/out/ - Outdoors » Thread #2052312

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Anonymous Mon 22 Mar 2021 02:43:19 No.2052312 View View Reply Original Report

Quoted By: >>2052317 >>2052324 >>2055028 >>2055055 >>2055073

What are your favorite /out/ poems/poetry collections?

Anonymous

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Anonymous Mon 22 Mar 2021 02:52:34 No.2052317 Report

Quoted By:

>>2052312
Spring is like a perhaps hand
e. e. Cummings - 1894-1962

III

Spring is like a perhaps hand
(which comes carefully
out of Nowhere)arranging
a window,into which people look(while
people stare
arranging and changing placing
carefully there a strange
thing and a known thing here)and

changing everything carefully

spring is like a perhaps
Hand in a window
(carefully to
and fro moving New and
Old things,while
people stare carefully
moving a perhaps
fraction of flower here placing
an inch of air there)and

without breaking anything.

Anonymous

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Anonymous Mon 22 Mar 2021 03:05:02 No.2052324 Report

Quoted By: >>2052625

>>2052312
To Fungi & Their Hosts —– the Intimates
By Bill Yake

Oh you, the living & damp
the fungi desire to lie with you.
Oh you, the expired & seeking exit—
the fungi reach out
to break you down.
Oh you ancient blue-greens—
the fungi wish to meld with you
flesh to flesh & flourish.
Oh honey and barley—
the fungi yearn to promote
your Dionysian transformation.
Oh finest fir roots—
the fungi seek you out
to knit, parlay & thrive.

Humble-seeming pilgrims. Penetrants.
Nets & nests of filaments, brews of cells.
We praise your frothy heads of mead
& bow before your humped-up
fruit-swells of fog & forest soil—
your original
time-lapse
mushroom
clouds.

Also pictured is a tribute by him to the late great Robert Sund. Both of these men capture the essence of the northwest in their words

Anonymous

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Anonymous Mon 22 Mar 2021 04:34:03 No.2052382 Report

Quoted By:

Anonymous

Anonymous Mon 22 Mar 2021 04:41:07 No.2052387 Report

Quoted By: >>2052627

One of my own:
A flower amidst the dew,
Enlists such lovely hue.
All just to attract the bee,
Nature is reproductivity.

Anonymous

Anonymous Mon 22 Mar 2021 12:03:13 No.2052589 Report

Quoted By: >>2052622

I've always found Robert Frost's' poems to be extremely captivating. One that everyone should know is The Road Not Taken.

Two 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.

Anonymous

Anonymous Mon 22 Mar 2021 13:13:36 No.2052622 Report

Quoted By: >>2052663 >>2053034

>>2052589
This poem is so widely quoted, but most people have the absolutely wrong reading of it. They take the last 3 lines and act like it's some inspirational thing about going where other people haven't and seeing amazing things. In actuality, it's a real /out/ poem:
A guy goes in the woods and finds a fork in the path. He dithers about which way to go and ends up choosing one because it looked a little overgrown, (but really, they paths were worn the same, he admits to himself). He says he'll take the other path next time, but in his heart he knows he's not coming back here. Maybe it's just not that important. Later on, he talks it up and tells people he took the path less traveled and it changed his life.

So he goes on a walk, then lies about it to people in the future to sound profound. Robert Frost IS /ourguy/

Anonymous

Anonymous Mon 22 Mar 2021 13:18:33 No.2052625 Report

Quoted By: >>2052664

>>2052324
I like that one.

I like poems about the decomposers. It's nice to see someone acknowledge that part of the cycle without it being all negative.

I'd like to read or even create a poem about crabs. They're the eaters of the dead in the oceans.

Anonymous

Anonymous Mon 22 Mar 2021 13:22:29 No.2052627 Report

Quoted By: >>2055057

>>2052387
Too many syllables for the last line

Anonymous

Anonymous Mon 22 Mar 2021 14:07:24 No.2052663 Report

Quoted By: >>2053010

>>2052622
It really is just about a walk in the woods, and ironic decision making. I've read that Frost wrote that poem as a joke, making fun of one of his friends. That being said, I do romanticize the entire last stanza myself, regardless of the context. Nothing Gold Can Stay is also a short, and very romanticized poem.

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

Anonymous

Anonymous Mon 22 Mar 2021 14:08:29 No.2052664 Report

Quoted By:

>>2052625
thats a great idea! please write that poem!

Anonymous

Anonymous Mon 22 Mar 2021 20:39:26 No.2053010 Report

Quoted By: >>2053049

>>2052663
I like that. Thanks Anon.

Anonymous

Anonymous Mon 22 Mar 2021 21:00:39 No.2053034 Report

Quoted By: >>2055059

>>2052622
I don't really care what Frost really meant, a poem means what I want it to mean, nae more, nae less.

Anonymous

Anonymous Mon 22 Mar 2021 21:10:58 No.2053049 Report

Quoted By:

>>2053010
No problem. Frost has written some beautiful stuff, and it’s no surprise he was such a renowned poet. Same with William Wordsworth (though they were a century apart from each other).

Another Frost one that I picked up in a book recently:

Have I not walked without an upward look
Of caution under stars that very well
Might not have missed me when they shot and fell?
It was a risk I had to take- and took.

Anonymous

Anonymous Wed 24 Mar 2021 20:03:10 No.2055028 Report

Quoted By:

>>2052312
issa kobayashi

inch by inch
snail climbs mt fuji

Anonymous

Anonymous Wed 24 Mar 2021 20:25:21 No.2055054 Report

Quoted By:

I wrote a pretty short poem

A snake, a goat, and a mole stood at the base of a mountain.
The goat, with its sturdy legs, hopped along the ridges and stone.
The mole, though blind, dug it’s way through the soil.
The snake had no arms to dig, and no legs to hop, and so it hissed.
But the mountain did not move.
And so it slithered, and struggled
While the goat hopped and the mole dug.
And it hissed.
But the mountain did not move.
And so it slithered more, and struggled more,
While the goat hopped and the mole dug,
Until it conquered the mountain
And hissed at the sky instead.

Anonymous

Anonymous Wed 24 Mar 2021 20:27:04 No.2055055 Report

Quoted By:

>>2052312
That one right there
Also Rumi and Dickinson, complete works

Anonymous

Anonymous Wed 24 Mar 2021 20:28:32 No.2055057 Report

Quoted By:

>>2052627
This
Don't force it, anon

Anonymous

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Anonymous Wed 24 Mar 2021 20:29:11 No.2055059 Report

Quoted By:

>>2053034
shut it you

Anonymous

Anonymous Wed 24 Mar 2021 20:56:36 No.2055073 Report

Quoted By: >>2055790

>>2052312
I'm no poetry buff, but I like what I like. I like TS Eliot, but he's a bit of a cocky showoff. If you ramble on for pages, I am going to call you pretentious. If you add nursery rhymes to your poems (the wasteland) then I am going to call you pretentious.

Bukowski is very much apart of the reason why I go out. He paints a bleak existence that we have settled and become essentially inseparable from. Even going /out/ we bring this bullshit into lands that barely acknowledge our existence.

>Charles Bukowski
>dog
>a single dog
>walking alone on a hot sidewalk of
summer
>appears to have the power
>of ten thousand gods.

>why is this?

Anonymous

Anonymous Thu 25 Mar 2021 14:12:52 No.2055790 Report

Quoted By:

>>2055073
I agree that Eliot is a bit prententious, but he's just so damn good at what he does, it's hard to disparage him for it.

Little Gidding is my favorite of his works.

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