Post your favourite WW1 poems lads.
Mine is Greater Love by Wilfred Owen. Try to look up Richard Burton's reading of it, it's brilliant.
Red lips are not so red
As the stained stones kissed by the English dead.
Kindness of wooed and wooer
Seems shame to their love pure.
O Love, your eyes lose lure
When I behold eyes blinded in my stead!
Your slender attitude
Trembles not exquisite like limbs knife-skewed,
Rolling and rolling there
Where God seems not to care:
Till the fierce love they bear
Cramps them in death’s extreme decrepitude.
Your voice sings not so soft,—
Though even as wind murmuring through raftered loft,—
Your dear voice is not dear,
Gentle, and evening clear,
As theirs whom none now hear,
Now earth has stopped their piteous mouths that coughed.
Heart, you were never hot
Nor large, nor full like hearts made great with shot;
And though your hand be pale,
Paler are all which trail
Your cross through flame and hail:
Weep, you may weep, for you may touch them not.
Fantastic doc you should watch, OP.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b04pw01r/war-of-words-soldierpoets-of-the-somme?suggid=b04pw01r
Attack by Siegfried Sassoon
At dawn the ridge emerges massed and dun
In the wild purple of the glow'ring sun,
Smouldering through spouts of drifting smoke that shroud
The menacing scarred slope; and, one by one,
Tanks creep and topple forward to the wire.
The barrage roars and lifts. Then, clumsily bowed
With bombs and guns and shovels and battle-gear,
Men jostle and climb to, meet the bristling fire.
Lines of grey, muttering faces, masked with fear,
They leave their trenches, going over the top,
While time ticks blank and busy on their wrists,
And hope, with furtive eyes and grappling fists,
Flounders in mud. O Jesus, make it stop!
On the idle hill of summer, by A.E. Housman.
ON the idle hill of summer,
Sleepy with the flow of streams,
Far I hear the steady drummer
Drumming like a noise in dreams.
Far and near and low and louder
On the roads of earth go by,
Dear to friends and food for powder,
Soldiers marching, all to die.
East and west on fields forgotten
Bleach the bones of comrades slain,
Lovely lads and dead and rotten;
None that go return again.
Far the calling bugles hollo,
High the screaming fife replies,
Gay the files of scarlet follow:
Woman bore me, I will rise.
Can someone give me a chart/list of books to read to become well-read?
Sure thing my brother. In return I ask of you to repent of your sins and accept the lords grace into your soul throughout your daily life.
Hi, I usually brows reddit but thought I should give >lit a try. What would you recommend me to read? Here are my top 5 books
>Crime and punishment
>Ulysses
>Infinite Jest
>Gravity's Rainbow
>American Gods
>says he's from /r/books
>infinite jest
>ulusses
>gravity's rainbow
Books for quitting smoking besides fucking Carr?
Quitting things is for pussies.
Hello
Senility by Italo SvevoHe doesn't quit.
What's the best way to learn history?
Any recommendations on specific books?
I know nothing.
>>8306123
>What's the best way to learn history?
read the interesting bits, which are probably lies
>Any recommendations on specific books?
starting with the greeks, and following on from the former premise, herodotus
>>8306123
1) choose ideology
2) use their version
3) never look back
Just remember whites invented civilization and you'll be fine.
So I spent 3 years writing a book, and made the foolish mistake of buying into the Amazon self-publishing hype. The epub market is absolutely saturated and to date(after a year) I've made less than 30 sales. Is it too late to try the traditional route? Now that my book has more or less been "published" is it poison to traditional publishers and agents?
tl;dr
>>8306112
Does self-publishing a work forever prevent you from getting the work legitimately published?
>>8306115
tl;dr
Is there a theory similar to marx's historical materialism but without the focus on economics?
There was something foucault said in the chomsky debate/discussion about how societies have a hegemonic framework which through the fruits of this framework gives rise to a new framework which replaces it. Something along those lines but obviously more fleshed out, specifically an argument supporting this theory, rather than just an expansion on the theory (although that would be nice to)
Something that didn't involve to much strenuous reading would be nice too, I don't want to end up like nietzsche.
althusser.
>>8306105
>without the focus on economics
any political theory is an economic one and vice versa, that's marx 101
>about how societies have a hegemonic framework which through the fruits of this framework gives rise to a new framework which replaces it
any productive discussion ends there
the task then becomes for you to distance yourself as far as you can from the parent society till you find your sweet spot and I'm fairly certain the rest of Foucault's work after the histories of Madness and Sexuality was to fund wild underground BDSM parties
>>8306105
just read marx you retard.
this hegemonic framework nonsense is just foucalt ripping of marx's dialectic. feudalism is overthrown by the bourgeoisie which creates the proletariat which overthrows the bourgeoisie
I'm looking for books about being an utter failure because you don't give a fuck about doing anything, nothing really matters to you.
damn... deep AF
>>8306096
Most Houellebecq protagonists are like that. They hold down middle or upper class jobs but are otherwise mostly dead.
Céline might also be your lad.
>>8306104
>damn... deep AF
It's really not deep at all, I'm just looking for something that I can relate to. Ever since I went to school, I've been the most cynical and sarcastic person, I almost feel like I live simply for the ironic pleasure of mocking things when I'm in school, or doing anything serious. No, I live for pleasure, I live for the next best musical album I listen to, and whatever interesting book I can get my hands on, or whatever form of entertainment I can find. There's never been any sort of pleasure in "noble" pursuits for me, it's all fucking fake, life is pointless. I do like being comfy though, I like just enjoying myself, but I always feel like I'm just a derelict loser, floating around in ugly nothingville and waiting for my time to come. All the other shit that people are enjoying in their lives is parallel to me, but I'm not a part of it. It really is just a very lonely world, and anything that may seem like a "noble" cause is just fucking fake. All the people you ever meet are fake, most of them just pretend to tolerate being around you, and there's really no "way to be" when you're around others. They'll sense your awkwardness, your uneasiness is sensed by them, people are sort of telepathic in that sense, they pick up ques from you and they interpret their meaning without even trying. So in a way, it's simply inescapable, to never get on the good side of someone, or to have someone really become a good friend with you, because once you know the irony of everything, it creates sort of a paradoxical barrier between you and reality. You'll never "break into" reality.
What do you know of convergence culture ?
Walks on the Beach ?
Cultural Intangibles Heritage ?
The Lush Life of Digital Natives ?
one of the characters is actually named meme.
>>8306048
what are you doing with your life, OP?
Take a long hard look in the mirror and figure it out, because this isn't what you want to be doing, I know it.
All the best and good luck in your new life. Remember to add me in your speech when you get the nobel priz for literature haha! :P
Bon Chance
Q
>>8306048
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9nw1CI2TCqU
>My great blue bedroom, the air so quiet, scarce a cloud. In peace and silence. I could have stayed up there for always only. It's something fails us. First we feel. Then we fall. And let her rain now if she likes. Gently or strongly as she likes. Anyway let her rain for my time is come. I done me best when I was let. Thinking always if I go all goes. A hundred cares, a tithe of troubles and is there one who understands me? One in a thousand of years of the nights? All me life I have been lived among them but now they are becoming lothed to me. And I am lothing their little warm tricks. And lothing their mean cosy turns. And all the greedy gushes out through their small souls. And all the lazy leaks down over their brash bodies. How small it's all! And me letting on to meself always. And lilting on all the time. I thought you were all glittering with the noblest of carriage. You're only a bumpkin. I thought you the great in all things, in guilt and in glory. You're but a puny. Home! My people were not their sort out beyond there so far as I can. For all the bold and bad and bleary they are blamed, the seahags. No! Nor for all our wild dances in all their wild din. I can seen meself among them, allaniuvia pulchrabelled. How she was handsome, the wild Amazia, when she would seize to my other breast! And what is she weird, haughty Niluna, that she will snatch from my ownest hair! For 'tis they are the stormies. Ho hang! Hang ho! And the clash of our cries till we spring to be free. Auravoles, they says, never heed of your name! But I'm loothing them that's here and all I lothe. Loonely in me loneness. For all their faults. I am passing out. O bitter ending! I'll slip away before they're up. They'll never see. Nor know. Nor miss me. And it's old and old it's sad and old it's sad and weary I go back to you, my cold father, my cold mad father, my cold mad feary father, till the near sight of the mere size of him, the moyles and moyles of it, moananoaning, makes me seasilt saltsick and I rush, my only, into your arms. I see them rising! Save me from those therrble prongs! Two more. Onetwo moremens more. So. Avelaval. My leaves have drifted from me. All. But one clings still. I'll bear it on me. To remind me of. Lff! So soft this morning, ours. Yes. Carry me along, taddy, like you done through the toy fair! If I seen him bearing down on me now under whitespread wings like he'd come from Arkangels, I sink I'd die down over his feet, humbly dumbly, only to washup. Yes, tid. There's where. First. We pass through grass behush the bush to. Whish! A gull. Gulls. Far calls. Coming, far! End here. Us then. Finn, again! Take. Bussoftlhee, mememormee! Till thousendsthee. Lps. The keys to. Given! A way a lone a last a loved a long the
>>8306039
>riverrun, past Eve and Adam's, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs.
Almost makes me want to read it
well isn't that something
Why don't we talk about death?
I feel like this subject is taboo in our contemporary society. I don't think it was like that in ancient times, as death was an object of speculation by philosophers. In medieval times, the death of the body is a necessity - we must pass through it so we can achieve the most supreme sense of being of our species. In our times, however, death seems to be something that should be buried, an imperfection of life that we do not talk about although we know it's coming. But in a sense, it's quite clear that death is around us in a meaningful way. The death of others, specially the ones we love, affect us deeply. Almost everyone who lives to adulthood will experience the feeling of grief, and it is a powerful one. We usually spend some time feeling the burden of this feeling, but after the initial period people don't talk about the loss, we just deal with it, each in our own way.
Shouldn't death be a topic discussed in the public sphere more often? It seems inevitable, but the point to talk about it is to remind of us of finitude. Not only our own, but the finitude of all life, and how it affects us all. What do you guys think?
"Will it be just like they're dreaming?
Will it be just like I'm dreaming?
[...]
Are you also frightened?
Are you also frightened?"
>>8305911
We're all deluded, vainly searching ways
To make us happy by the length of days;
For cunningly to make's protract this breath,
The Gods conceal the happiness of death.
>>8305911
bump
Wouldnt that be suicide? Cause saying it is death would be just like saying water wets but put in some chemical formula.
I'm looking for a good book, preferably from classical literaturę with a sexy, interesting female character. Best if she were the protagonist or were a major character.
Lolita
ecclesiazusae
Ada, or Ardor
>What does poststructuralism mean?
>It means after structuralism
hurhur post the corn thing again
>plot dosent matter
>translation: i cant write a plot to save my life, nor do i understand how its supposed to function in fiction
>>8305849
nice sly rebump of your own shit thread you fucking asshole fuck you and die
so i took nietzsche's advice and became an ubermensch, what should i do now, is there anything left to do? I'm only 23 so i probably won't die for a while
Time to ascend to the next stage of consciousness.
>>8305657
Decent quality b8. 6/10
>>8305669
KEK