Poetry

[Kenny Shovel]

Hello, kenny,

Hello

May I ask why you are not fond of Pablo Neruda? I, emm, am curious about it.

Well as I said in my earlier post, I'm a fairly direct person who likes to communicate in a fairly direct way. The volume of Neruda's work I have, 'Residence on Earth', has some blurb on the back describing his poems as 'written to speak to everyday life directly to the reader', but for me it does anything but. I became more and more frustrated with waiting for him to get to the point whilst he was waffling on about 'sexual oysters' and ‘choral ghosts with tiger feet’. He only managed to mix message with prose in some of his later work in the collection, like ‘Song for Bolivar’ or ‘Song to the rivers of Germany’.

I’d also agree with Gems assessment that he can at times read like a 'teenage boy in the midst of his first crush'. I was often reminded of the old adage ‘men who put women on pedestals rarely get to knock them off’. Perhaps I’m just to much of a cynic, but somehow Bryon manages this kind of thing far better than Neradu; for me at least.

Thanks for giving links to every poet you listed.

That's ok.

 

[direstraits]

I listed my favourites somewhere, but of those, I really liked Tyger Tyger, by William Blake. It's so descriptive.

ds

 

[Gem]

Libre, thank you for posting Ozymandias, its been a long time since i've read it. Its supposed to be about a statue of King Tutunkhamun right? I think there was another similar poem though i don't think it had the power of this one. I'll see if i can find it.

Direstraits, Blakes poetry is so very descriptive, my favourites would have to be the marriage of Heaven and Hell and Memory, Hither Come;

Memory, hither come,
And tune your merry notes;
And, while upon the wind
Your music floats,

I'll pore upon the stream
Where sighing lovers dream,
And fish for fancies as they pass
Within the watery glass.

I'll drink of the clear stream,
And hear the linnet's song;
And there I'll lie and dream
The day along:

And, when night comes, I'll go
To places fit for woe,
Walking along the darken'd valley
With silent Melancholy.


Crystal, what are some of your favourite poems/poets?

Kenny, thank you very much for recommending Yevtushenko, Babii Yar is amazing.

 

[Gem]

Oh, and i forgot to add, heres a link which contains several poems/poets
http://www.angelfire.com/poetry/yourpage/2abc.html

 

[Kenny Shovel]

Kenny, thank you very much for recommending Yevtushenko, Babii Yar is amazing.

Yup, it's a powerful peice...

 

[Crystal]

Hello
Well as I said in my earlier post, I'm a fairly direct person who likes to communicate in a fairly direct way. The volume of Neruda's work I have, 'Residence on Earth', has some blurb on the back describing his poems as 'written to speak to everyday life directly to the reader', but for me it does anything but. I became more and more frustrated with waiting for him to get to the point whilst he was waffling on about 'sexual oysters' and ‘choral ghosts with tiger feet’. He only managed to mix message with prose in some of his later work in the collection, like ‘Song for Bolivar’ or ‘Song to the rivers of Germany’.

I’d also agree with Gems assessment that he can at times read like a 'teenage boy in the midst of his first crush'. I was often reminded of the old adage ‘men who put women on pedestals rarely get to knock them off’. Perhaps I’m just to much of a cynic, but somehow Bryon manages this kind of thing far better than Neradu; for me at least.

I recalled that. Seemed that I'd read something similar to what you've said above.

That's ok.

Ah..dol... hehe.

 

[Gem]

Libre,

This is the 'other' Ozymandias poem, by Horace Smith:

In Egypt's sandy silence, all alone,
Stands a gigantic Leg, which far off throws
The only shadow that the Desart knows: –
"I am great OZYMANDIAS," saith the stone,
"The King of Kings; this mighty City shows
"The wonders of my hand." – The City's gone, –
Nought but the Leg remaining to disclose
The site of this forgotten Babylon.

We wonder, – and some Hunter may express
Wonder like ours, when thro' the wilderness
Where London stood, holding the Wolf in chace,
He meets some fragments huge, and stops to guess
What powerful but unrecorded race
Once dwelt in that annihilated place.


I don't think it has the power of Shelleys one.

 

[Libre]

I don't think it has the power of Shelleys one.

I agree, although I like the Smith poem too. But Shelley says more with less.
I read that Smith and Shelley were friends and wrote their respective Ozymandias poems as entries in a contest.
Shelley won (big surprise).

Here is another of my super-favoritos, by Emily Dickinson:

I died for beauty, but was scarce
Adjusted in the tomb,
When one who died for truth was lain
In an adjoining room.

He questioned softly why I failed?
"For beauty," I replied.
"And I for truth, -the two are one;
We brethren are," he said.

And so, as kinsmen met a night,
We talked between the rooms,
Until the moss had reached our lips,
And covered up our names.

 

[Gem]

I read that Smith and Shelley were friends and wrote their respective Ozymandias poems as entries in a contest.

I didn't know that, like you said, no surprise then that Shelley won.

What is the title of that Emily Dickinson poem? the only one i have ever read of hers was given to me by someone special -

I Held a Jewel

I held a jewel in my fingers
And went to sleep
The day was warm, and winds were prosy
I said, "Twill keep"

I woke and chide my honest fingers,
The Gem was gone
And now, an Amethyst remembrance
Is all I own.

 

[Libre]

Gem-
The title is:
I Died For Beauty—But Was Scarce

At least, that is what a Google search reveals. Doesn't seem as much like a title as just the first line of the poem.

I love the Jewel poem - thank you.