Thread: Your Favourite Poets

One of my favourit poets is ee cummings. Here are two of his which I love:

i thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any – lifted from the no
of all nothing – human merely being
doubt unimaginably You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

I absolutely love that poem. And here's another:

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

What about you?

I do like Robert Creeley quite a lot. Some of his poems I appreciate less than others, but when I do find I poem I like of his, I really do like it quite a lot.

"A Token" by Robert Creeley

My lady
fair with
soft
arms, what

can i say to
you-words, words
as if all
worlds were there.

that's a cool poem. I don't think I've heard of him... he sort of rings a bell...

Santoka Taneda is my favourite! :]

whiteness of the rice
red of pickled plum
these treasures

the moon's brightness
does it know
where the bombing will be?



daily torn and tattered
turning to shreds
my robe for traveling


well
which way should I go
the wind blows


within life and death
snow falls ceaselessly

And one of my favourites ...

in the endless sound
of water -
there is buddha

Originally Posted by Nillani

that's a cool poem. I don't think I've heard of him... he sort of rings a bell...

He was one of the more popular "Black Mountain Poets" if you've ever read about them. Pretty interesting stuff! Although some of it I do not feel for

Kouryuu, That sounds like a completely BEAUTIFUL poet from what I just read. It's wonderful!

He's amazing!! He wrote the book "For all my walking" on his pilgrimage as a Buddhist monk. This is my favourite!

Where do I go and what do I seek?
... Inquiring and walking in the wind.

"Provide, Provide" is a true reflection on todays world, written by Robert Frost:

The witch that came (the withered hag)
To wash the steps with pail and rag,
Was once the beauty Abishag,

The picture pride of Hollywood.
Too many fall from great and good
For you to doubt the likelihood.

Die early and avoid the fate.
Or if predestined to die late,
Make up your mind to die in state.

Make the whole stock exchange your own!
If need be occupy a throne,
Where nobody can call you crone.

Some have relied on what they knew;
Others on simply being true.
What worked for them might work for you.

No memory of having starred
Atones for later disregard,
Or keeps the end from being hard.

Better to go down dignified
With boughten friendship at your side
Than none at all. Provide, provide![FONT=verdana,geneva,lucida,'lucida grande',arial,helvetica,sans-serif]
***********************************

Nice comical poem to say the least.

Oh dude, E. E. Cummings is the MAN!

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh . . . . And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new

OH MAN is he awesome. My favorite is "in Just-" but I don't want to try and post it because the formatting is nuts.

Charles Bukowski

16-bit Intel 8088 chip

with an Apple Macintosh
you can't run Radio Shack programs
in its disc drive.
nor can a Commodore 64
drive read a file
you have created on an
IBM Personal Computer.
both Kaypro and Osborne computers use
the CP/M operating system
but can't read each other's
handwriting
for they format (write
on) discs in different
ways.
the Tandy 2000 runs MS-DOS but
can't use most programs produced for
the IBM Personal Computer
unless certain
bits and bytes are
altered
but the wind still blows over
Savannah
and in the Spring
the turkey buzzard struts and
flounces before his
hens.

Charles Bukowski

That's just the first one I found - they're all good. Pulled this one from the following link which might help those looking for more examples:

http://www.poemhunter.com/charles-bukowski/

Currently Pablo Neruda.

I love Pablo Neruda too.

One of my favourite poems -

A Curse For A Nation by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

I heard an angel speak last night,
And he said 'Write!
Write a Nation's curse for me,
And send it over the Western Sea.'

I faltered, taking up the word:
'Not so, my lord!
If curses must be, choose another
To send thy curse against my brother.

'For I am bound by gratitude,
By love and blood,
To brothers of mine across the sea,
Who stretch out kindly hands to me.'

'Therefore,' the voice said, 'shalt thou write
My curse to-night.
From the summits of love a curse is driven,
As lightning is from the tops of heaven.'

'Not so,' I answered. 'Evermore
My heart is sore
For my own land's sins: for little feet
Of children bleeding along the street:

'For parked-up honors that gainsay
The right of way:
For almsgiving through a door that is
Not open enough for two friends to kiss:

'For love of freedom which abates
Beyond the Straits:
For patriot virtue starved to vice on
Self-praise, self-interest, and suspicion:

'For an oligarchic parliament,
And bribes well-meant.
What curse to another land assign,
When heavy-souled for the sins of mine?'

'Therefore,' the voice said, 'shalt thou write
My curse to-night.
Because thou hast strength to see and hate
A foul thing done within thy gate.'

'Not so,' I answered once again.
'To curse, choose men.
For I, a woman, have only known
How the heart melts and the tears run down.'

'Therefore,' the voice said, 'shalt thou write
My curse to-night.
Some women weep and curse, I say
(And no one marvels), night and day.

'And thou shalt take their part to-night,
Weep and write.
A curse from the depths of womanhood
Is very salt, and bitter, and good.'

So thus I wrote, and mourned indeed,
What all may read.
And thus, as was enjoined on me,
I send it over the Western Sea.

The Curse

Because ye have broken your own chain
With the strain
Of brave men climbing a Nation's height,
Yet thence bear down with brand and thong
On souls of others, -- for this wrong
This is the curse. Write.

Because yourselves are standing straight
In the state
Of Freedom's foremost acolyte,
Yet keep calm footing all the time
On writhing bond-slaves, -- for this crime
This is the curse. Write.

Because ye prosper in God's name,
With a claim
To honor in the old world's sight,
Yet do the fiend's work perfectly
In strangling martyrs, -- for this lie
This is the curse. Write.

Ye shall watch while kings conspire
Round the people's smouldering fire,
And, warm for your part,
Shall never dare -- O shame!
To utter the thought into flame
Which burns at your heart.
This is the curse. Write.

Ye shall watch while nations strive
With the bloodhounds, die or survive,
Drop faint from their jaws,
Or throttle them backward to death;
And only under your breath
Shall favor the cause.
This is the curse. Write.

Ye shall watch while strong men draw
The nets of feudal law
To strangle the weak;
And, counting the sin for a sin,
Your soul shall be sadder within
Than the word ye shall speak.
This is the curse. Write.

When good men are praying erect
That Christ may avenge His elect
And deliver the earth,
The prayer in your ears, said low,
Shall sound like the tramp of a foe
That's driving you forth.
This is the curse. Write.

When wise men give you their praise,
They shall praise in the heat of the phrase,
As if carried too far.
When ye boast your own charters kept true,
Ye shall blush; for the thing which ye do
Derides what ye are.
This is the curse. Write.

When fools cast taunts at your gate,
Your scorn ye shall somewhat abate
As ye look o'er the wall;
For your conscience, tradition, and name
Explode with a deadlier blame
Than the worst of them all.
This is the curse. Write.

Go, wherever ill deeds shall be done,
Go, plant your flag in the sun
Beside the ill-doers!
And recoil from clenching the curse
Of God's witnessing Universe
With a curse of yours.
This is the curse. Write.

Lovelace, definitely.

To Lucasta, Going Off to the Wars
Richard Lovelace

Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind,
That from the nunnery
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind
To war and arms I fly.
True, a new mistress now I chase,
The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.

But this inconstancy is such
As thou too shalt adore;
I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Loved I not honour more.

I love Richard Lovelace's poetry. The words "stone walls do not a prison make", so often used as a quotation, take on a real significance when seen in their original context in this poem, written by Lovelace when he was imprisoned by the Rounheads for fighting in support of King Charles 1st.

Richard Lovelace. 1618–1658

To Althea, from Prison

When Love with unconfinèd wings
Hovers within my gates,
And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at the grates;
When I lie tangled in her hair
And fetter'd to her eye,
The birds that wanton in the air
Know no such liberty.

When flowing cups run swiftly round
With no allaying Thames,
Our careless heads with roses bound,
Our hearts with loyal flames;
When thirsty grief in wine we steep,
When healths and draughts go free—
Fishes that tipple in the deep
Know no such liberty.

When, like committed linnets, I
With shriller throat shall sing
The sweetness, mercy, majesty,
And glories of my King;
When I shall voice aloud how good
He is, how great should be,
Enlargèd winds, that curl the flood,
Know no such liberty.

Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an hermitage;
If I have freedom in my love
And in my soul am free,
Angels alone, that soar above,
Enjoy such liberty.

Rob

Originally Posted by Baron

I love Richard Lovelace's poetry. The words "stone walls do not a prison make", so often used as a quotation, take on a real significance when seen in their original context in this poem, written by Lovelace when he was imprisoned by the Rounheads for fighting in support of King Charles 1st.

Richard Lovelace. 1618–1658

To Althea, from Prison

When Love with unconfinèd wings
Hovers within my gates,
And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at the grates;
When I lie tangled in her hair
And fetter'd to her eye,
The birds that wanton in the air
Know no such liberty.

When flowing cups run swiftly round
With no allaying Thames,
Our careless heads with roses bound,
Our hearts with loyal flames;
When thirsty grief in wine we steep,
When healths and draughts go free—
Fishes that tipple in the deep
Know no such liberty.

When, like committed linnets, I
With shriller throat shall sing
The sweetness, mercy, majesty,
And glories of my King;
When I shall voice aloud how good
He is, how great should be,
Enlargèd winds, that curl the flood,
Know no such liberty.

Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an hermitage;
If I have freedom in my love
And in my soul am free,
Angels alone, that soar above,
Enjoy such liberty.

Rob

Wow.
Powerful.

I guess I am, now, also a Lovelace fan.
Thank you for posting.

My 2 faves remain Yeats and Millay.
Their poetry touches me at an intellectual and heart level, its rare to feel both I think.

Originally Posted by Shawn

To Lucasta, Going Off to the Wars
Richard Lovelace
...

You'll forgive me, I hope, if I post Robert Graves' response to Lovelace:

To Lucasta on Going to the War -- for the Fourth Time

It doesn't matter what's the cause,
..What wrong they say we're righting,
A curse for treaties, bonds and laws,
..When we're to do the fighting!
And since we lads are proud and true,
..What else remains to do?
Lucasta, when to France your man
Returns his fourth time, hating war,
Yet laughs as calmly as he can
..And flings an oath, but says no more,
That is not courage, that's not fear--
Lucasta he's a Fusilier,
..And his pride sends him here.

Let statesmen bluster, bark and bray,
..And so decide who started
This bloody war, and who's to pay,
..But he must be stout-hearted,
Must sit and stake with quiet breath,
..Playing at cards with Death.
Don't plume yourself he fights for you;
It is no courage, love, or hate,
But let us do the things we do;
..It's pride that makes the heart be great;
It is not anger, no, nor fear--
Lucasta he's a Fusilier,
..And his pride keeps him here.