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Post by Martin Stett on Sept 30, 2022 3:15:53 GMT
I've only read a couple - Elias Lonnrot's Kalevala (Kirby's English translation) and Milton's Paradise Lost, but both of them were a lot of fun. There's something special about the rhythm of a good poem. When used as the medium for a large story, I think that there's something to be said for a poet's turn of phrase keeping the tale taut and interesting. On a side note: does anybody else refuse to read poetry silently? I had to be in private to read both of these because I'd annoy people if I attempted to tackle the stuff in public.  |
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Post by stephen on Sept 30, 2022 12:12:16 GMT
When I was in college, yeah, I was mad for 'em. The Divine Comedy is my favourite, and Paradise Lost is so fucking good and even though Alex Proyas's career hasn't wowed me post-Dark City, I still hope the man gets the opportunity to adapt that.
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Post by Joaquim on Sept 30, 2022 20:03:56 GMT
The GOAT  |
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VERITAS
New Member
Posts: 239 
Likes: 131
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Post by VERITAS on Jan 7, 2023 1:24:10 GMT
T.S. Eliot's "The Waste Land" immediately comes to mind; stark reflection of society's (England's) alienated mindset and depression post WW1. I had to write a paper on one of its sections ("The Fire Sermon") in school years ago where Eliot taps into/references Buddhist ideologies of detachment being a form of liberating oneself from existential suffering and it resonates to this day...
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Post by MsMovieStar on Jan 7, 2023 19:27:44 GMT
Someday beneath some hard
Capricious star—
Spreading its light a little
Over far,
We'll know you for the woman
That you are.
For though one took you, hurled you
Out of space,
With your legs half strangled
In your lace,
You'd lip the world to madness
On your face.
We'd see your body in the grass
With cool pale eyes.
We'd strain to touch those lang'rous
Length of thighs,
And hear your short sharp modern
Babylonic cries.
It wouldn't go. We'd feel you
Coil in fear
Leaning across the fertile
Fields to leer
As you urged some bitter secret
Through the ear.
We see your arms grow humid
In the heat;
We see your damp chemise lie
Pulsing in the beat
Of the over-hearts left oozing
At your feet.
See you sagging down with bulging
Hair to sip,
The dappled damp from some vague
Under lip,
Your soft saliva, loosed
With orgy, drip.
Once we'd not have called this
Woman you—
When leaning above your mother's
Spleen you drew
Your mouth across her breast as
Trick musicians do.
Plunging grandly out to fall
Upon your face.
Naked—female—baby
In grimace,
With your belly bulging stately
Into space.
From Fifth Avenue Up by Djuna Barnes
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