/lit/ - Literature

>Comme un exilé du vieux thème,
>J'ai descendu ton escalier ;
>Mais ce qu'a lié l'Amour même,
>Le temps ne peut le délier.

>Chaque soir quand ton corps se couche
>Dans ton lit qui n'est plus à moi,
>Tes lèvres sont loin de ma bouche ;
>Cependant, je dors près de Toi.

>Quand je sors de la vie humaine,
>J'ai l'air d'être en réalité
>Un monsieur seul qui se promène ;
>Pourtant je marche à ton côté.

>Ma vie à la tienne est tressée
>Comme on tresse des fils basedeux,
>Et je pense avec ta pensée,
>Et je regarde avec tes yeux.

>Quand je dis ou fais quelque chose,
>Je te consulte, tout le temps ;
>Car je sais, du moins, je suppose,
>Que tu me vois, que tu m'entends.

>Moi-même je vois tes yeux vastes,
>J'entends ta lèvre au rire fin.
>Et c'est parfois dans mes nuits chastes
>Des conversations sans fin.

>C'est une illusion sans doute,
>Tout cela n'a jamais été ;
>C'est cependant, Mignonne, écoute,
>C'est cependant la vérité.

>Du temps où nous étions ensemble,
>N'ayant rien à nous refuser,
>Docile à mon désir qui tremble,
>Ne m'as-tu pas, dans un baiser,

>Ne m'as-tu pas donné ton âme ?
>Or le baiser s'est envolé,
>Mais l'âme est toujours là, Madame ;
>Basedez certaine que je l'ai.

Germain Nouveau.

>>14541948
i loved it so much that, when for some reason i thought the author was a woman, i still begrudgingly accepted that it was my favorite poem
you can imagine my pleasant surprise when i found out later that he was, in fact, not a woman at all

>>14541974
There are no female poets, because poetry requires independent thought.

>>14541985
AHEM

Oxymandias was retroactively refuted by George Herberts “virtue”

"The Emperor of Ice-Cream" by based Wallace Stevens

Call the roller of big cigars,
The muscular one, and bid him whip
In kitchen cups concupiscent curds.
Let the wenches dawdle in such dress
As they are used to wear, and let the boys
Bring flowers in last month's newspapers.
Let be be finale of seem.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Take from the dresser of deal,
Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheet
On which she embroidered fantails once
And spread it so as to cover her face.
If her horny feet protrude, they come
To show how cold she is, and dumb.
Let the lamp affix its beam.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

>>14541948
When, long ago, the gods created Earth
In Jove's fair image Man was shaped at birth.
The beasts for lesser parts were next designed;
Yet were they too remote from humankind.
To fill the gap, and join the rest to Man,
Th'Olympian host conceiv'd a clever plan.
A beast they wrought, in semi-human figure,
Filled it with vice, and called the thing a Nigger.

>>14541948
>“If you’re going to try, go all the way”
>tombstone says “Don’t Try”
What did bukowsky mean by this?

E para todos aqueles que aqui estão
Atravancando meu caminho
Eles passarão
Eu, passarinho

>>14541948
Its not even Shelley's best poem...

Fernando Pessoa


POEMA EM LINHA RETA

Nunca conheci quem tivesse levado porrada.
Todos os meus conhecidos têm sido campeões em tudo.

E eu, tantas vezes reles, tantas vezes porco, tantas vezes vil,
Eu tantas vezes irrespondivelmente parasita,
Indesculpavelmente sujo,
Eu, que tantas vezes não tenho tido paciência para tomar banho,
Eu, que tantas vezes tenho sido ridículo, absurdo,
Que tenho enrolado os pés publicamente nos tapetes das etiquetas,
Que tenho sido grotesco, mesquinho, submisso e arrogante,
Que tenho sofrido enxovalhos e calado,
Que quando não tenho calado, tenho sido mais ridículo ainda;
Eu, que tenho sido cômico às criadas de hotel,
Eu, que tenho sentido o piscar de olhos dos moços de fretes,
Eu, que tenho feito vergonhas financeiras, pedido emprestado sem pagar,
Eu, que, quando a hora do soco surgiu, me tenho agachado
Para fora da possibilidade do soco;
Eu, que tenho sofrido a angústia das pequenas coisas ridículas,
Eu verifico que não tenho par nisto tudo neste mundo.

Toda a gente que eu conheço e que fala comigo
Nunca teve um ato ridículo, nunca sofreu enxovalho,
Nunca foi senão príncipe - todos eles príncipes - na vida...

Quem me dera ouvir de alguém a voz humana
Que confessasse não um pecado, mas uma infâmia;
Que contasse, não uma violência, mas uma cobardia!
Não, são todos o Ideal, se os oiço e me falam.
Quem há neste largo mundo que me confesse que uma vez foi vil?
Ó príncipes, meus irmãos,

Arre, estou farto de semideuses!
Onde é que há gente no mundo?

Então sou só eu que é vil e errôneo nesta terra?

Poderão as mulheres não os terem amado,
Podem ter sido traídos - mas ridículos nunca!
E eu, que tenho sido ridículo sem ter sido traído,
Como posso eu falar com os meus superiores sem titubear?
Eu, que venho sido vil, literalmente vil,
Vil no sentido mesquinho e infame da vileza.

>>14542442
I always wonder about the meaning of this one. There is a image of a dead girl here, right? And is the icecream a metaphor for the "coldness" of death?

>>14542544
you can look up what Stevens said about it, but if you worry about meaning and metaphor you're missing the best part of the fun.

>>14542582
I mean, I get it has rhythmn and sound but so what? Lol

>>14542582
What to you is "the best part of it"?
:)

>>14541948
"...
My lips were wet, my throat was cold,
My garments all were dank;
Sure I had drunken in my dreams,
And still my body drank.

I moved, and could not feel my limbs:
I was so light—almost
I thought that I had died in sleep,
And was a blessed ghost.

And soon I heard a roaring wind:
It did not come anear;
But with its sound it shook the sails,
That were so thin and sere.

The upper air burst into life!
And a hundred fire-flags sheen,
To and fro they were hurried about!
And to and fro, and in and out,
The wan stars danced between.

And the coming wind did roar more loud,
And the sails did sigh like sedge,
And the rain poured down from one black cloud;
The Moon was at its edge.

The thick black cloud was cleft, and still
The Moon was at its side:
Like waters shot from some high crag,
The lightning fell with never a jag,
A river steep and wide.

The loud wind never reached the ship,
Yet now the ship moved on!
Beneath the lightning and the Moon
The dead men gave a groan.

They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose,
Nor spake, nor moved their eyes;
It had been strange, even in a dream,
To have seen those dead men rise.

The helmsman steered, the ship moved on;
Yet never a breeze up-blew;
The mariners all 'gan work the ropes,
Where they were wont to do;
They raised their limbs like lifeless tools—
We were a ghastly crew.
…"
Rime of the Ancient Mariner, my favorite bit.

Do you really like Ozymandias or is this just you being bullshit?

>>14541948
I'm sure it's a coincidence that Ozymandias is one of the most popular poems on the mainstream
Let me guess, your other favorite poem is "Do not go gentle into that good night"