Poetry

[vershy versh]

I meant more this Jacques Dupin guy than Auster.

Yeah, woops. You idiot.

 

[wektor]

does poetry always have to feel boasting?

 

[vershy versh]

does poetry always have to feel boasting?

It's French hip-hop.

 

[Corpsey]

Wasn't it the reason you made that CD for me, Ma?
So you could try to justify the way you treated me, Ma?
But guess what, you're gettin' older now, and it's cold when you're lonely
And Nathan's growin' up so quick, he's gonna know that you're phony
And Hailie's gettin' so big now, you should see her, she's beautiful
But you'll never see her, she won't even be at your funeral (Ha-ha!)
See, what hurts me the most is you won't admit you was wrong
Bitch, do your song, keep tellin' yourself that you was a mom!
But how dare you try to take what you didn't help me to get?!
You selfish bitch, I hope you fuckin' burn in hell for this shit!
Remember when Ronnie died and you said you wished it was me? (Hehe)
Well, guess what? I am dead—dead to you as can be!

 

[vershy versh]

(Ha-ha!)

 

[vershy versh]

Did you hear the tune he did with LL recently? He sounds even worse next to someone who's actually good.

 

[Corpsey]

It pains me to say it but the worst rapper ever is now a white man

(Actually that's probably always been true)

 

[Benny Bunter]

Lads! Woops was just about to share his deep thoughts and extensive knowledge on post-war avant-garde French poetry, and now he's logged out in disgust. Hope you're proud of yourselves.

 

[vershy versh]

The Museum​

By Yves Bonnefoy
Translated By Mary Ann Caws

A clamor, in the distance. A crowd running under the rain beating
down, between the canvases the sea wind set clattering.

A man passes crying something. What is he saying? What he
knows! What he has seen! I make out his words. Ah, I almost
understand!

I took refuge in a museum. Outside the great wind mixed with
water reigns alone from now on, shaking the glass panes.

In each painting, I think, it’s as if  God were giving up on finishing
the world.

 

[vershy versh]

I meant more this Jacques Dupin guy than Auster.

Read a review earlier where someone described Dupin as "probably the one who speaks with a more consistent intensity through the semiotic wound opened between the signifier and signified".

SARDON's review of Selected Poems | Jacques Dupin

4/5: Being one of the most prominent poets who wrote during and after France's post-structuralist period, Jacques Dupin consistently worked toward a poetics of presence while bearing in mind—rather than simply rejecting—what had been learned from the crisis of signification: the decentering of...

www.goodreads.com

 

[Benny Bunter]

Looks good, but I'd need to put the time in to properly get my head round something like that, my understanding of post-structuralism etc is practically nonexistent.

Enjoyed struggling with Paul Celan though - you ever read any of his stuff? His writing style really stands apart from anything else I've ever seen in poetry, like Prynne also does (in a different way). There's just nothing else remotely like it.

 

[Benny Bunter]

I mention Celan cos he was in Paris at the same time as Dupin and others in that scene, and a lot of people regard him as the most important European poet of that era.

 

[vershy versh]

Looks good, but I'd need to put the time in to properly get my head round something like that, my understanding of post-structuralism etc is practically nonexistent.

Enjoyed struggling with Paul Celan though - you ever read any of his stuff? His writing style really stands apart from anything else I've ever seen in poetry, like Prynne also does (in a different way). There's just nothing else remotely like it.

I'm not sure how much I like the review, tbh, but I like the idea/phrase "semiotic wound". And yeah, I've read a little Celan. Just the stuff on Poetry Foundation that's in English.

Threadsuns​

By Paul Celan
Translated By Pierre Joris

Threadsuns
above the grayblack wastes.
A tree-
high thought
grasps the light-tone: there are
still songs to sing beyond
mankind.

 

[Benny Bunter]

I'm not sure how much I like the review, tbh, but I like the idea/phrase "semiotic wound". And yeah, I've read a little Celan. Just the stuff on Poetry Foundation that's in English.

Threadsuns​

By Paul Celan
Translated By Pierre Joris

Threadsuns
above the grayblack wastes.
A tree-
high thought
grasps the light-tone: there are
still songs to sing beyond
mankind.

Pierre Joris has a brilliant essay on that little poem in the collected later works, can't find it online unfortunately. I'm sure you could apply the phrase 'semiotic wound' to his work too.

 

[sufi]

Happy National Poetry Day yesterday in UK,
unless you are @Ray_Capucinno

 

[vershy versh]

Gródek
By Georg Trakl

At evening autumn forests drone
With deadly weapons, the golden plains
And the blue lakes, above which somberly
The sun rolls down. The night
Embraces dying warriors, the wild laments
Of their shattered mouths.
But in the willow valley silently
The outspilled blood collects, red clouds
In which an angry god dwells, lunar coolness;
All roads disgorge to black decay.
Beneath the golden boughs of night and stars
The sister's shadow flutters through the silent grove
To greet the spirits of the heroes, bleeding heads.
And softly in the reeds drone the dark flutes of autumn.
O prouder grief! you brazen altars;
Tonight a mighty anguish feeds the hot flame of spirit:
Unborn grandchildren.

 

[vershy versh]

The Room
by W. S. Merwin

I think all this is somewhere in myself
The cold room unlit before dawn
Containing a stillness such as attends death
And from a corner the sounds of a small bird trying
From time to time to fly a few beats in the dark
You would say it was dying it is immortal

TOOL
by W. S. Merwin

If it's invented it will be used
maybe not for some time

then all at once
a hammer rises from under a lid
and shakes off its cold family

its one truth is stirring in its head
order order saying

and a surprised nail leaps
into darkness
that a moment before had been nothing

waiting
for the law

 

[Benny Bunter]

The Room
by W. S. Merwin

I think all this is somewhere in myself
The cold room unlit before dawn
Containing a stillness such as attends death
And from a corner the sounds of a small bird trying
From time to time to fly a few beats in the dark
You would say it was dying it is immortal

TOOL
by W. S. Merwin

If it's invented it will be used
maybe not for some time

then all at once
a hammer rises from under a lid
and shakes off its cold family

its one truth is stirring in its head
order order saying

and a surprised nail leaps
into darkness
that a moment before had been nothing

waiting
for the law

This guy's a pretty good translator out of Spanish and French, seen a few of his attempts at Jaun Ramon de Jiménez and Valery among others and found them quite useful as far as these things go.

 

[vershy versh]

Parliament Hill in the Evening
D.H. Lawrence

The houses fade in a melt of mist
Blotching the thick, soiled air
With reddish places that still resist
The Night's slow care.

The hopeless, wintry twilight fades,
The city corrodes out of sight
As the body corrodes when death invades
That citadel of delight.

Now verdigris smoulderings softly spread
Through the shroud of the town, as slow
Night-lights hither and thither shed
Their ghastly glow.

 

[yyaldrin]

back down to earth
by ron schreiber

no sky vision but these clouds
red air above the Sierras
by Nevada City this pool of water
this fountain built by beavers
two bodies playing on the rocks
a muskrat swimming upstream
the extraordinary again common
learning to count:
aspen calendula eucalyptus pine