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Poetry

Discussion in 'The Philosopher' started by speed, Feb 15, 2007.

  1. Symbelmyne

    Symbelmyne New Metal Member

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    Location:
    Between the forests of mystic in Estonia.
    Writing is my whole life. To mention.

    http://thedomeofthedoom.blogspot.com --> here you can read my poems.

    But I'll give you one here too.. I hope You like it.

    Avalon

    Once upon a time I singed a roundelay inside the murmuring forest
    A roundelay about Fairy Island between the lands of rye
    I took a flight in there, hided myself from the world
    Hided myself from the pain inside the light of the heart

    Between these fields of rye, wind path of happiness
    And on my skirt, the earth dust fell
    There was the sea, the sea for my soul

    I miss the waves, rushing on the glade
    Waves swinging against my feet
    And the evening warmth of the Fairy Island
    Wounded it around me

    There the fairy children ran in the ray
    And their rapture dozed the twilight
    I craved for the plays of hide-and-seek
    And to catch swirling butterfly dances

    But the shameless joy hided the winding road
    Between the fields of rye
    And the Avalon under the golden sun
    And the sea, sea in my heart

    MHK.
     
  2. derbeder

    derbeder in a vicious circle

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    Death Fugue

    Black milk of daybreak we drink it at sundown
    we drink it at noon in the morning we drink it at night
    we drink it and drink it
    we dig a grave in the breezes there one lies unconfined
    A man lives in the house he plays with the serpents
    he writes
    he writes when dusk falls to Germany your golden
    hair Margarete
    he writes it ans steps out of doors and the stars are
    flashing he whistles his pack out
    he whistles his Jews out in earth has them dig for a
    grave
    he commands us strike up for the dance

    Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
    we drink you in the morning at noon we drink you at
    sundown
    we drink and we drink you
    A man lives in the house he plays with the serpents
    he writes
    he writes when dusk falls to Germany your golden hair
    Margarete
    your ashen hair Sulamith we dig a grave in the breezes
    there one lies unconfined

    He calls out jab deeper into the earth you lot you
    others sing now and play
    he grabs at teh iron in his belt he waves it his
    eyes are blue
    jab deper you lot with your spades you others play
    on for the dance

    Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
    we drink you at at noon in the morning we drink you
    at sundown
    we drink and we drink you
    a man lives in the house your golden hair Margarete
    your ashen hair Sulamith he plays with the serpents
    He calls out more sweetly play death death is a master
    from Germany
    he calls out more darkly now stroke your strings then
    as smoke you will rise into air
    then a grave you will have in the clouds there one
    lies unconfined

    Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
    we drink you at noon death is a master from Germany
    we drink you at sundown and in the morning we drink
    and we drink you
    death is a master from Germany his eyes are blue
    he strikes you with leaden bullets his aim is true
    a man lives in the house your golden hair Margarete
    he sets his pack on to us he grants us a grave in
    the air
    He plays with the serpents and daydreams death is
    a master from Germany

    your golden hair Margarete
    your ashen hair Shulamith

    - Paul Celan
    Translated by Michael Hamburger


    this is for some of war-loving, jew-hating types here
     
  3. speed

    speed Member

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    Everywhere eternity is stirring
    And everything lends toward non-being
    In order to participate in being.

    Goethe

    And as long as you do not possess
    This: Die and become
    You are but a gloomy guest
    On the dark earth

    Goethe

    This wise madness
    This maddened wisdon
    The sigh preceding death
    Suddenly changed to laughter

    Heine

    Some old philosophical german lines.
     
  4. infoterror

    infoterror Member

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    "Howl" is fucking terrible. From the beats all you need is WSB.

    Stick to Eliot.
     
  5. Nile577

    Nile577 Member

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    May your children develop a penchant for Ayn Rand.
     
  6. Nile577

    Nile577 Member

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    TO AUTUMN.
    (John Keats)

    1.

    Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
    Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
    Conspiring with him how to load and bless
    With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
    To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
    And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
    To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
    With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
    And still more, later flowers for the bees,
    Until they think warm days will never cease,
    For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.

    2.

    Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
    Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
    Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
    Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
    Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
    Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
    Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
    And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
    Steady thy laden head across a brook;
    Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
    Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

    3.

    Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
    Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
    While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
    And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue;
    Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
    Among the river sallows, borne aloft
    Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
    And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
    Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
    The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
    And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
     
  7. speed

    speed Member

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    Haha! I think he already likes Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, which is almost as bad.

    But Im rather indifferent to Howl anyway.
     
  8. infoterror

    infoterror Member

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    Now that was low! May your children... join NAMBLA with Allen Ginsberg (now dead LOL dead).
     
  9. infoterror

    infoterror Member

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    He's kidding; I know it. He can't be dissing on one of the truly great and cynical existential statements, doubly surprising in that a female author approached a proactive subject, triply surprising n that she came from the race of sodomites (UK).
     
  10. speed

    speed Member

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    I abhor, condemn, and laugh at that book. Crap. I'd rather read my own writing, or even yours, than to be subjected to that juvenile piece of overrated trash again. For some reason, only americans think it wonderful.


    Excellent article on it, by a leading feminist writer, stating no tonly why its a terrible book, but how american lit departments have been using it for their own feminist and ideological aims: http://books.guardian.co.uk/departments/generalfiction/story/0,,2053061,00.html
     
  11. infoterror

    infoterror Member

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    That idiots abuse it doesn't make the book bad. Feminist American Marxist Academics (FAMA) abuse everything they touch. I think it's unpopular in England because of the preponderance of heterosexual characters
     
  12. Øjeblikket

    Øjeblikket Member

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    Take the grey wolf, the child of Saturn,
    and throw him the body of the King.
    And when he has swallowed him, build
    a big fire and throw the Wolf into it,
    so that he burns up, and then the King
    will be liberated again.

    - M. Maier.
     
  13. MURAI

    MURAI -

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    Babylon's Pride

    Senses, flower of existence- bow to Babylon
    Pain, father of creation- bow to Babylon
    Look- you're the creator of your own creator
    Your beginning overthrows your myth
    Parody of perfection feeding on mere mortal
    Perfect being can only exist in itself
    Let him die at last.
    I will never worship reflection of imperfection
    Questions: I carry my own cross to be
    Flesh, blood, mind- see the flower of Babylon
    Stigma of earth will never disappear
    Aiming to zero is the testimony of existence
    I'm here to be, to watch and to fade
    All world focused on one single entity
    I kiss my reflection in the universe
    Alone in dying Babylon: proud
     
  14. Scourge of God

    Scourge of God New Metal Member

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    Aphorisms and Fragments
    (By Scourge of God)

    Dirge before the dawn

    Whence the death of music?
    Where is the poet’s pen?
    In a world where golden dreams
    Still the silver tongues of men

    The beauty and the laughter
    Are lost behind the rage
    For who can utter soft words
    Unto an Iron Age?

    Our Fearless Leader

    Today a monkey danced across my screen
    In the Land of the Retarded, the Average Man is king!

    The Mirror Never Lies

    I once fancied myself a suffering Poet
    Drowning in a Sea of Guilt
    But the mirror said:
    "You're just a kid, adrift in Sea of Filth"

    I once fancied myself a Warrior
    In a battle I could never win
    But the mirror said:
    "Lose some weight, you're not quite in fighting trim!"

    I once fancied myself a Leader
    Misunderstood by his own
    But the mirror said:
    "You're a fucking slob, sitting there alone."

    I once fancied myself a Destroyer
    Hammer in my left hand and a sword clutched in my right
    But the mirror said:
    "You've got a hammer, today I guess you're right!"
     
  15. Øjeblikket

    Øjeblikket Member

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    the coyote's song

    I'm the voice of all the Wildest West, the Patti of the Plains;
    I'm a wild Wagnerian opera of diabolic strains;
    I'm a roaring, ranting orchestra with lunatics becrammed;
    I'm a vocalized tornado -- I'm the shrieking of the damned.
    - Ernest Thompson Seton

    http://www.geocities.com/RainForest/4076/sound/coyote.ram
     
  16. CatwomanEarache

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    I wont reply with quote or it will make pages to scroll down, but I thought Howl was great, thought provoking.On a slightly different note I like Keats also Wordsworth, and also if you look at some of the poets work from that era or even look a little at Edgar Allen Poe can you not see some eerie likeness in some lyrics from bands such as Cradle Of Filth?
     
  17. Øjeblikket

    Øjeblikket Member

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    I think a lot of bands found influence in Poe's work. Arcturus set Poe's poem Alone to music, as you may know.

    I personally would prefer it if you and others would not shy from posting SMALL poems here, rather than just naming authors you like, so please, post us something to numb over! How about something by Howl?

    Please, though, I beg of you, do not post anything by Cradle Of Filth.
     
  18. Nile577

    Nile577 Member

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    Extact from 'Epipsychidion'
    (Percy Bysshe Shelley)

    Thy wisdom speaks in me, and bids me dare
    Beacon the rocks on which high hearts are wreckt.
    I never was attached to that great sect,
    Whose doctrine is, that each one should select
    Out of the crowd a mistress or a friend,
    And all the rest, though fair and wise, commend
    To cold oblivion, though it is in the code
    Of modern morals, and the beaten road
    Which those poor slaves with weary footsteps tread,
    Who travel to their home among the dead
    By the broad highway of the world, and so
    With one chained friend, perhaps a jealous foe,
    The dreariest and the longest journey go.

    (something cheery to read before marriage, no?)
     
  19. Nile577

    Nile577 Member

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    (I think these two poems belong together somehow)

    XXXI On Wenlock Edge the wood’s in trouble
    (A.E. Housman)


    On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble;
    His forest fleece the Wrekin heaves;
    The gale, it plies the saplings double,
    And thick on Severn snow the leaves.

    'Twould blow like this through holt and hanger
    When Uricon the city stood:
    'Tis the old wind in the old anger,
    But then it threshed another wood.

    Then, 'twas before my time, the Roman
    At yonder heaving hill would stare:
    The blood that warms an English yeoman,
    The thoughts that hurt him, they were there.

    There, like the wind through woods in riot,
    Through him the gale of life blew high;
    The tree of man was never quiet:
    Then 'twas the Roman, now 'tis I.

    The gale, it plies the saplings double,
    It blows so hard, 'twill soon be gone:
    To-day the Roman and his trouble
    Are ashes under Uricon.


    Drummer Hodge
    (Thomas Hardy)

    They throw in Drummer Hodge, to rest uncoffined - just as found:
    His landmark is a kopje-crest that breaks the veldt around;
    And foreign constellations west each night above his mound.


    Young Hodge the Drummer never knew - fresh from his Wessex home -
    The meaning of the broad Karoo, the bush the dusty loam,
    And why uprose to nightly view strange stars amid the gloam.

    Yet portion of that unknown plain will Hodge for ever be;
    His homely Northern breast and brain grow to some Southern tree,
    And strange-eyed constellations reign his stars eternally
     
  20. Scourge of God

    Scourge of God New Metal Member

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    Perhaps the most famous poetic passage in history, but worth revisiting nonetheless:

    Rage -- Goddess, sing the rage of Peleus' son Achilles,
    murderous, doomed, that cost the Achaeans contless losses,
    hurling down to the House of Death so many sturdy souls,
    great fighters' souls, but made their bodies carrion,
    feasts for the dogs and birds,
    and the will of Zeus was moving toward its end.
    Begin, Muse, when the two first broke and clashed,
    Agamemnon lord of men and brilliant Achilles.

    (Iliad, Book One - Fagles' translation)
     

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