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Thread: Poetry

  1. "...now do Classical Gas"
    Matchbox's Avatar
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    #1

    Poetry

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    Does anyone here read or enjoy poetry?

    What’s your favourite poem?
    If I cannot move heaven, I will raise hell
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    #2
    I write poetry, but haven't read much recent stuff. I'm not a big fan of free verse- my brain is just really satisfied by strict meter- and that's so popular now. I love Tolkien's poetry, and I love the Rubaiyat, and Shakespeare's sonnets are almost his only work that I actually like... Poe, Whitman, Wordsworth, Frost... I guess, apart from Angelou since she is more modern style, I am a classical poetry fan.
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    #3
    PS I could never pick a favorite!
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    #4
    I'm a huge fan of Russian poetry, because I'm predictable My favorite poem is probably "The Bacchic Song" by Pushkin, but I also have a soft spot for "An Extraordinary Adventure Which Befell Vladimir Mayakovsky in the Summer at the Dacha" by Mayakovsky since I did a reading of it in Russian for a class!

    As for English language poems, I love Shakespeare, I always have. I also enjoy Sufi Mystic poetry, like Rumi and Hafiz, though I haven't explored it as much as I'd like to and I have to read it in translation :p
  5. "...now do Classical Gas"
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    #5
    Quote Originally Posted by TheSisterWife View Post
    I write poetry, but haven't read much recent stuff. I'm not a big fan of free verse- my brain is just really satisfied by strict meter- and that's so popular now. I love Tolkien's poetry, and I love the Rubaiyat, and Shakespeare's sonnets are almost his only work that I actually like... Poe, Whitman, Wordsworth, Frost... I guess, apart from Angelou since she is more modern style, I am a classical poetry fan.
    I have the Rubaiyyat sitting on my bedside table right now, waiting for me to come back to it



    My favourite poem of all time isn’t in English. Damn it. I can try to translate it...
    If I cannot move heaven, I will raise hell
  6. "...now do Classical Gas"
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    #6
    There’s a very funny insect that you do not often spy
    And it isn’t like a spider, and it isn’t like a fly;
    It’s something like a beetle, and a little like a bee
    But nothing like a woolly grub that climbs upon a tree.
    It’s name is quite a hard one, but you’ll learn it soon I hope,
    So try:
    Tri-anti-wonti
    Triantiwontigongolope

    It lives on weeds and wattle-gum and has a funny face;
    Its appetite is hearty, and its manners a disgrace.
    When first you come upon it, it will give you quite a scare
    But when you look for it again...you’ll find it isn’t there
    And unless you call it softly, it will stay away and mope
    So try
    Tri-anti-wonti
    Triantiwontigongolope

    It trembles if you tickle it or tread upon its toes
    It is not an early riser, though it has a snubbish nose.
    If you sneer at it, or scold it, it will scuttle off in shame
    Though it purrs and purrs quite loudly if you call it by its name
    And offer it some sandwiches of sealing-wax and soap
    So try
    Tri-anti-wonti
    Triantiwontigongolope

    But of course you haven’t seen it, and I really must confess
    That I haven’t seen it either, and I don’t know its address;
    There isn’t such an insect...though there really might have been,
    If the trees and grass were purple and the sky was bottle-green.
    It’s just a little joke of mine, which you’ll forgive I hope?
    Oh, try
    Tri-anti-wonti
    Triantiwontigongolope

    C. J. Dennis, bringing the goods to make Child Two giggle uncontrollably
    If I cannot move heaven, I will raise hell
  7. "...now do Classical Gas"
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    #7
    I've been doing some translations of poetry for a curious friend. Here's my best effort, though I'm still not completely happy with it. There's a line or two that works in Spanish, but not nearly as well in English!

    Here's the original - in green because the original author almost always wrote in green, he liked it. All of his personal letters are in bright colours, greens and pinks and purples.


    Sonnet XVII, by Pablo Neruda (1959)

    No te amo como si fueras rosa de sal, topacio
    o flecha de claveles que propagan el fuego:
    te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras,
    secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma.

    Te amo como la planta que no florece y lleva
    dentro de sí, escondida, la luz de aquellas flores,
    y gracias a tu amor vive oscuro en mi cuerpo
    el apretado aroma que ascendió de la tierra.

    Te amo sin saber cómo, ni cuándo, ni de dónde,
    te amo directamente sin problemas ni orgullo:
    así te amo porque no sé amar de otra manera,

    sino así de este modo en que no soy ni eres,
    tan cerca que tu mano sobre mi pecho es mía,
    tan cerca que se cierran tus ojos con mi sueño.



    And here's mine


    I do not love you as though you were salt rose, topaz
    or the arrows of carnations the fire shoots:
    I love you as those certain dark things are loved,
    secretly, between the shadow and the soul

    I love you like the plant that never blooms and carries
    in itself, hidden, the light of those flowers,
    thanks to your love a solid fragrance has risen from the earth
    to live darkly in my body

    I love you without knowing how, nor when, nor where
    I love you bluntly, without problems or pride;
    I love you like this because I don't know how to love another way

    than this, where there is no I nor you,
    close so that your hand on my chest is my own hand,
    close so that your eyes close when I dream.
    Last edited by Matchbox; 04-14-2018 at 11:05 PM.
    If I cannot move heaven, I will raise hell

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