Poetry and Poetastry

[interest1]

^that made me chuckle, thanks. which brings me back to mentioning, this thread doesn't have to be so serious...

Word.

[MJRH]

Edward FitzGerald's Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (not the limerick part)

POEM SEGUE!

there once was a vampire named mabel
whose period was notoriously stable
at every full moon
she'd sit with a spoon
and drink herself under the table



You know, my Friends, how long since in my House
For a new Marriage I did make Carouse:
Divorced old barren Reason from my Bed,
And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse.

For "Is" and "Is-Not" though with Rule and Line
And "Up-And-Down" without, I could define,
I yet in all I only cared to know,
Was never deep in anything but—Wine.



^ click on the wise man

[interest1]

. .^

*Once one clicks, one cannot unclick.

[crouka]

Lebenslauf - Hölderlin

Hoch auf strebte mein Geist, aber die Liebe zog
Schön ihn nieder; das Laid beugt ihn gewaltiger;
So durchlauf ich des Lebens
Bogen und kehre, woher ich kam.


high up strove my spirit, but love
pulled beautifully it down; grief bowed it more powerfully.
so I follow the rainbow of life
and am attracted to the ground from which I was repelled.







one more
part of Die Aussicht, his last piece

Wenn in die Ferne geht der Menschen wohnend Leben,
Wo in die Ferne sich erglänzt die Zeit der Reben,
Ist auch dabei des Sommers leer Gefilde,
Der Wald erscheint mit seinem dunklen Bilde.

[Ochre]

Possibly my favorite poem.

[BECOMING-INTENSE]

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep
While I weep - while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

- Edgar Allan Poe A Dream Within A Dream(1849)

[Fade to Black]

a poem i just wrote -

Paradise

The silver spoon
Lies
At the foot of the door
Untouched
By the shards of broken glass
Surrounding it.
Just another day
On the Southside
Of paradise.

[Fade to Black]

a poem i just wrote -

Beckett

In the vast room
He sat alone
In front of the painting
In silence
And after a while
He let out a sigh.

[Fade to Black]

another poem i wrote just now -

Ink Square

The musician looks
Out his window
Into the winter light, and thinks
To himself
That his present position
Was familiar,
Like a certain kind of stranger.

The place was new
And barely furnished,
Yet his first impulse
Had been to hang
The three drawings of squares
Right above the bed.
In this way, overlooking his head
Was black on black on black,
A shield against the silence
And all the things it never said.

[Fade to Black]

a poem written out of procrastination, actually just improvised this one on facebook chat and cleaned up the structure afterwards lol

The Voice Inside My Head

when i write my poems or even read them
i imagine it's some voice talking in a very distinct rhythm.
but what that voice looks like i cannot imagine
it's a very vague feeling
i think the voice is a white person
beyond that i can say no more
Los Angeles, canyon, 1970s, red lights
after the love is gone, cocaine nights
all those
but i cannot elaborate on facial features
or what the voice means
in terms of my subconscious relations
and people i ever knew
there is a cigarette being smoked
by a pale blue worker shirt
with the cuffs rolled up
some kind of patti smith like hair
oh wait im getting there hold on
the light is natural light, wood table
coffee mug white
reading the poem
reading the poem
reading the poem
the voice raises its neck and -
ahhhhhhh....

[Fade to Black]

another lunch break poem jotted down for a Friday -

Appetite

In 1972, when I played the blues, none of
Us slept much,
But when we sat down to lunch,
We ate everything
That existed in the past ten years.

[Fade to Black]

one more poem for this Friday afternoon -

A Paradox

These days
I'm filled
With rage
For not
Getting
The recognition
That I deserve.

But if
The world
Was suddenly
To stand
Up in applause,
I wouldn't
Want that,
Either.

[amsicora]

Canto LXV

With usura hath no man a house of good stone
each block cut smooth and well fitting
that delight might cover their face,

with usura

hath no man a painted paradise on his church wall
harpes et luthes
or where virgin receiveth message
and halo projects from incision,

with usura

seeth no man Gonzaga his heirs and his concubines
no picture is made to endure nor to live with
but it is made to sell and sell quickly

with usura, sin against nature,
is thy bread ever more of stale rags
is thy bread dry as paper,
with no mountain wheat, no strong flour

with usura the line grows thick

with usura is no clear demarcation
and no man can find site for his dwelling
Stone cutter is kept from his stone
weaver is kept from his loom

WITH USURA

wool comes not to market
sheep bringeth no gain with usura
Usura is a murrain, usura
blunteth the needle in the the maid's hand
and stoppeth the spinner's cunning. Pietro Lombardo
came not by usura
Duccio came not by usura
nor Pier della Francesca; Zuan Bellin' not by usura
nor was "La Callunia" painted.
Came not by usura Angelico; came not Ambrogio Praedis,
No church of cut stone signed: Adamo me fecit.
Not by usura St. Trophime

Not by usura St. Hilaire,

Usura rusteth the chisel
It rusteth the craft and the craftsman
It gnaweth the thread in the loom
None learneth to weave gold in her pattern;
Azure hath a canker by usura; cramoisi is unbroidered
Emerald findeth no Memling

Usura slayeth the child in the womb
It stayeth the young man's courting
It hath brought palsey to bed, lyeth
between the young bride and her bridegroom

CONTRA NATURAM

They have brought whores for Eleusis
Corpses are set to banquet

at behest of usura.

Ezra Pound

[Fade to Black]

first poem written in the new apartment -

On Form

What is the word
For what they have
In a word? There is
A place somewhere
In America, where
The fireman passes
With a wave of his
Hand, and a smile
On his face. It seems
Like something I saw
Once, on a screen,
Which reminded me
Of another thing,
But I couldn’t say
Just what it was,
Exactly.

[Fade to Black]

a poem for insomnia at 5 in the morning -

Player's Soliloquy

Behind the fence on which
Both hands were tightly
Clutched, the eyes dart back
And forth rapidly, refusing
To adjust to the glare.

Here was Maradona's shadow,
Provoked by an imaginary
Crowd, shouting names
Not belonging to him;
Must not let up now,
Not for a second.

It was here my father
Walked with me on Sundays,
When I was too young to listen
As he would quote Churchill,
Who I hear quite clearly
In the present moment,
As he talks to me,
Talking to myself.