/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.20287774]

Frater Asemlen is a bad poet and bad critic and I'm tired of pretending he's not.

[Anonymous No.20287777]

prove it

[Anonymous No.20287780]

>>20287774
He’s the best poster on /lit/

[Anonymous No.20287786]

>>20287774
But he sure knows a lot about esoterism, my man's is a boatload of knowledge

[Frater Asemlen !w3cfgNI.Pw No.20287795]

Fuck you you little bitch. Let's see your poetry then.

[Anonymous No.20287811]

>>20287774
He doesn't realize how easy faux spirituality is to see through.

[Anonymous No.20287822]

>>20287774
He's also a bad Christian.

[Anonymous No.20287827]

Get fucked Frater you cock-loving pseud.

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.20287839]

>get called a poet
>get called a critic

t-thanks!

[Anonymous No.20287845]

>>20287827
is this because he BTFO you in that Shakespeare thread?

[Anonymous No.20287849]

>>20287839
Rupi Kaur's a poet too, dont get too excited

[Anonymous No.20287856]

>>20287845
I don't read Shakespeare, he's too much of a clown for me to take seriously.

[Anonymous No.20287857]

>>20287849
Well, she gets called a poet, at least.

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.20287858]

>>20287849
Eh jokes aside I don’t count myself one, it’s a practice I do for mental cultivation, I wouldn’t count what I’ve written either good for consumption of others nor written for that purpose. Can’t really count oneself a poet if this is the case.

[Anonymous No.20287886]

>>20287858
Imagine someone calling themselves a poet in real life. Lol

>what do you do?
>I’m a poet
>…

[Anonymous No.20287899]

>>20287886
I would do that. Fucking based.

[Anonymous No.20287903]

What are some ah bloo bloo?

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.20287925]

>>20287886
Eh I don’t see a problem with it if you’re actually doing it as a career and making money on it, like an Ashberry or kent Johnson.

[Anonymous No.20287926]

I heard they were transformed into a transperson? Well, that is the fate of all tripfags, or so I have heard...

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.20287953]

>>20287926
Nah I’d sooner die, have no worries.

[Anonymous No.20287988]

>>20287925
True, but we are no Ashberry’s here

[Anonymous No.20288004]

>>20287839
>>20287795
WHO IS THE REAL ONE?!?!??!??!?!?!?! IMPOSTERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1

[Anonymous No.20288007]

>>20287858
You are NOT Frater!

[Anonymous No.20288050]

>>20287858
This is the most pseud shit ever. You share your poems, you offer critiques, according to you, you have a book coming out, but then you turn around and say "I'm not a poet." It's just a faux attempt at sheltering yourself from real criticism.

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.20288073]

>>20288050
I’ve one book already out actually, just another, (I don’t shill it, because I hope anything I’ve written dissolves.) I offer critique because I read, I write and post poems because I write them and when you write you get this urge to get critique, to share, and just repeat them over and over. however I don’t see it as an identity aspect and I don’t see myself as writing for the crowd, I don’t see myself as writing comparable to the greats, I don’t see myself as historically relevant in terms of poetry as an art, I do desire absolute critique on everything I write, but I am under no illusion about my skill level, nor its relevancy, nor am I illusioned to think what I produce for myself would be good for others.

But sincerely, any critique on any poem I will gladly accept, re-reading through the last 50 poems I see a ton of flaws and I think through writing more and getting critique I’ve increased past them.


If you’d be inclined I’ll post the last poem I’ve written and you can tear into it with full might, I’d appreciate it.

[Anonymous No.20288085]

>>20288004
SUS?????

[Anonymous No.20288104]

>>20287780
>worships a tripcuck NEET that spends half of his free time here posting narcissistic soliloquies.

[Anonymous No.20288138]

>>20288073
Let's see it

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.20288149]

>>20288138
Alright! The first ten stanzas are in more or less accentual verse then I tighten it afterwards.

Loam

turn, my soul, to him you praise,
who makes the rivers run right,
whose trail the comets do not blaze
with similar traces of light.

God the blessèd peace of rest,
who makes the red rose spiked,
who climbs not the heights to the crest,
to see all the world alike.

ghostly cries of men who died,
the tides of their songs rise and fall,
my voice and theirs breaks to sighs,
calling out, calling out for all.

happy are you with falling foot,
with engines, bustling wheels and brass,
with creamcheese, bread, workmen in sooth,
and electric candy-colored glass,

happy are You with fevered fathers,
with sons made household head by grief,
with foolish girls made to wise mothers,
and happy are you with death’s relief.

and death and death is as a breath,
breathed in without a thought of how,
which turns to hoarse cough and to fret,
but may pass smoothly, if You allow.

i cannot count the ways of men,
the great and the small with coupled glory,
the earthly splendors recorded by pen,
the majesty of an imagined story.

i cannot count the ways of nature,
the mysteries of stellar procession,
the creature free of nomenclature,
the pinnacles of mental conception.

i cannot count the ways of Art,
born from the marriage of numeric perception,
with each secret hid in the heart,
producing multitudes of perfection.

how then will I count your ways,
lord who was ancient before the days,
and by which manner of passing phrase,
extols you with unknown praise?

correct me lord, make straight my gait,
how shall I go to your dais,
how shall I pass the highest gate,
and see your eyes by mine, deus?

thy mind I fail to mimic, master of me,
you who through hues of morn and eeven have hid,
cryptic rhythms in wan flame, wind, wavy sea,
each born of thee, each born of thee, each born of thee.

i walked amid a field with bough in hand,
i swinged and dinged the ground, the mounds, the land,
finding a pool I pulled and threw and slammed,
leaving the bough, remembering the strand.


and though one day I walked about the strand,
i did not write a name upon the sand,
why ought I? when subdued by fate and chance,
and turned to fife and cry, all that I glance?

i walked amain a darkling forest place,
and watched the golden figures i discerned,
seeing them dimly lit as by some ray,
i knew them spirits ne’er by flesh interned,

“oh my dear” “Ah my darling” “draw more near”
so sere so sere I hear but where are they,
where is the fields of ashen grey they peer?
where is the fields we have together played?

dimly I see quickly they pass from me,
the world of sight, of mind, of light’s design,
the glee, the cry, they seem eternity,
the freed, the bind, the me and I in time,

Cont

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.20288157]

>>20288149
go then away me and i, get thee back,
give back the he and thy, the we and my,
give back, the front, confront me with my lack,
thou art the eye by which I see the eye,

oh lord, oh lord, who makes my tongue a sword,
to cleave my mind from sights as leavened bread,
to levin’s dread, above the heaven’s head,
and makes me walk across the river ford.

i cross the river but return again,
a sliver of unearthly silver glens
i see and shiver at the ancient dens,
this quivering, voice stuttering, i yen.

i yen for yore once more again,
the Odd bodkin, the Godly bodily,
i do not care, make, break, dement,
I trod remove the sod my God from me.

the sod, the soil, the shod of toil,
all wrapped about as with a wire,
to shout, to shout, to shout but foiled,
self-bound, to burst, but briared.


briared, briared, heart’s desire,
the slice of vice had iced my heart’s fire,
higher and higher drew my geist,
showing me paradise with my lord Christ.

the rose is all but red,
violet all but blue,
all I’ve never said
you’ve already knew,

thou art the friend of me, whose breath said first to me my name,
thou art the prince of death whose lead hand has the scythe that maims,
thou art the king of dread whose red hand has the bolt so famed,
thou art the God whose breast bled, cursed from Godly sight, the blamed.

and many more and much more,
never can I exhaust your named attributes,
you dweller beyond the door,
the nameless named beyond the absolute.

how indeterminably ravenous,
the hunger of hell gate for everything,
for both the mundane and the fabulous,
the Hunger of a god for his offspring.

yet how singularly overflowing,
the many folds and parts named randomness,
sifting, drifting, splitting, twisting, playing,
hiding the one lone thing miraculous.

if by a name I call you, do I claim you end?
how can I bourne, who am a bornèd thing?
you are the bornless one, my god and king,
if called to give a name, I’ll call you friend.

friend before the endless time
who makes my heart to beat and drum,
come the world’s causation prime,
become what thou art to become,

i hum the sun I hum the moon,
i am the loam that roams and blooms,
i foam and spume from stone to womb,
i am the home the bones the tomb.

and I am man and I am man and I am man,
thrice and as thricefold thrice I know the light,
as trismegistus I sing and chant my cant,
Delight, the Light, the peace of black and white.

[Anonymous No.20288210]

>>20288157
Very beautiful, thank you for sharing sir

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.20288253]

>>20288210
Thanks! I’m serious though! Any critique is helpful! I’ve found I have gained most when people have desired to put it under fire, so any complaints I’ll try my best next time to integrate them.

[Anonymous No.20288259]

>>20287774
Frater Asemlen is probably the only tripcoder on 4chan who makes quality posts and doesn't devolve to absurd stupidity when I've interacted with the dude so he's alright in my book. Usually as a rule fuck tripcodes but I do like him.

[Anonymous No.20288315]

>>20287780
Not even close

[Anonymous No.20288341]

>>20288085

[Anonymous No.20288362]

>>20288259
>makes quality posts and doesn't devolve to absurd stupidity

[Frater Asemlen !srokRwmM5A No.20288370]

I fucking hate niggers

[Anonymous No.20288393]

>>20288370
How does that correlate with your Christian leanings

PS you don't know what a metonymy is

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.20288495]

>>20288362
Kek>>20288370
true!
>>20288393
Anything that’s related enough that can be used as a short hand or related enough can be in the overall category of metonymy as long as the imagination leap isn’t so extreme, the pen is mightier than the sword is commonly an example, in the example I wrote the key thing is “shiny object” which is being called gem, which is replaced by “shiny object” by another name, metonymy by definition is a change of names speaking of fundamentally the same thing, whereas simile and metaphor carry over the meaning but have a fundamental change essential, often being the same but requiring much more imagination. Thus it’s true you may refer to wine as grape, president as White House, knife as blade and so forth, but it is also true that sparkling object shines like sparkling object would also classify in the broader category.

As for my racism, it is partially justified partially unjustified, the justified aspect is I do believe humans are in ethnic categories which can be placed in a hierarchy with superiors being superior for biological and cultural superiority, thus I do not think it wrong to say the nigger inferior. As for the unjustified, of course it is wrong to hate them simply for being what they are, I am wrathful and I do not deny it is wrong that I principally hate them on looking at them, I will not however lie my feelings or how I see them, if asked about my own ethnicity I will gladly say our inferiority and why I see much disgusting about us also, I will also admit having bias towards my people as well, why should I lie about it?