Favourite poem /lit/?

If there is a witness to my little life, To my tiny throes and struggles, He sees a fool; And it is not fine for gods to menace fools.

Stephen Crane

Songs aren't poems

>>8647321
It's a poem.

ash wednesday by t s eliot

>>8647333
No it isn't, holy shit. I don't care if you think Dylan is poetic, but songs aren't poems. They just AREN'T

And death shall have no dominion
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/and-death-shall-have-no-dominion/

Une saison en enfer
>>8647313
thats my dad's favorite

File: Otters-Holding-Hands-1.jpg (541KB, 800x580px)

541KB, 800x580px

>>8647318
I don't get it. Explain or I kill these otters

>>8647625
do not underestimate people when you are higher in the hierarchy. Even if you're god

>>8647633
Why?

>>8647642
1. because they have feelings
2. because they can defeat you
i don't know for sur

>>8647643
First one seems the most likely because of the use of the phrase "it is not fine". It sounds less like a threat and more like a plea.

Conundrum of the Worshops

>>8647665
*Workshops

Fuck

File: scarletglobemallow.png (463KB, 720x437px) Image search: [Google]

463KB, 720x437px

>>8647313
Why do you ask?

>>8647663
hmmm you are right I guess

>>8647625
why do you want an explanation of something which is written in the open text. it doesn't even use a single metaphor

>>8647625
How to you not understand it? It's straightforward.

>>8647691
he just wanted a contact with the other which remains a human thing

>>8647691
I don't know a lot about the cultural hegemonies in British poetry. People who've read a lot of British poetry will have an easier time understanding other British poetry because it uses the same tropes.

>>8647701
>it is not fine for gods to menace fools.
He pretty clearly states the premise right in the poem, british or not.

File: penguins-wearing-sweaters.jpg (59KB, 636x358px) Image search: [Google]

59KB, 636x358px

>>8647694
silly humans

File: IMG_20160501_132013088_HDR.jpg (3MB, 3264x1836px) Image search: [Google]

3MB, 3264x1836px

Five years have past; five summers, with the length
Of five long winters! and again I hear
These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs
With a soft inland murmur.—Once again
Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,
That on a wild secluded scene impress
Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect
The landscape with the quiet of the sky.
The day is come when I again repose
Here, under this dark sycamore, and view
These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts,
Which at this season, with their unripe fruits,
Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves
'Mid groves and copses. Once again I see
These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines
Of sportive wood run wild: these pastoral farms,
Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke
Sent up, in silence, from among the trees!
With some uncertain notice, as might seem
Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods,
Or of some Hermit's cave, where by his fire
The Hermit sits alone.

- "Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey", William Wordsworth

Oh man, it still gives me chills. I went to Tintern Abbey some months ago. It was a great experience.

>>8647707
and who are you? Loki of Asgard?
>>8647701
>british
almost got me

>>8647693
>>8647706
Yes but why is it not fine for gods to menace fools? I don't know a lot about the Brits and their relationship with their gods.

>>8647712
it's rather a universal thing

>>8647313
When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd.

>>8647716
If that's what people think then is that why laughing at the misfortune of fools has been one of the greatest forms of entertainment since the dawn of time?

>>8647716
Not the same guy but I could see why it would seem strange. I think the fact it's a fool the gods are menacing makes it less obvious to someone who isn't an anglophone. Maybe if fool became madman it would make more sensible but it would lose of its necessary meaning.

>>8647726
So which type of fool is he talking about do u think?

>>8647735
a fool in almighty god's eyes, so pretty much anyone. The american and british culture knows christian god and his injustice.

>>8647735
It doesn't matter which sort of fool the author is talking about, the fool is a recursive symbol, though its associations can seem paradoxical.

Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!

When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

How other poems can even compete?

A charm invests a face
Imperfectly beheld,—
The lady dare not lift her veil
For fear it be dispelled.

But peers beyond her mesh,
And wishes, and denies,—
Lest interview annul a want
That image satisfies.

>>8647774
This one made me smile.

File: ginsberg.jpg (26KB, 450x277px) Image search: [Google]

26KB, 450x277px

Probably Sunflower Sutra by Ginsberg. But since it's too long to post, I'll post another favourite - In Back of the Real by Ginsberg.

railroad yard in San Jose
I wandered desolate
in front of a tank factory
and sat on a bench
near the switchman's shack.

A flower lay on the hay on
the asphalt highway
--the dread hay flower
I thought--It had a
brittle black stem and
corolla of yellowish dirty
spikes like Jesus' inchlong
crown, and a soiled
dry center cotton tuft
like a used shaving brush
that's been lying under
the garage for a year.

Yellow, yellow flower, and
flower of industry,
tough spiky ugly flower,
flower nonetheless,
with the form of the great yellow
Rose in your brain!
This is the flower of the World.

>>8647774
i don't get it

on raglan road by kavanagh is an old favorite

also Act of Union by Heaney.

>>8647343
>being this ignorant of Whitman's work
>it's an ode
>what is The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock?

>>8647768
>not Auguries of Innocence

Definitely High Windows by Larkin:

When I see a couple of kids
And guess he’s fucking her and she’s
Taking pills or wearing a diaphragm,
I know this is paradise

Everyone old has dreamed of all their lives—
Bonds and gestures pushed to one side
Like an outdated combine harvester,
And everyone young going down the long slide

To happiness, endlessly. I wonder if
Anyone looked at me, forty years back,
And thought, That’ll be the life;
No God any more, or sweating in the dark

About hell and that, or having to hide
What you think of the priest. He
And his lot will all go down the long slide
Like free bloody birds. And immediately

Rather than words comes the thought of high windows:
The sun-comprehending glass,
And beyond it, the deep blue air, that shows
Nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless.

folly -
folly for to -
for to -
what is the word -
folly from this -
all this -
folly from all this -
given -
folly given all this -
seeing -
folly seeing all this -
this -
what is the word -
this this -
this this here -
all this this here -
folly given all this -
seeing -
folly seeing all this this here -
for to -
what is the word -
see -
glimpse -
seem to glimpse -
need to seem to glimpse -
folly for to need to seem to glimpse -
what -
what is the word -
and where -
folly for to need to seem to glimpse what where -
where -
what is the word -
there -
over there -
away over there -
afar -
afar away over there -
afaint -
afaint afar away over there what -
what -
what is the word -
seeing all this -
all this this -
all this this here -
folly for to see what -
glimpse -
seem to glimpse -
need to seem to glimpse -
afaint afar away over there what -
folly for to need to seem to glimpse afaint afar away over there what -
what -
what is the word -


what is the word

>>8648664
>>8647768
Only two remotely correct answers in this thread. Is it bad that I prefer Songs of Experience though?

>>8648692
Wait, how do you know which poems are really people's favourites and who was being insincere?

>>8648656
>tripfagging
>falling for bait

>>8647343
but they are though

>>8647701
>>8647706
>>8647712
guys. Stephen Crane is a fucking AMERICAN

>>8648681
Beckett's later poems are pretty great. The mirlitonnades are worth spending some time on.

>>8648664
Patrician choice

>>8647708
wow, it's beautiful

File: Wallace Stevens.jpg (9KB, 189x267px) Image search: [Google]

9KB, 189x267px

Wow, the plebs are out in full force today.

WALLACE STEVENS:
Final Soliloquy of The Interior Paramour

Light the first light of evening, as in a room
In which we rest and, for small reason, think
The world imagined is the ultimate good.

This is, therefore, the intensest rendezvous.
It is in that thought that we collect ourselves,
Out of all the indifferences, into one thing:

Within a single thing, a single shawl
Wrapped tightly round us, since we are poor, a warmth,
A light, a power, the miraculous influence.

Here, now, we forget each other and ourselves.
We feel the obscurity of an order, a whole,
A knowledge, that which arranged the rendezvous.

Within its vital boundary, in the mind.
We say God and the imagination are one...
How high that highest candle lights the dark.

Out of this same light, out of the central mind,
We make a dwelling in the evening air,
In which being there together is enough.

File: african poems.png (227KB, 668x726px) Image search: [Google]

227KB, 668x726px

>>8647313

The Two Voices, by Tennyson

tabacaria by pessoa

I love her so much
She is the only one who can stand me
Being with her gets me as high as a tree
She teaches me how to really touch

I think this might sound like a bit much
But only when I am with her, do I feel free
She always says she has the key
But after all these times I tried molly, I still have not been set free

File: DYLAN.jpg (73KB, 620x372px) Image search: [Google]

73KB, 620x372px

>>8647321

Favourite poem is "on raglan" By Patrick Kavanagh

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue;
I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way,
And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.

On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge
Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion's pledge,
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay -
O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.

I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that's known
To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone
And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say.
With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now
Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow
That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay -
When the angel woos the clay he'd lose his wings at the dawn of day.

>>8651705
"On Raglan Road"

sorry typo

>>8649698
Wallace Stevens wrote the most beautiful poetry of all time

>>8647313
Hi, I'm a slut.

>>8647708
Posting the first stanza when it's a poem that starts slowly, lol. Tintern Abbey is one of my favourites, such a great philosophy for life.

As for me, tough to choose but of short poems probably Lycidas.

>>8647313
Dope choice
Mine is "to the garden":
To the garden, the world, anew ascending,
Potent mates, daughters, sons, preluding,
The love, the life of their bodies, meaning and being,
Curious, here behold my resurrection, after slumber;
The revolving cycles, in their wide sweep, have brought me again,
Amorous, mature—all beautiful to me—all wondrous;
My limbs, and the quivering fire that ever plays through them, for reasons, most wondrous;
Existing, I peer and penetrate still,
Content with the present—content with the past,
By my side, or back of me, Eve following,
Or in front, and I following her just the same.

Ode, Arthur O'Shaughnessy

We are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers
And sitting by desolate streams;
World losers and world forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.

With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world’s great cities.
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire’s glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song’s measure
Can trample an empire down.

We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;
And o’erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world’s worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.

>>8647313
I really like "Do not go gentle into that good night."

File: obama-cries.png (219KB, 596x275px) Image search: [Google]

219KB, 596x275px

>>8652628

Get on my fucking level you non-metaphysical shits

As virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say
The breath goes now, and some say, No:

So let us melt, and make no noise,
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move;
'Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love.

Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears,
Men reckon what it did, and meant;
But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent.

Dull sublunary lovers' love
(Whose soul is sense) cannot admit
Absence, because it doth remove
Those things which elemented it.

But we by a love so much refined,
That our selves know not what it is,
Inter-assured of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss.

Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to airy thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two;
Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if the other do.

And though it in the center sit,
Yet when the other far doth roam,
It leans and hearkens after it,
And grows erect, as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
Like th' other foot, obliquely run;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun.

I agree OP, favorite section? For me, I think it's gonna be section 52, it wraps up everything so nicely.

Petra la borracha su marido la dejo
Hay Nomas con 7 hijos el condenao la abandono
Pero petra se mantiene puro pidiendo prestau
Dicen que en su casa como puro chile machucau


Y machuca machuca el chile
Y machuca machuca el chile
Y machuca machuca el chile
Chile verde pero asado

Petra la borracha dicen que tiene colitis
Porque come mucho chile ya le callo la gastritis
Pero petra no se raja come chile en las mañanas
Come chile a medio dia come chile todo el dia

Ode to the Confederate Dead desu