Whats Your Fav Poems/Poets?
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love2travel:
xxlovemccartneyxx:
Walt Whitman, one of the greatest poets of his time.
Oh xxlovemccartneyxx... thank you for letting me know about this poet... One of the first few I clicked on: On the Beach at Night http://www.poetry-archive.com/w/on_the_beach_at_night.html Brought me right back to a child with my father... he loved the night sky and sitting on the porch watching storms... this one made me cry
Thank you for sharing Walt Whitman
Oh, I really loved that poem. It made me feel hopeful.
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I really am just starting to read poetry... Here's a couple that I like by Pablo Neruda Your Laughter Take bread away from me, if you wish, take air away, but do not take from me your laughter. Do not take away the rose, the lance flower that you pluck, the water that suddenly bursts forth in joy, the sudden wave of silver born in you. My struggle is harsh and I come back with eyes tired at times from having seen the unchanging earth, but when your laughter enters it rises to the sky seeking me and it opens for me all the doors of life. My love, in the darkest hour your laughter opens, and if suddenly you see my blood staining the stones of the street, laugh, because your laughter will be for my hands like a fresh sword. Next to the sea in the autumn, your laughter must raise its foamy cascade, and in the spring, love, I want your laughter like the flower I was waiting for, the blue flower, the rose of my echoing country. Laugh at the night, at the day, at the moon, laugh at the twisted streets of the island, laugh at this clumsy boy who loves you, but when I open my eyes and close them, when my steps go, when my steps return, deny me bread, air, light, spring, but never your laughter for I would die. Pablo Neruda Love, we're going home now Love, we're going home now, Where the vines clamber over the trellis: Even before you, the summer will arrive, On its honeysuckle feet, in your bedroom. Our nomadic kisses wandered over all the world: Armenia, dollop of disinterred honey: Ceylon, green dove: and the YangTse with its old Old patience, dividing the day from the night. And now, dearest, we return, across the crackling sea Like two blind birds to their wall, To their nest in a distant spring: Because love cannot always fly without resting, Our lives return to the wall, to the rocks of the sea: Our kisses head back home where they belong. Pablo Neruda There is something very Spanish that I love about this one... La Reina (The Queen) I have named you queen. There are taller than you, taller. There are purer than you, purer. There are lovelier than you, lovelier. But you are the queen. When you go through the streets No one recognizes you. No one sees your crystal crown, no one looks At the carpet of red gold That you tread as you pass, The nonexistent carpet. And when you appear All the rivers sound In my body, bells Shake the sky, And a hymn fills the world. Only you and I, Only you and I, my love, Listen to me. Pablo Neruda
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William Blake Arthur Rimbaud Charles Baudeliere Jack Kerouac Walt Whitman Emily Dickinson Sylvia Plath Allen Ginsberg Charles Bukowski Lord Byron Oscar Wilde Edgar Allan Poe You could go on all day really...
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love2travel:
I really am just starting to read poetry... Here's a couple that I like by Pablo Neruda Your Laughter Take bread away from me, if you wish, take air away, but do not take from me your laughter. Do not take away the rose, the lance flower that you pluck, the water that suddenly bursts forth in joy, the sudden wave of silver born in you. My struggle is harsh and I come back with eyes tired at times from having seen the unchanging earth, but when your laughter enters it rises to the sky seeking me and it opens for me all the doors of life. My love, in the darkest hour your laughter opens, and if suddenly you see my blood staining the stones of the street, laugh, because your laughter will be for my hands like a fresh sword. Next to the sea in the autumn, your laughter must raise its foamy cascade, and in the spring, love, I want your laughter like the flower I was waiting for, the blue flower, the rose of my echoing country. Laugh at the night, at the day, at the moon, laugh at the twisted streets of the island, laugh at this clumsy boy who loves you, but when I open my eyes and close them, when my steps go, when my steps return, deny me bread, air, light, spring, but never your laughter for I would die. Pablo Neruda Love, we're going home now Love, we're going home now, Where the vines clamber over the trellis: Even before you, the summer will arrive, On its honeysuckle feet, in your bedroom. Our nomadic kisses wandered over all the world: Armenia, dollop of disinterred honey: Ceylon, green dove: and the YangTse with its old Old patience, dividing the day from the night. And now, dearest, we return, across the crackling sea Like two blind birds to their wall, To their nest in a distant spring: Because love cannot always fly without resting, Our lives return to the wall, to the rocks of the sea: Our kisses head back home where they belong. Pablo Neruda There is something very Spanish that I love about this one... La Reina (The Queen) I have named you queen. There are taller than you, taller. There are purer than you, purer. There are lovelier than you, lovelier. But you are the queen. When you go through the streets No one recognizes you. No one sees your crystal crown, no one looks At the carpet of red gold That you tread as you pass, The nonexistent carpet. And when you appear All the rivers sound In my body, bells Shake the sky, And a hymn fills the world. Only you and I, Only you and I, my love, Listen to me. Pablo Neruda
Really enjoyed those L2T.
I have never read Pablo Neruda, till now.
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Don't you know it's your time to grow aren't you inclined 2c Paul Mccartney with the finest of lines.
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Definitely a Shakespeare hound, here; I started reading the Bard when I was quite small, and it's a taste I've kept through the years. I also enjoy reading new poets, people who arrive without fanfare but whose gift with words is magical. That's why I belong to poetry.com!
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W.B. Yeats and W.H. Auden are two of my favourite poets.
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Check out poets Paul knows or knew: Ginsberg, Michael Horowitz, Adrian Mitchell, Roger McGough, Donovan P. Leitch and of course he loves Bob Dylan.
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OMG I love Michael He is a AWESOME and I mean AWESOME poet!!!!!!!!And writer in general!!!!!!!!!!
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John Donne's "The Triple Fool": He states he is a fool once for loving a woman, a fool twice because he has written a poem about her, yet the love is unrequited. And thrice because someone has then taken his verse and put it to song and shared it with others, thus making his feelings known all over, yet helping people at the same time. (my analysis) John Donne thought wise men believed themselves to be Fools. I agree.
http://www.luminarium.org/sevenlit/donne/triplefool.php
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hey_kittay - Perhaps only the fool who fears his love is fruitless knows love in its full glory (to quote yet another McCartney tune).
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What a brilliant ending - the way Donne laughs at himself. He had well-deserved fame!
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Firestar:
hey_kittay - Perhaps only the fool who fears his love is fruitless knows love in its full glory (to quote yet another McCartney tune).
I agree. To feel your love for someone is not returned is tragic. But obviously inspires great songs/poems. I like the way Donne laughs at himself too. He was a great poet.
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I had to laugh outloud at this poem by Donne: "Witchcraft By A Picture" http://www.luminarium.org/sevenlit/donne/witchcraft.php I have a self-portrait of someone in my home, I cannot through it away or do it harm. And it reminded me of this poem.
*to note Donne equated dying and death with LOVE, not in a bad way, but "love is a kind of death" to him.
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Ghost House Robert Frost
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hey_kittay - Actually 'to die' was a euphemism for orgasm during Donne's time.
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Firestar:
hey_kittay - Actually 'to die' was a euphemism for orgasm during Donne's time.
thanks for the information Firestar. Makes reading him even better.
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I'm really enjoying reading all of these poems by the poets that everyone likes. Here's one I really liked. Reminded me of a painting that I love. [size=16]Secret Garden (Shakespearean Sonnet) Fresh morning dew, still dripping from the rose, the blue birds sing their wishful, songs of hopes. My garden has still breath - it alone knows, the secrets that are bound with grassy ropes. Pure love is endless ? the bird?s sing of truth, sweet blossoms bow so humbly, to their voice. They rest in old age and then dance in youth, blameless and pure of heart - they all rejoice. They're out of sight - hidden - like precious gems, the rainbows do yield, while all time transcends. The roses stand tall on their thorny stems, as giving thanks, to their fair feathered friends. My secret garden cast your spell in mist. Mark down your truths on an unending list
ops: Thought it was by Shakespeare, but is by Fifth Dove
Waterhouse - Psyche entering Cupid's Garden
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Snowflakes Out of the bosom of the Air, Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over the harvest-fields forsaken, Silent, and soft, and slow Descends the snow. Even as our cloudy fancies take Suddenly shape in some divine expression, Even as the troubled heart doth make In the white countenance confession, The troubled sky reveals The grief it feels. This is the poem of the air, Slowly in silent syllables recorded; This is the secret of despair, Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded, Now whispered and revealed To wood and field. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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I keep finding poems I like
"I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud" I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed---and gazed---but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils. William Wordsworth