poetry

[loinburger]

Originally posted by monkspider
The only good poetry in the world is that found on depressed, goth teenage girl's blogs.

[Gibsie]

"Why is my horn so evil
You are my mangled, dripping heart
When you collapse of my satanic cloud my beautiful darkness ruptures
Where is the thorns of my heart ????
When I change, You consume.
whisper, suffocate, beat!!!"

Courtesy of the Gothic Poetry Generator!

http://www.andrew.cmu.edu/user/bhoxie/goth/goth_poetry.html

[Harovan]

I wrote a poem during my Literature exam. I had to write about Schillers Wallenstein and couldn't, because I hadn't read not a single page of it. So I wrote a poem about the exam itself, and about me not knowing ****. I got caught by the teacher. He liked it, and I got an additional 1 (= A) together with the 5 (= E) I produced about the original exam stuff. Together, this made a 3, and I got into the oral examination, two weeks later. I warned my teacher, if my questions are not about Goethes Faust (where I'm an expert), I will produce another 5. The oral exam came, and my questions were about Faust. I got a 1 and finished Literature with a 2. That was all I wanted. So my poem saved me from completely blowing my exams. Now, 26 years later, I still could probably reproduce it.

[Adagio]

/me joins the "poetry is crap" community

[Jamski]

Now, 26 years later, I still could probably reproduce it.

/me calls your bluff *

Go on then, let's read it.

-Jam

[Boris Godunov]

Never cared for it, except I like epic poems that tell a story (Gilgamesh, the Iliad, etc.)

[Harovan]

* Jamski calls your bluff *

Go on then, let's read it.

-Jam

Here you are. It's in German (what else), but you surely can read it.

Deutschprüfung

Ich sitze hier im weiten Saal
und bin zerstreut und aufgeregt.
Du lieber Gott oh welche Qual
und Prüfung ist mir auferlegt.

In meinem Kopfe kreisen Worte
und Sätze wie im Tollhaus 'rum.
Oh ich vergeh an diesem Orte
Bin ich tatsächlich denn so dumm?

Doch da, ein leiser Hoffnungsschimmer
er glänzt und strahlt dort in der Luft.
Komm her, noch bist du nur Geflimmer
und schnell in Schall und Rauch verpufft.

Ach bitte lass dich doch bequemen
denn ich hab nie ein Buch gelesen
(du musst es mir nicht übelnehmen
dass Deutsch noch nie mein Fall gewesen).

Er zögert, ich kann es nicht fassen.
Hab ich umsonst gesehnt, geflucht?
ich trau mich nicht es zuzulassen,
dass nun der Satan mich versucht.

Soll ich es wagen, abzuschreiben?
Ich sitze da, gesunk'nen Mutes.
Doch nein, ich lass es lieber bleiben,
da vorn der Lehrer plant nichts Gutes.

Er sieht zu mir, als würd' er denken,
na warte, ich erwisch dich schon!
Wie schaff ich es, ihn abzulenken?
Doch ach, die Zeit rennt mir davon.

Es ist nur noch 'ne Viertelstunde,
das freilich ist zu wenig Zeit
für geniale Geistesfunde
(ich tu mir fast schon selber leid).

Ich wund're mich, dass ich noch lebe,
ich schreib so schnell als wär ich toll
den Aufsatz nun, ach was, ich gebe
jetzt ab, ich hab die Schnauze voll.

[Jamski]

I like it. Poetry is good when its funny

(du musst es mir nicht übelnehmen
dass Deutsch noch nie mein Fall gewesen)

ist

MORE!

-Jam

[Harovan]

Can't give more, it's the only one I ever wrote. Except of a limerick (again in German) I wrote in another stupid seminar.

Frau Schmidt sagt: Was sind das für Sitten?
Dein Rauchen möcht ich mir verbitten!
Herr Schmidt wurd' sehr böse
fasst sie an die Öse
und grapschte auch nach ihren Fritten.

The italic words to be replaced by similar sounding, which would get me banned if I posted them in English.

[Buck Birdseed]

Originally posted by The Vagabond
Free verse is not poetry. Poetry is harmony between the rhyme and the sense. If either of these components is missing, it's not poetry.

Rhyme is a chain that kept poetry from developing for much too long, locking it into increasingly dulled lyrical structures. Poetry is, and always has been, about the interaction of sound and imagery and meaning, with things like rhythm and timbre and feel being much more important than kiddy rhyming ever was.

****WARNING: NEO-HEIDEGGEREAN AESTHETICS COMING UP****

I love poetry. It's a sort of primal place where new truths are disclosed, new understandings are understood, where the world is simultaneously created and interpreted through sound and images. All art aspires to its condition, its ability to take everyday sound structures and create startling revelations through juxtaposition, through combination, through harmony or disharmony. It's human thinking's ultimate tool for approaching truth. It penetrates all power-structures, supremely democratising creation, with the best poets inevitably being those from outside the safe discourse at the centre of society, the innovators being immigrants, women, the disposessed. Poetry is life and the creator of life, the most straightforwadly impacting artform yet the most intellectually challenging. I certainly can't get enough.

[East Street Trader]

Would you care to attempt a translation, Sir Ralph?

Please disregard if your muse is too busy having the decade off.

But if she happens to be in the mood to inspire at the moment it would be appreciated.

Well by everyone but Dissident, I suppose. And he won't mind, I am sure.

[Harovan]

Originally posted by East Street Trader
Would you care to attempt a translation, Sir Ralph?

Please disregard if your muse is too busy having the decade off.

But if she happens to be in the mood to inspire at the moment it would be appreciated.

Well by everyone but Dissident, I suppose. And he won't mind, I am sure.

As long as you don't demand, that it rhymes, I can do it. It may take a while, though. Much more than to reproduce it.

[Jamski]

@ Ralph.

You've got one fan, anyway

-Jam

[Harovan]

Here's the exam poem.

Deutschprüfung

Exams in German Literature

Ich sitze hier im weiten Saal
und bin zerstreut und aufgeregt.
Du lieber Gott oh welche Qual
und Prüfung ist mir auferlegt.

I'm sitting in the large hall
absent-minded and nervous
Dear God what pain
and exams came upon me

In meinem Kopfe kreisen Worte
und Sätze wie im Tollhaus 'rum.
Oh ich vergeh an diesem Orte
Bin ich tatsächlich denn so dumm?

In my head circulate words
and sentences like in a madhouse
I'm passing away at this place
Am I really that stupid?

Doch da, ein leiser Hoffnungsschimmer
er glänzt und strahlt dort in der Luft.
Komm her, noch bist du nur Geflimmer
und schnell in Schall und Rauch verpufft.

Lo and behold! A little ray of hope
is blinking in the air
come to me, yet you are a flickering
and quickly squibbed in sound and smoke.

Ach bitte lass dich doch bequemen
denn ich hab nie ein Buch gelesen
(du musst es mir nicht übelnehmen
dass Deutsch noch nie mein Fall gewesen).

Please, let me summon you to me
Because I have never read a book
(Don't hold it against me
that German Literature never was my soft spot)

Er zögert, ich kann es nicht fassen.
Hab ich umsonst gesehnt, geflucht?
ich trau mich nicht es zuzulassen,
dass nun der Satan mich versucht.

It's hesitating, I can't believe it
Did I crave and curse for nothing?
I don't have the heart
to let Satan tempt me

Soll ich es wagen, abzuschreiben?
Ich sitze da, gesunk'nen Mutes.
Doch nein, ich lass es lieber bleiben,
da vorn der Lehrer plant nichts Gutes.

Should I try to copy from others?
I'm sitting, discouraged
No, I better let it be
The teacher there is planning nothing good

Er sieht zu mir, als würd' er denken,
na warte, ich erwisch dich schon!
Wie schaff ich es, ihn abzulenken?
Doch ach, die Zeit rennt mir davon.

He's looking to me as if he'd be thinking
Wait, I will catch you if you try!
How can I succeed to distract him?
But my time is running away.

Es ist nur noch 'ne Viertelstunde,
das freilich ist zu wenig Zeit
für geniale Geistesfunde
(ich tu mir fast schon selber leid).

Only a quarter is left
this is not nearly enough
for a genial opus
(I'm almost sorry for myself)

Ich wund're mich, dass ich noch lebe,
ich schreib so schnell als wär ich toll
den Aufsatz nun, ach was, ich gebe
jetzt ab, ich hab die Schnauze voll.

I wonder how I'm still living
I write as fast as if I'd be mad
the essay now, but wait, I hand it
to the teacher now, I've got enough of it

The other I better don't translate... I'm afraid of the Mingster.

[Skanky Burns]

There once was a man from Kircuck
Who liked to help those who were stuck
A lady up a tree
He did help with glee
And was rewarded with a quick ... thankyou.