http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vincas_Mykolaitis-Putinas
Goethe is fine too, and some Russian poets.
I'm from England but I gladly concede that the best poetry tends to come from countries east of my own.
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http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vincas_Mykolaitis-Putinas
Goethe is fine too, and some Russian poets.
I'm from England but I gladly concede that the best poetry tends to come from countries east of my own.
Charles Baudelaire ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Baudelaire ): You have to be always drunk. That’s all there is to it it’s the only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually drunk. But on what? Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be drunk.
Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
- Rainer Rilke
(http://www.onbeing.org/program/wild-love-world/feature/go-li...)Wallace Stevens is a favorite of mine. His work has been described as "rigorous", which I would agree with. He is an inspiration to me due to his ability to straddle two worlds: his day job was mainly as an insurance executive, but he flowered late and won a Pulitzer for his poetry. I particularly like "The Emperor of Ice Cream": Call the roller of big cigars, The muscular one, and bid him whip In kitchen cups concup…
One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;
And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter
Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,
Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.Wallace Stevens is a favorite of mine. His work has been described as "rigorous", which I would agree with. He is an inspiration to me due to his ability to straddle two worlds: his day job was mainly as an insurance executive, but he flowered late and won a Pulitzer for his poetry. I particularly like "The Emperor of Ice Cream": Call the roller of big cigars, The muscular one, and bid him whip In kitchen cups concup…
Charles Baudelaire ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Baudelaire ): You have to be always drunk. That’s all there is to it it’s the only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually drunk. But on what? Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be drunk.
Baudelaire is an incredibly powerful poet. My favorite is "L'Albatros", this poem leaves me speechless every time. The Albatross Often, to amuse themselves, the men of a crew Catch albatrosses, those vast sea birds That indolently follow a ship As it glides over the deep, briny sea. Scarcely have they placed them on the deck Than these kings of the sky, clumsy, ashamed, Pathetically let their great white wings Drag b…
I have mixed feeling about it. I said "studied", but I really meant "had to study". There's something about school's treatment of the subject that just robs the poem of any power. Maybe it's because as teenagers we likely didn't have the life experience for it to resonate with us. Even now, I can vaguely sense it but am numb to it. On the other hand, I'm glad I have been introduced to such poetry, as I think it helps me later in life to appreciate the finer things.
Also, did you know Baudelaire's translation of Poe's work brought it french recognition? (I earlier got it the wrong way around, thinking Poe had translated Baudelaire)
Dylan Thomas My tears are like the quiet drift Of petals from some magic rose; And all my grief flows from the rift Of unremembered skies and snows. I think, that if I touched the earth, It would crumble; It is so sad and beautiful, So tremulously like a dream. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dylan_Thomas http://www.poemhunter.com/dylan-thomas/
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Paul Muldoon,
Maybe something of a "poet's poet" but certainly worth checking out. His style is a casual one, but bursts with sidelong allusions to history, literature, art and etymological punnery. Perhaps of particular interest to people here, might be his novel-length poem Madoc, an hallucinogenic journey through time and place, in which "[he] supposes that Samuel Taylor Coleridge and Robert Southey took up their (actual) fancy of founding a Pantisocratic community in North America."
Ciaran Carson,
Took a break from writing through most of the 70s to travel with his wife playing traditional music and steep himself in the Irish storytelling tradition. His books since then have been an, at time excitingly precarious, marriage of traditional storytelling and a modernist mock pedanticism. Worth checking out is his Belfast Confetti, a mix of essays and poems which explore the psychological relationship one has to one's city.
Leontia Flynn, A much younger poet, of the generation of artists who have had to deal with adapting to life and working in the 21st Century. Her last book, from 2011, Profit & Loss is a striking meditation on the changing role of memory in pre- and post- Internet society.
And for something different that I would particularly recommend to the HN crowd,
Sam Riviere,
An English poet of the current generation who deals with the cognitive fallout of the ever varied linguistic and cultural deluge one experiences day to day in 2015. I don't want to say too much about his writing as he is still so young, but certainly seek out his latest book, Kim Kardashian's Marriage.
Tear It Down
We find out the heart only by dismantling what
the heart knows. by redefining the morning,
we find a morning that comes just after darkness.
we can break through marriage into marriage.
by insisting on love we spoil it, get beyond
affection and wade mouth-deep into love.
we must unlearn the constellations to see the stars.
but going back toward childhood will not help.
the village is not better than pittsburgh.
only pittsburgh is more than pittsburgh.
rome is better than rome in the same way the sound
of racoon tongues licking the inside walls
of the garbage tub is more than the stir
of them in the muck of the garbage. love is not
enough. we die and are put into the earth forever.
we should insist while there is still time. we must
eat through the wildness of her sweet body already
in our bed to reach the body within the body.
-Jack Gilbert