty turns-of-phrase in spoken word, which is its saving grace. |
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#19 (permalink) |
Music Addict
Join Date: Oct 2012
Posts: 286
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Plath is one of my favorites and this is one of my favorites by her husband, Ted Hughes-- who is kind of a big deal all on his own.
"Lovesong" He loved her and she loved him. His kisses sucked out her whole past and future or tried to He had no other appetite She bit him she gnawed him she sucked She wanted him complete inside her Safe and sure forever and ever Their little cries fluttered into the curtains Her eyes wanted nothing to get away Her looks nailed down his hands his wrists his elbows He gripped her hard so that life Should not drag her from that moment He wanted all future to cease He wanted to topple with his arms round her Off that moment's brink and into nothing Or everlasting or whatever there was Her embrace was an immense press To print him into her bones His smiles were the garrets of a fairy palace Where the real world would never come Her smiles were spider bites So he would lie still till she felt hungry His words were occupying armies Her laughs were an assassin's attempts His looks were bullets daggers of revenge His glances were ghosts in the corner with horrible secrets His whispers were whips and jackboots Her kisses were lawyers steadily writing His caresses were the last hooks of a castaway Her love-tricks were the grinding of locks And their deep cries crawled over the floors Like an animal dragging a great trap His promises were the surgeon's gag Her promises took the top off his skull She would get a brooch made of it His vows pulled out all her sinews He showed her how to make a love-knot Her vows put his eyes in formalin At the back of her secret drawer Their screams stuck in the wall Their heads fell apart into sleep like the two halves Of a lopped melon, but love is hard to stop In their entwined sleep they exchanged arms and legs In their dreams their brains took each other hostage In the morning they wore each other's face Ted Hughes
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Split the Lark-- and you'll find the Music - Emily Dickinson |
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#20 (permalink) |
Music Addict
Join Date: Oct 2012
Posts: 286
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More Neruda
Don't Go Far Off Don't go far off, not even for a day, because -- because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep. Don't leave me, even for an hour, because then the little drops of anguish will all run together, the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift into me, choking my lost heart. Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach; may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance. Don't leave me for a second, my dearest, because in that moment you'll have gone so far I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking, Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying? Pablo Neruda
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Split the Lark-- and you'll find the Music - Emily Dickinson |
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