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nofurbelowsbatgirl's avatar

Would you like to share your favorite poems, or song verses?

Asked by nofurbelowsbatgirl (4676points) February 8th, 2013

And if you’d like you can even share why you like what you have chosen.

I actually have 4 poems that are my favorite. The first 3 are by the same author. The last one I do not have a link to so I will just type the poem. I really like the depth of the poems and each one speaks to me and has also taught me something bigger.

#1)The Excesses of God

#2)Inscription for a Gravestone

#3)The Bed by the Window
This poem highly interests me because the author Robison Jeffers had chosen the bed as a good death-bed. Jeffers did eventually die in the bed, just as he had planned to, but not until 30 years after he first published the poem.

#4)Larson’s Holstein Bull

Death waits inside us for a door to open.
Death is patient as a dead cat.
Death is a doorknob made of flesh.
Death is that angelic farm girl
gored by the bull on her way home
from school, crossing the pasture
for a shortcut. In the seventh grade
she couldn’t read or write. She wasn’t a virgin.
She was “simpleminded,” we all said.
It was May, a time of lilacs and shooting stars.
She’s lived in my memory for sixty years.
Death steals everything except our stories.

by:Jim Harrison

I’m looking forward to hearing and learning more amazing stuff provided by you :)

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11 Answers

bookish1's avatar

Thank you for sharing those with us and for asking the question @nofurbelowsbatgirl.

Who Be Kind To [Sorta NSFW]
Allen Ginsberg

Be kind to your self, it is only one
and perishable
of many on the planet, thou art that
one that wishes a soft finger tracing the
line of feeling from nipple to pubes—
one that wishes a tongue to kiss your armpit,
a lip to kiss your cheek inside your
whiteness thigh—
Be kind to yourself Harry, because unkindness
comes when the body explodes
napalm cancer and the deathbed in Vietnam
is a strange place to dream of trees
leaning over and angry American faces
grinning with sleepwalk terror over your
last eye—
Be kind to yourself, because the bliss of your own
kindness will flood the police tomorrow,
because the cow weeps in the field and the
mouse weeps in the cat hole—
Prayers to the ghosts and demons, the
lackloves of Capitals & Congresses
who make sadistic noises
on the radio—
Statue destroyers & tank captains, unhappy
murderers in Mekong & Stanleyville,
That a new kind of man has come to his bliss
to end the cold war he has borne
against his own kind flesh
since the days of the snake.”

When I Heard at the Close of the Day

“When I heard at the close of the day how my name had been receiv’d with plaudits in the capitol, still it was not a happy night for me that follow’d,
And else when I carous’d, or when my plans were accomplish’d, still I was not happy,
But the day when I rose at dawn from the bed of perfect health, refresh’d, singing, inhaling the ripe breath of autumn,
When I saw the full moon in the west grow pale and disappear in the morning light,
When I wander’d alone over the beach, and undressing bathed, laughing with the cool waters, and saw the sun rise,
And when I thought how my dear friend my lover was on his way coming, O then I was happy,
O then each breath tasted sweeter, and all that day my food nourish’d me more, and the beautiful day pass’d well,
And the next came with equal joy, and with the next at evening came my friend,
And that night while all was still I heard the waters roll slowly continually up the shores,
I heard the hissing rustle of the liquid and sands as directed to me whispering to congratulate me,
For the one I love most lay sleeping by me under the same cover in the cool night,
In the stillness in the autumn moonbeams his face was inclined toward me,
And his arm lay lightly around my breast – and that night I was happy.”

And, since all I ever seem to do is post poems by vieux pédés on here, here’s an old favorite that I have been thinking of recently:

Musée des Beaux Arts
W. H. Auden

About suffering they were never wrong,
The old Masters: how well they understood
Its human position: how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer’s horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.

In Breughel’s Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water, and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.

nofurbelowsbatgirl's avatar

Thank you @bookish1! I have never heard these before, thats why I love poetry so much. There is also a lot of unknown poetry I’ve never heard before, such as yours so you have just made me a little smarter about poetry I suppose :D
Thank you for sharing with me.

filmfann's avatar

This is where I am right now:

Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free
Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands
With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves
Let me forget about today until tomorrow

From Bob Dylan’s Mr. Tambourine Man

nofurbelowsbatgirl's avatar

@filmfann Love that song! Thanks :)

flutherother's avatar

Drinking Alone

Outside the window snow blows straight
I huddle over the stove with a flask of wine
How about fishing from a boat in the rain
Then below decks fall asleep on the autumn river.

Du Mu

I love the imagery of this old Chinese poem which takes you in a few words from a bleak wintry scene to somewhere quite different. Why rain, why autumn, why sleep. I don’t quite know but the mood feels just right.

nofurbelowsbatgirl's avatar

@flutherother I agree! I’ve never heard this poem until now, but I like it. Thank you for sharing :)

Earthgirl's avatar

I honestly cannot say that this is a favorite of mine, as in, I have read it many times. I have posted many of my favorites previously on other threads so I wanted to contribute something new. I was reading a book this morning by Octavio Paz. Love and Eroticism, The Double Flame. It was very profound and I realized that I am not that familiar with his poetry. I love Pablo Neruda but do not know Paz that well.
So here is my find…it is amazing I think. It’s called As One Listens to the Rain
I love it! I will definitely be seeking out more poetry by Octavio Paz.

@nofurbelowsbatgirl Is there a reason that your poems deal with death? Strangely they hit me in a special way since I am going to a wake tomorrow. They are all quite beautiful in sentiment. I think we have the same taste in poetry.

@bookish1 I love the poems you posted. Thank you!

tups's avatar

Too many to mention. Too much great poetry out there.
I’ll mention some I like.

I was burned out from exhaustion buried in the hail
Poisoned in the bushes and blown out on the trail
Hunted like a crocodile ravaged in the corn
“Come in” she said
“I’ll give you shelter from the storm”.

Suddenly I turned around and she was standing there
With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair
She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns
“Come in” she said
“I’ll give you shelter from the storm”.”
– Shelter From The Storm by Bob Dylan. Anything Bob Dylan, really.

T.S Eliot – The Love Song Of J. Alfred Prufrock.

I also love the Allen Ginsberg poem that @bookish1 posted.

nofurbelowsbatgirl's avatar

Thank you for sharing those new to me poems! :)

Death has been a close personal friend of mine, and listening to others express it I understand it, so I connect to it. Thanks for asking.

Pachy's avatar

Laura (vocal by Sinatra)

Laura is the face in the misty light
Footsteps that you hear down the hall
The LAUGH that floats on a summer night
That you can never quite recall
And you see Laura on a train that is passing through
Those eyes how familiar they seem
She gave your very first kiss to you
That was Laura but she’s only a dream

She gave your very first kiss to you
That was Laura
But she’s only a dream

“Laura” is a 1945 song composed by David Raksin, lyrics by Johnny Mercer from the 1944 classic noir movie of the same name. It has since become a jazz standard with over four hundred known recordings.

bookish1's avatar

@Earthgirl & @tups : I’m glad that you enjoyed the poems. If you want to read the whole Ginsberg poem, it’s here. I abridged it to show my favorite lines.

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