Author Topic: Poetry that doesn't make you cry but you like  (Read 45 times)

Nearly Sane

  • Administrator
  • Hero Member
  • *****
  • Posts: 38938
Poetry that doesn't make you cry but you like
« on: June 15, 2020, 10:19:41 PM »
Anne Sexton: Her Kind


I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.

I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.

I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.


Gordon

  • Administrator
  • Hero Member
  • *****
  • Posts: 15573
Re: Poetry that doesn't make you cry but you like
« Reply #1 on: June 15, 2020, 11:16:32 PM »
I've always like humorous poems: the dafter the better and seeing this thread reminded me of Walter McCorrisken, a fellow Scot who styled himself 'The World's Worst Poet' and even ended up on Parkinson - and he's still around at age 94. Two examples of his 'work'.

Quote
A funny thing happened to my brother Jim,
Somebody threw a tomato at him.
Now tomatoes are soft and don't hurt the skin,
but this one was specially packed in a tin
 

Quote
A three-legged dog rode

westward wan day

Doon tae the jile at

Moosejaw

''Sheriff'' he said on an

unsteady leg

''Sheriff Ah've come for

ma paw''


Trentvoyager

  • Administrator
  • Hero Member
  • *****
  • Posts: 6357
Re: Poetry that doesn't make you cry but you like
« Reply #2 on: June 16, 2020, 08:26:32 AM »
Think I've posted about this Edward Thomas poem before:

Yes. I remember Adlestrop
The name, because one afternoon
Of heat, the express-train drew up there
Unwontedly. It was late June.

The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.
No one left and no one came
On the bare platform. What I saw
Was Adlestrop—only the name

And willows, willow-herb, and grass,
And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,
No whit less still and lonely fair
Than the high cloudlets in the sky.

And for that minute a blackbird sang
Close by, and round him, mistier,
Farther and farther, all the birds
Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.
For those of you complaining that gay people stole the rainbow. DO not worry. Rain is next. Then sunshine. The moon is already a lesbian.

Wilkins Micawber

  • Hero Member
  • *****
  • Posts: 4921
Re: Poetry that doesn't make you cry but you like
« Reply #3 on: June 25, 2020, 07:18:18 AM »
I went through Adlestrop on one of my two week-long bike tours of the West Country in the early noughties. It's a very small place to have had a station of its own. The station went log ago, but the railway line is still there and in use. The old station sign is now fixed above a bench in the village centre.
https://farm1.staticflickr.com/75/204081358_915054f8bb_z.jpg?zz=1
"Comment is free, but facts are sacred" - CP Scott
"Everyone is entitled to their own opinion, but not to their own facts" - Daniel Moynihan

Wilkins Micawber

  • Hero Member
  • *****
  • Posts: 4921
Re: Poetry that doesn't make you cry but you like
« Reply #4 on: June 29, 2020, 11:39:39 PM »
The last verse occasionally, if I'm in my cups, can get me get a bit dewy-eyed, but it doesn't actually make me blub, but I love it, so it qualifies for this thread. Being a literary snob, I prefer the original spelling of old poems.

A Valediction, Forbidding Mourning

As virtuous men passe mildly away,
    And whisper to their soules, to goe,
Whilst some of their sad friends doe say,
    The breath goes now, and some say, no.

So let us melt, and make no noise,
    No teare-floods, nor sigh-tempests move,
T’were prophanation of our joyes
    To tell the layetie our love.

Moving of th’earth brings harmes and feares,
    Men reckon what it did and meant,
But trepidation of the spheares,
    Though greater farre, is innocent.

Dull sublunary lovers love
    (Whose soule is sense) cannot admit
Absence, because it doth remove
    Those things which elemented it.

But we by a love, so much refin’d,
    That our selves know not what it is,
Inter-assured of the mind,
    Care lesse, eyes, lips, hands to misse.

Our two soules therefore, which are one,
    Though I must goe, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
    Like gold to ayery thinnesse beate.

If they be two, they are two so
    As stiffe twin compasses are two,
Thy soule the fixt foot, makes no show
    To move, but doth, if the’other doe.

And though it in the center sit,
    Yet when the other far doth rome,
It leanes, and hearkens after it,
    And growes erect, as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to mee, who must
    Like th’other foot, obliquely runne.
Thy firmnes makes my circle just,
    And makes me end, where I begunne.

John Donne

"Comment is free, but facts are sacred" - CP Scott
"Everyone is entitled to their own opinion, but not to their own facts" - Daniel Moynihan