dik.n.ur.ear Posted September 7, 2003 Share Posted September 7, 2003 http://www.veinotte.com/baudelaire/baudeneyt.jpg'> Charles Baudelaire was a 19th century French poet, translator, and literary and art critic whose reputation rests primarily on Les Fleurs du mal; (1857;The Flowers of Evil) which was perhaps the most important and influential poetry collection published in Europe in the 19th century. Similarly, his Petits poèmes en prose (1868; "Little Prose Poems") was the most successful and innovative early experiment in prose poetry of the time. Known for his highly contraversial, and often dark poetry, as well as his translation of the tales of Edgar Allan Poe, Baudelaire's life was filled with drama and strife, from financial disaster to being prosecuted for obscenity and blasphemy. Long after his death many look upon his name as representing depravity and vice: Others see him as being the poet of modern civilization, seeming to speak directly to the 20th century. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
dik.n.ur.ear Posted September 7, 2003 Author Share Posted September 7, 2003 "To The Reader" Stupidity, delusion, selfishness and lust torment our bodies and possess our minds, and we sustain our affable remorse the way a beggar nourishes his lice Our sins are stubborn, our contrition lame; we want our scruples to be worth our while- how cheerfully we crawl back to the mire: with few cheap tears washing our stains away! Satan Trismegistus subtly rocks our ravished spirits on his wicked bed until the precious metal of our will is leached out by this cunning alchemist: the Devil's's hand directs our every move- the things we loathed become the things we love: day by day we drop though stinking shades quite undeterred on our descent to Hell! Like a poor profligate who sucks and bites the withered breasts of some well-seasoned trull, we snatch in passing at clandestine joys and squeeze the oldest orange harder yet. Wriggling in our brains like a million worms, a demon demos holds its revels there, and when we breathe, the Lethe in our lungs trickles sighing on its secret course. If rape and arson, poison and the knife have not yet stitched their ludicrous designs onto the banal buckram of our fates, it is because our souls lack enterprise! But here among the scorpions and the hounds, the jackals, apes and vultures, snakes and wolves, monsters that howl and growl and squeal and crawl, in all the squalid zoo of vices, one is even uglier and fouler than the rest, althoug the least flamboyant of the lot; this beast would gladly undermine the earth. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
dik.n.ur.ear Posted September 7, 2003 Author Share Posted September 7, 2003 "EVEN WHEN SHE WALKS. . ." Even when she walks she seems to dance! Her garments writhe and glisten like long snakes obedient to the rhythm of the wands by which a fakir wakens them to grace. Like both the desert and the desert sky insensible to human suffering, and like the ocean's endless labyrinth she shows her body with indifference. Precious minerals are her polished eyes, and in her strange symbolic nature angel and sphinx unite, where diamonds, gold, and steel dissolve into one light, shining forever, useless as a star, the sterile woman's icy majesty. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
dik.n.ur.ear Posted September 7, 2003 Author Share Posted September 7, 2003 "Afternoon Song" Though your wicked eyebrows call Your nature into question (Unangelic's their suggestion, Witch whose eyes enthrall)> I adore you still - O foolish terrible emotion - Kneeling in devotion As a priest to his idol will. Your undone braids conceal Desert, forest scents: In your exotic countenance Lie secrets unrevealed. Over your flesh perfume drifts Like incense 'round a censor: Tantalizing dispenser Of evening's ardent gifts. No Philtres could compete With your potent idleness: You've mastered the caress That raises dead me to their feet. Your hips themselves are romanced By your back and by your breasts: By your languid dalliance. Now and then, your appetite's Uncontrolled, unassuaged: Mysteriously enraged, You kiss me and you bite. Dark one, I am torn By your savage ways, Then, soft as the moon, your gaze Sees my tortured heart reborn. Beneath your satin shoe, Beneath your charming silken foot. My greatest joy I put My genius and destiny, too. You bring my spirit back, Bringer of the light. Exploding color in the night Of my Siberia so black. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
dik.n.ur.ear Posted September 7, 2003 Author Share Posted September 7, 2003 "Be Drunk" 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. And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace or the green grass of a ditch, in the mournful solitude of your room, you wake again, drunkenness already diminishing or gone, ask the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock, everything that is flying, everything that is groaning, everything that is rolling, everything that is singing, everything that is speaking. . .ask what time it is and wind, wave, star, bird, clock will answer you: "It is time to be drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of time, be drunk, be continually drunk! On wine, on poetry or on virtue as you wish." Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
dik.n.ur.ear Posted September 7, 2003 Author Share Posted September 7, 2003 i doubt the majority of you internet brawlers give a fuck about poetry, but please contribute and prove me wrong.... Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
l0rdka0s Posted September 7, 2003 Share Posted September 7, 2003 Of all the things i could repect you for, I didnt think it would ever be your intrest in poetry. I myself am a writer, i own claim to hundreds of poems but i reufse to post that shit on here. hit me on aim(lordkaotical) if you wanna talk, and until then enjoy the stars that i look to at night and hope to one day be in midst of. BECAUSE YOUR VOICE WAS AT MY SIDE by: James Joyce (1882-1941) ECAUSE your voice was at my side I gave him pain, Because within my hand I held Your hand again. There is no word nor any sign Can make amend-- He is a stranger to me now Who was my friend. I HEAR AN ARMY CHARGING UPON THE LAND by: James Joyce (1882-1941) HEAR an army charging upon the land, And the thunder of horses plunging, foam about their knees: Arrogant, in black armour, behind them stand, Disdaining the reins, with fluttering whips, the charioteers. They cry unto the night their battle-name: I moan in sleep when I hear afar their whirling laughter. They cleave the gloom of dreams, a blinding flame, Clanging, clanging upon the heart as upon an anvil. They come shaking in triumph their long, green hair: They come out of the sea and run shouting by the shore. My heart, have you no wisdom thus to despair? My love, my love, my love, why have you left me alone? Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
l0rdka0s Posted September 7, 2003 Share Posted September 7, 2003 FIRE AND ICE by: Robert Frost (1874-1963) OME say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate To know that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice. THE LOCKLESS DOOR by: Robert Frost (1874-1963) T went many years, But at last came a knock, And I thought of the door With no lock to lock. I blew out the light, I tip-toed the floor, And raised both hands In prayer to the door. But the knock came again My window was wide; I climbed on the sill And descended outside. Back over the sill I bade a “Come in” To whoever the knock At the door may have been. So at a knock I emptied my cage To hide in the world And alter with age. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
l0rdka0s Posted September 7, 2003 Share Posted September 7, 2003 thsione is my favorite frost poem, all the moronic idiot rich kids who are unapreciative of literature in my senior english class had nofucking idead as to what this shit meant until i screamed and yelled the explination to them, i yelled because it was so blatantly obvious and they took me from my black book to explain it to them. dumbfucks. THE ROAD NOT TAKEN by: Robert Frost (1874-1963) WO roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-- I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. WEll i wanted to post some Poems by Samuel Beckett but apparently no one has taken the time to tpye them up soill get some for yas later on down the road after i do it. heres a link to the entire play En Attendant Godot (waiting for godot), which in my opinion is poetry, just a really really long one. http://samuel-beckett.net/Waiting_for_Godot_Part1.html Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Spoter Posted September 8, 2003 Share Posted September 8, 2003 poetry?......damn.i didn't know you would take this far. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest imported_El Mamerro Posted September 8, 2003 Share Posted September 8, 2003 Originally posted by robotripp thsione is my favorite frost poem, all the moronic idiot rich kids who are unapreciative of literature in my senior english class had nofucking idead as to what this shit meant until i screamed and yelled the explination to them, i yelled because it was so blatantly obvious and they took me from my black book to explain it to them. dumbfucks. http://www.montana-cabins.com/image/big-horse.jpg'> Careful getting off, it's a long way down. Wait, aren't you Blink ATX? Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest imported_Tesseract Posted September 8, 2003 Share Posted September 8, 2003 Originally posted by scallawag i doubt the majority of you internet brawlers give a fuck about poetry, but please contribute and prove me wrong.... heh...no offence and all but poetry is like sex....nothing to do with the internet. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
dik.n.ur.ear Posted September 8, 2003 Author Share Posted September 8, 2003 that didnt make any sense to me Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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