Author Topic: poetry you like  (Read 30316 times)

pierre.francisco Offline

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poetry you like
« Reply #30 on: April 05, 2008, 13:05:21 »
And, btw, Rimabud wasn't a teacher in literature dude. He was a poet, that wrote for himself.
\'The only unbareble thing is that nothing is unbareble\'

Rimbaud, Jean Arthur

Kitty Offline be

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« Reply #31 on: April 05, 2008, 17:00:37 »
I don't think she was talking about Rimbaud when she was talking about a teacher  8)

@Aional for ones I completely agree with you on everything you said, one can only reproduce feelings in his her poetry if she he is standing open for the emotions in first instance...and indeed what lacrima-elix said is right teenagers oft reproduce their feeling in a naïve way, see everybody has been a kid ones but that's WHO YOU ARE at that very moment so what can be wrong in reproducing who you are even when you are silly and naïve about what you feel and how you perceive the world? that's what made me mad about saying that poetry from teenagers isn't real poetry...you know in my eyes even a child from 3 could be a poet if it would be capable of writing down what it thinks we would learn so much from them and that's something I am sure off... :D that's also why I think behaving like a kid ones in a while can only do good to our mind and body just to see the world as a big play where everything is possible and nothing NEEDS to be done  :D I love poetry so much!(my hero is wordsworth  :D I love his words and Jotie Thooft who is a Dutch poet very sensitive and very young too when he start writing and when he died I believe he was 21 when he killed himself...very sad one wrote a lot about dead and tranitoriness but really inspirative  :) )

Greetings
Me
When you can dream it, you can do it!

pierre.francisco Offline

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« Reply #32 on: April 05, 2008, 20:27:51 »
Oh!, sorry than, Aional :\
\'The only unbareble thing is that nothing is unbareble\'

Rimbaud, Jean Arthur

Alexamp;Ra Offline

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« Reply #33 on: April 10, 2008, 03:05:25 »
Apparently, there's no such thing as ideal gas. Apparently, there's no such thing as real poetry.
And praising someone's thoughts, giving them the real and true essense, just because they are like yours... Rather selfish, don't you think?
Quote
Real poetry is the poetry that can be felt by other people

this cannot be. Expiriences are different, even if they resemble at some points.
Maybe I should light a candle too?

Kitty Offline be

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« Reply #34 on: April 10, 2008, 12:25:40 »
but still they can be felt can they? as Aional said...still not by everyone...I mean we do feel Tilo's lyrics don't we (perhaps not always on a correct way but what IS the correct way? then he should explain us what he does for a part with his music)

Still I don't think there exists something like REAL poetry, you have poetry full stop.
And emotions can be transferred more directly or hidden and people have the intention to call the hidden poetry better than the directly one but is that correct? I mean every single word in poetry has such a wide range of interpretations...there are so many ways you can use tricks to give another impression of your thoughts...so many ways on which you ask the reader TO THINK and I believe that as long as you get some stuff to think about you can speak of poetry (moreover about literature in general)
We learnt at school, that poetry is defined by register, so to say the used language where as slang language can't be seen as poetry at least that was the case in the past, nowadays some 'poets' do use it and are even then defined as REAL poets with REAL poetry...so in my eyes everybody trying to tell you something trough words (which is after all the definition of poetry I thought, give an image to feelings, thoughts, ideas by using words only that's also why poetry is a language on its own no?)is a kind of poet. And only popularity makes you a FAMOUS poet, but is therefor a non-famous poet no poet?  :)

Greetings
Longway
When you can dream it, you can do it!

Aional Offline

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« Reply #35 on: April 12, 2008, 04:57:21 »
Quote from: "pierre.francisco"
And, btw, Rimabud wasn't a teacher in literature dude. He was a poet, that wrote for himself.

 Don't be rude, please. ;)
Goodbye.

Aional Offline

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« Reply #36 on: April 12, 2008, 05:02:41 »
Quote from: "Alex&Ra"
Apparently, there's no such thing as ideal gas. Apparently, there's no such thing as real poetry.
And praising someone's thoughts, giving them the real and true essense, just because they are like yours... Rather selfish, don't you think?
Quote
Real poetry is the poetry that can be felt by other people

this cannot be. Expiriences are different, even if they resemble at some points.

Hm-m
Let's agree on a thought that everything what is said can't be absolutely true and forget it? :lol:
Goodbye.

pierre.francisco Offline

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« Reply #37 on: April 12, 2008, 13:15:04 »
Quote from: "Aional"
Quote from: "pierre.francisco"
And, btw, Rimabud wasn't a teacher in literature dude. He was a poet, that wrote for himself.

 Don't be rude, please. ;)


I beg your pardon, what's the rude part of the sentence?

Yours sincerelly,
Pierre
\'The only unbareble thing is that nothing is unbareble\'

Rimbaud, Jean Arthur

Kitty Offline be

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« Reply #38 on: April 13, 2008, 14:47:38 »
:lol: I guess it was the dude who made it  :lol:  :lol:
When you can dream it, you can do it!

pierre.francisco Offline

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« Reply #39 on: April 13, 2008, 15:34:03 »
Dude - noun(slang, especially NAmE) - a man;
\'The only unbareble thing is that nothing is unbareble\'

Rimbaud, Jean Arthur

Aional Offline

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« Reply #40 on: April 17, 2008, 09:44:09 »
n-n-n-o, Kitty!!!!
I didn't mean the sentence to be rude at all!

2 pierre.francisco
And i know what means dude, thank you, dude ;)
I was considering the offensive tone of the message, that's all. I hadn't read your message of apology before posted it.
"Let dead bury dead"! :D
Goodbye.

pierre.francisco Offline

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« Reply #41 on: April 17, 2008, 18:40:52 »
; )
Y, let's forget it.

Auf wiedersehen,
Pierre
\'The only unbareble thing is that nothing is unbareble\'

Rimbaud, Jean Arthur

DarkLady Offline

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« Reply #42 on: May 09, 2008, 18:21:18 »
I love this poem

THE DESIRE TO PAINT Charles Baudelaire

Unhappy perhaps is man, but happy the artist torn by desire.

I am burning to paint her, that enigmatic woman whom I had glimpsed so rarely and who fled so quickly, like something beautiful regretfully left behind by a traveler swept off into the night. Ah, how long it has been already since she vanished!

She is lovely, and more than lovely: she is astonishing. Darkness abounds in her, and she is inspired by everything deep and nocturnal. Her eyes are two caverns in which mystery vaguely flickers, and a sudden glance from her illuminates like a flash of lightning -- an explosion in the dark of night.

I would compare her to a black sun, if only one could conceive of such a star pouring forth light and happiness. But it is the moon, rather, to which she is more readily likened; it is the moon that has marked her indelibly with its redoubtable influence; not the stark white moon of romantic idylls, that icy bride, but the sinister, inebriating moon suspended in the depths of a stormy night and brushed by racing clouds; not the peaceful, discreet moon visiting the sleep of guiltless men, but the moon ripped from the heavens, defeated and rebellious, that the Thessalian witches cruelly compelled to dance on the terrified grass.

In her little skull dwell a tenacious will and a love of prey. And yet from the lower part of that disturbing face, beneath restless nostrils eagerly inhaling the unknown and the impossible, laughter will burst out suddenly and with ineffable grace, and her wide mouth, all redness and whiteness -- and delectable -- makes one dream of the miracle of a superb flower blossoming in a volcanic soil.

There are women who fill men with a desire to conquer them and have their way with them; but this woman inspires a longing to die slowly under her gaze.

 :oops:  :oops:  :oops:

godgott Offline 00

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« Reply #43 on: January 31, 2009, 16:50:53 »
He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven  

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,  
Enwrought with golden and silver light,  
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths  
Of night and light and the half-light,  
I would spread the cloths under your feet:  
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;  
I have spread my dreams under your feet;  
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams...

William Butler Yeats

and I like my poems:)
Tańczący Trumniarz...

Kitty Offline be

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« Reply #44 on: February 01, 2009, 10:50:32 »
I just notice there has never been a continuation of this discussion...as it's with all of the discussions here in the forum  :roll: sad story though...
When you can dream it, you can do it!