My favourite poets are those who keep all their poetry to themselves.
My favourite poets are those who keep all their poetry to themselves.
Waaaay.
I have to say I have a fondness for 'poets' who recycle 'soul' and 'heart' and 'shards' and 'pain' and 'tortured' on repeat. Just because they have no idea.
Baudelaire and Cummings.
Heck Ox. That don't even rhyme.
"I think it's blessed are the cheese makers." "...What's so special about the cheese makers?", Life of Brian
There is only one who is my favorite poet and she is my sister. I love her poetry. She had wrote many poetry and almost all poetry has been shared with me. I asked her many a time regarding publishing but she didn't agree with it.
Robert Lowell.
Always has been and always will be William Blake.
Edgar Allan Poe is undoubtedly my favorite poet. I think my favorite work of his has to be:
Annabel Lee
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
I get goosebumps every time I read it.![]()
together we stand, divided we fall .
Leonard Cohen; failing that, T. Stearns Eliot. There are so many to choose from I don't think I could keep the same favorite author for more than a year. The more I read the more I love all poets.
Last edited by twopenbit; 12-15-2010 at 03:46 PM.
Robinson Jeffers, especially his lyric work. Also William Blake and Walt Whitman.
j.v. cunningham and a.e. housman are pretty nice...
Dian Bramaged.
Walt Whitman
ON THE BEACH AT NIGHT ALONE
by: Walt Whitman (1819-1892)
N the beach at night alone,
As the old mother sways her to and fro singing her husky song,
As I watch the bright stars shining, I think a thought of the clef of the universes and of the future.
A vast similitude interlocks all,
All spheres, grown, ungrown, small, large, suns, moons, planets,
All distances of place however wide,
All distances of time, all inanimate forms,
All souls, all living bodies though they be ever so different, or in different worlds,
All gaseous, watery, vegetable, mineral processes, the fishes, the brutes,
All nations, colors, barbarisms, civilizations, languages,
All identities that have existed or may exist on this globe, or any globe,
All lives and deaths, all of the past, present, future,
This vast similitude spans them, and always has spann'd,
And shall forever span them and compactly hold and enclose them.
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