A Poem Thread

Discussion in 'Art & Culture' started by Angelus, Nov 9, 2002.

  1. wegs Matter & Pixie Dust Valued Senior Member

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    lol i needed a laugh...

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    and on that note...i'm heading out for the night. peace!
     
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  3. dumbest man on earth Real Eyes Realize Real Lies Valued Senior Member

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    3,444
    Heck, some people seem to choose to be threepid or fourpid, and quite a few even aspire to rocket further up the pid scale.
     
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  5. ScaryMonster I’m the whispered word. Valued Senior Member

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    1,074
    On the rail tracks

    On the day’s last mortuary tear,
    a flighty bird upon the wing turned
    her eye to me.

    On the rail tracks sweet winds pause,
    the fountain grass is quickening.
    Reeds yielded to her downward beat
    swaying to the eddying dives.

    She searched tracks in the dying light;
    time paused there on the railway
    line. Shining like a silver knife which
    distantly did slice.

    The steely glint was taken up, in her
    spectered falcon’s sight. A look, in
    which the sunset rides, mandalas made
    of light.

    To punctuate the poignance thus, the
    bird climbed up another notch.
    The reeds they sighed and took a breath
    as a rumbling engine shook their rest.

    In the grind, the roaring gears frame
    shadow strobes as boxcars veer.
    Like a cinema reel, it played.
    A Flashing glimpse through smoke
    displayed, a demon dance, a world
    remade.

    Did the dirty moon just laugh as it swam
    beyond this etheric slush? Was my spectral
    falcon lost, or remade within the frames
    and dust.

    In my mind the vision lies, before the thinning
    ebb of light. The image flitters, spinning still,
    spanning more than sunset’s spill.

    In the darkness, a falcon cries, and on the rail
    tracks, something dies.
     
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  7. wegs Matter & Pixie Dust Valued Senior Member

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    7,261
    Seamus Heaney, who was often called the greatest Irish poet since Yeats, died on Friday in Dublin. He was 74.
    He was a beautiful man, and the world is a sadder place with him gone.

    One of his poems, I thought I'd share...



    The Grauballe Man

    As if he had been poured
    in tar, he lies
    on a pillow of turf
    and seems to weep

    the black river of himself.
    The grain of his wrists
    is like bog oak,
    the ball of his heel

    like a basalt egg.
    His instep has shrunk
    cold as a swan’s foot
    or a wet swamp root.

    His hips are the ridge
    and purse of a mussel,
    his spine an eel arrested
    under a glisten of mud.

    The head lifts,
    the chin is a visor
    raised above the vent
    of his slashed throat

    that has tanned and toughened.
    The cured wound
    opens inwards to a dark
    elderberry place.

    Who will say ‘corpse’
    to his vivid cast?
    Who will say ‘body’
    to his opaque repose?

    And his rusted hair,
    a mat unlikely
    as a foetus’s.
    I first saw his twisted face

    in a photograph,
    a head and shoulder
    out of the peat,
    bruised like a forceps baby,

    but now he lies
    perfected in my memory,
    down to the red horn
    of his nails,

    hung in the scales
    with beauty and atrocity:
    with the Dying Gaul
    too strictly compassed

    on his shield,
    with the actual weight
    of each hooded victim,
    slashed and dumped.



    ~Seamus Heaney
     
  8. Robittybob1 Banned Banned

    Messages:
    4,199
    Would you help me with the meaning of that poem please?

    Can anyone help me with the meaning of that poem please?
     
  9. wegs Matter & Pixie Dust Valued Senior Member

    Messages:
    7,261
  10. Robittybob1 Banned Banned

    Messages:
    4,199
  11. wegs Matter & Pixie Dust Valued Senior Member

    Messages:
    7,261
    that's weird; i pull it up, fine. ??
     
  12. Robittybob1 Banned Banned

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    4,199
    Found one through Google thanks. Did you understand it yourself without it being explained? I read it a couple of times and it still made no sense to me. It can't be easy.
    http://www.linkagenet.com/reviews/heaneypoemcriticism.htm
     
  13. wegs Matter & Pixie Dust Valued Senior Member

    Messages:
    7,261
    Yeah, I'm familiar with his work though. I was sad to learn that he had died.
    He's got a lot of wonderful poetry, change-your-life kind of poetry.
    Check it out, when u have time.
     
  14. Robittybob1 Banned Banned

    Messages:
    4,199
    Even that help did really help. I find that poem like a maze. If you think for a moment you know what it means you get lost in the next bit. You go back to the start and get lost again. Where do you start? What is the line to work from?
     
  15. Robittybob1 Banned Banned

    Messages:
    4,199
  16. Robittybob1 Banned Banned

    Messages:
    4,199
    http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grauballe_Man

    "The Grauballe Man is a bog body that was uncovered in 1952 from a peat bog near to the village of Grauballe in Jutland, Denmark. The body is that of an adult male dating from the late 3rd century BC, during the early Germanic Iron Age. Based on the evidence of his wounds, he was most likely killed by having his throat slit open."
     
  17. Anew Life isn't a question. Banned

    Messages:
    461
    it's graphic haste

    the normative cesspool

    is normatively dysfunctional

    cesspool marriages
    cesspool

    join the circus


    the normative cesspool
    is normatively dysfunctional
     
  18. Trooper Secular Sanity Valued Senior Member

    Messages:
    1,784
    The Meaning Makers

    Living creatures shouting for joy
    Holy, holy, holy, a convenient ploy

    A euphoric display, a magnetic storm
    Spirits leaping, generating form

    Peppered empathy, salted autonomy
    Morning stars, medieval astronomy

    Lack of necessity, mere products of events
    Powerful endings, timely repents

    Sons of the Most High
    All destined to die

    Cast crowns before the throne
    A life well lived written in stone
     
  19. Robittybob1 Banned Banned

    Messages:
    4,199
    Of the Meaning Makers

    The diction of the dictator was
    Forged in the Phoenician fire.
    Words of the ancestral smith and what they mean to us
    Is riddled in what they did conspire.

    Dead linguists still speaking
    From the cryptographic crypt
    Offer us origins of word's first teaching,
    Showing us signs in their hands gripped.

    Voices of the mountains
    And the sweet canopy
    Were like lyrical fountains
    For man to echo eternally.

    Savage tongues turned silver
    As we drank from the primordial elixir.


    Posted by Dan L. Biggin
    From "The Word Of Pen"
    http://dbiggin.blogspot.co.nz/2012/06/of-meaning-makers.html

    Addendum: http://www.sciforums.com/showthread...d-discussion&p=3106290&viewfull=1#post3106290
     
  20. wegs Matter & Pixie Dust Valued Senior Member

    Messages:
    7,261
    "Cars"


    Here in my car
    I feel safest of all
    I can lock all my doors
    It's the only way to live
    In cars

    Here in my car
    I can only receive
    I can listen to you
    It keeps me stable for days
    In cars

    Here in my car
    Where the image breaks down
    Will you visit me please
    If I open my door
    In cars

    Here in my car
    I know I've started to think
    About leaving tonight
    Although nothing seems right
    In cars

    (Song lyrics/Gary Numan)
     
  21. Laughterman Registered Member

    Messages:
    4
    Here is a long poem to make you think.

    Google P.E. - basilhughhall - Google Sites
     
  22. wegs Matter & Pixie Dust Valued Senior Member

    Messages:
    7,261
    A Valentine


    For her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes,
    Brightly expressive as the twins of Leda,
    Shall find her own sweet name, that nestling lies
    Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader.
    Search narrowly the lines!- they hold a treasure
    Divine- a talisman- an amulet
    That must be worn at heart. Search well the measure-
    The words- the syllables! Do not forget
    The trivialest point, or you may lose your labor
    And yet there is in this no Gordian knot
    Which one might not undo without a sabre,
    If one could merely comprehend the plot.
    Enwritten upon the leaf where now are peering
    Eyes scintillating soul, there lie perdus
    Three eloquent words oft uttered in the hearing
    Of poets, by poets- as the name is a poet's, too,
    Its letters, although naturally lying
    Like the knight Pinto- Mendez Ferdinando-
    Still form a synonym for Truth- Cease trying!
    You will not read the riddle, though you do the best you can do.



    Edgar Allan Poe
     
  23. Robittybob1 Banned Banned

    Messages:
    4,199
    @wegs - What is the meaning of that poem? Why did you choose that one?
     

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