/poetry crit/

[Anonymous No.14110693]

share some verse you wrote and want critiqued and some anons can you tell you how to make it even better

[Anonymous No.14110697]

[Anonymous No.14110826]

>>14110697
Nice, anon, it's very visceral and vivid. Personally, I would try to contrast that with a bit more subtlety in some places, like for example: "The Gods deign no reply". The execution of your ideas are great, that's just my stylistic opinion.

[Anonymous No.14110839]

In the waters beyond the northern lights
There swim women amongst the ice
With skin like wax wrapped round the stars
And eyes of sunken, blackened tar
They smell the wooden stench of lust
Of sailors longing, weakened trust
And there within the glassy cover
Things shaped like forgotten lovers
Up, from swelling Hell they drift
A dirge like pearls falls from their lips
While men enchanted leap, the willing
The women only find them filling
Shipspirit stay
But be out of sight
Show us the way
Through storm, through night
And if you flee
Or are so revealed
The men all know
They die on your heel

[Anonymous No.14110903]

>>14110826
I like your verse, it's simply structured and you haven't messed up the syllabic pattern like a lot of people on /lit/ seem to. My gripe is that your simple structure seems at odds on occasion with more... educated? Words like 'reprieve.' Something about how clear and folkish it is to call the spirit just "it" is opposed to "reprieve," like its two different voices at work. Another example is comparing phrases that strike me as simplistic like saying something "wholly left" and then talking about ingrained souls--it's not bad and maybe I'm just a pleb when it comes to poetry but... I don't know it sounds like a man who works with his hands is being cut off by the son of a nobleman every other line. I don't know if that makes sense. I like your imagery regardless. Soul and soot was a nice knot to tie up those two threads at the end

[Anonymous No.14110941]

>>14110693
I thought he was handsome
yes
no
I guess he doesn't like me
I'm too
special to eat chinese guess

life: and
that is so.

[Anonymous No.14110946]

4chan space
really:

[Anonymous No.14110984]

Is the unconscious conscious?

[Anonymous No.14112282]

Shrouded and severed was the blind man
Hiding his eyes, he wrote long hand
“What a lovely bed of ideas”
And left the home, here with me
Down the spirals of misery

Tense to the touch
Moreover he was afraid
To see the carnage, all in a day
To hear the screams, of men cast away

Im reminded of a painting
Torn and cracked
Of which I’ve lost the meaning
Never to come back

I suppose the times gone by
I forget it was me

“So long”
We said goodbye

Seeing the face kills
Not as easily forgotten
Eyes of Cotten
Soaked in blood

[Anonymous No.14112715]

I decided to write some sparse poetry, not just the poetry of the plays I work on, which needs to be more understandable. I am allowing myself to be less intelligible, to leave more blanks, resisting the temptation to use a more immediate style.

I finished 3 poems this week, but I think they needs a lot of revision. I am thinking of writing poetry just for myself, just for training verbal skills and and the fitful acceptance of conciseness. It gives one a good feeling of freedom to write something without the urge to try to see it on a published book.

This is the first poem. The English translation is mine. The original is in Portuguese.

Astronomers do not eat with the mind
More than an almond from the feast of the suns;
What the human pupil palpatates is but a peep
From the opera of countless nightingales.

Their compasses - arrows with sterile sting -
Try to fork certainties in the mists of the spaces;
Their telescopes - dogs that only eat gardens for dinner -
Get lost inside the Amazon of angels and stars.

The fires of the most ferine brains
Are mites gnawing a grain of dust
In the castle of a thousand Babels of the cosmos;
From the face of Eden they see a single pore, and nothing more.

Human reasoning sharpening its keys
It's but the caged tango of a germ inside a drop of water,
A drop from an occult sea, but one that is alive:
A warm-blooded vacuum, a nothing that breathes.

Even if we possessed all galaxies
- A deep-sea diver that opened the abysses into nudity
And collected the confession of every single lampfish -
The surface and the heavens - the beyond - would be nothing but muteness.

Our finite knowledge – a semi-swollen mosquito -
Has sucked only a single droplet of the blood of truth,
But the Hercules of the Cosmos his extinction slap
Shall give before the sapiens reaches even his puberty.

Not to-be frightens us, shadowy is its citadel
But that is where we will embrace - that is where we will be - eternity.

[Anonymous No.14112724]

>>14112715

This is the original:

Astrônomos não comem com a mente
Mais que uma amêndoa do festim dos sóis;
O que a pupila humana apalpa é um pio
Da ópera de incontáveis rouxinóis.

Suas bússolas – flechas com ferrão estéril –
Tentam garfar certezas na névoa dos espaços;
Seus telescópios – cães que só jantam jardins –
Perdem-se dentro da Amazônia de anjos e astros.

Os incêndios dos mais ferinos cérebros
São ácaros roendo um grão de pó
No castelo de mil Babéis do cosmo;
Do rosto do Éden veem um poro, e é só.

O raciocínio humano a afiar chaves
É só o tango enjaulado de um germe em gota d’água,
Gota de um mar oculto, porém vivo:
Vácuo de sangue quente, um respirante nada.

Mesmo que todas as galáxias possuíssemos
- Submarino que abrisse abismos em nudez
E a confissão colhesse com todo peixe-lâmpada –
A superfície e os céus – o além – seriam só mudez.

Nosso saber finito – mosquito semi-inchado –
Sugou só uma gotícula do sangue da verdade,
Mas o Hércules do Cosmo seu tapa de extinção
Dará antes mesmo que o sapiens chegue à puberdade.

O não ser nos dá medo, sombria é sua cidade,
Mas é lá que abraçaremos – é lá que seremos – a eternidade.

[Anonymous No.14112741]

>>14112715
>>14112724

These are the other 2 poems I wrote. Both are about spiders. I'm posting my English translation with the originals in Portuguese. Note that, in portuguese, there is a rhyme scheme: xAxA, xBxB and so forth.

Poem 1

Pity the spider in our homes
- That knits Babylons of crystal,
The stonemason of silver pyramids,
That in corners moulds her astral countries,

That tames hard diamond into silk
And uses it as bone to build empires,
That carves the entirety of Rome in pure pearl
In one night of spectral mysteries -

Everything to encounter the Apocalypse
In the bristles of a broom, among the dust;
The Eclipse's voice not the rumble, nor the mourning, only
The tedious whistle of the cleaning lady.

The original:

Piedade da aranha em nossos lares
- Que borda Babilônias de cristal,
Pedreira das pirâmides de prata,
Que em cantos molda seu país astral,

Que doma duro diamante em seda
E o usa de osso para erguer impérios,
Que entalha Roma inteira em pura pérola
Numa só noite de espectrais mistérios -

Tudo para encontrar o Apocalipse
Nas cerdas da vassoura, entre a poeira;
A voz do Eclipse não estrondo ou pranto, apenas
O tedioso assobiar da faxineira.


Poem 2

The spider sweats brilliance through her hands
As if suns sprouted from her fingers;
The velvet of vacuum with which she invokes Edens
It's a mist far more firm than rock cliffs.

Threads of light is the commodity that she sells,
But as no one buys her ore
She recycles these curls of lightning
In the pleasure of weaving a lonely empire.

The original:

A aranha sua brilho por suas mãos
Como se sóis brotassem de seus dedos;
O veludo de vácuo com que invoca Édens
É neblina mais firme que rochedos.

Fios de luz é a commodity que vende,
Mas como ninguém compra seu minério
Ela recicla os cachos de relâmpago
No prazer de tecer um solitário império.

[Anonymous No.14113765]

Bump