Your favorite poem

[Ben_n_austin]

I like how dense the poem is and how each line leaves you thinking about what the hell it is about -- it really burrowed into my head

don't know if i'd rely on that analysis of it though.

Yes, the source seems unreliable--humboldt.edu... where is humboldt?

OK, AbeBeta, what is your analysis? I'm baffled. Additionally, I wish someone who has studied 1500s literature would tell me if I'm even close in my analysis of Holy Sonnets....

 

[silverbear]

Okay, it took me a while to find this. I wrote this in 1996 for a class and the teacher liked it a lot. This poem caused a lot of discussion in my class because people argued what it was about.

Do you know what it is about? Take your best guess. Only 2 people have ever got it right on their 1st guess.

Forbidden Love

Sixteen when first you seduced me with a kiss.
Tightly hold me, in your grip I am caught,
Warm all over, partly numb, feeling bliss;
Like a drug overcome me, fill my thoughts.

First love, brand new and good enough for me;
Certain that our perfect union breeds disgust;
True love, pure need, I have to make them see,
The want of your embrace can drive my lust.

My head swims, lost in the stupor you create.
Kindred spirits, I ache to be with you;
Can one so good as you cause them to hate?
They beg me let you go, begin anew.

Twelve steps, give me a moment to confess,
Unfold the sordid story of this mess.

I'VE GOT IT!!!

In a flash of inspiration, it came to me-- this poem is about the Cowboys...

 

[Ben_n_austin]

I'VE GOT IT!!!

In a flash of inspiration, it came to me-- this poem is about the Cowboys...

Good guess, but no. . . .I'm sworn to skull and bones style secrecy, though. So I can't tell you what it's about.

 

[silverbear]

Good guess, but no. . . .I'm sworn to skull and bones style secrecy, though. So I can't tell you what it's about.

It was a joke, pal...

 

[Ben_n_austin]

It was a joke, pal...

Yeah, I was joking too. Take it easy there, big guy. When someone calls me pal, I sense bad vibes for some reason.

Mornin', bear. :cunning:

 

[burmafrd]

There was a young man from Boston
Who bought himself a new Austin
There was room for his *** and a gallon of gas
But the rest hung out and he lost em

 

[burmafrd]

The Charge Of The Light Brigade[FONT=Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif]
[/FONT]


[FONT=Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif][SIZE=-1]by Alfred, Lord Tennyson[/SIZE][/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif][SIZE=-1]Memorializing Events in the Battle of Balaclava, October 25, 1854
Written 1854
[/SIZE][/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif]

[SIZE=-1]Half a league half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred:
'Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns' he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

'Forward, the Light Brigade!'
Was there a man dismay'd ?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Some one had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do & die,
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd & thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack & Russian
Reel'd from the sabre-stroke,
Shatter'd & sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse & hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder'd.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred[/SIZE][/FONT]

 

[Ben_n_austin]

There was a young man from Boston
Who bought himself a new Austin
There was room for his *** and a gallon of gas
But the rest hung out and he lost em

Bum, can you elaborate?

 

[Ben_n_austin]

CXXIII.

There rolls the deep where grew the tree.
O earth, what changes hast thou seen!
There where the long street roars, hath been
The stillness of the central sea.
The hills are shadows, and they flow
From form to form, and nothing stands;
They melt like mist, the solid lands,
Like clouds they shape themselves and go.
But in my spirit will I dwell,
And dream my dream, and hold it true;
For tho’ my lips may breathe adieu,
I cannot think the thing farewell.

 

[Hostile]

Yes, the source seems unreliable--humboldt.edu... where is humboldt?

OK, AbeBeta, what is your analysis? I'm baffled. Additionally, I wish someone who has studied 1500s literature would tell me if I'm even close in my analysis of Holy Sonnets....

I studied John Donne and have read the Holy Sonnetts. I confess I don't know which one that is. Donne was not only a poet, he was a spiritualist and a preacher. Some of his most impressive works are his sermons. If I remember right Holy Sonnets is a collection of his sermons as poetry and in particular his struggle to find faith and how we wrestle with ourselves as we journey. It's been a long time since I've read that and I doubt i have my notes from class any more.

 

[silverbear]

Yeah, I was joking too. Take it easy there, big guy. When someone calls me pal, I sense bad vibes for some reason.

Mornin', bear. :cunning:

Naw, in your case, I mean it... mornin' back at ya...

 

[vta]

Okay, it took me a while to find this. I wrote this in 1996 for a class and the teacher liked it a lot. This poem caused a lot of discussion in my class because people argued what it was about.

Do you know what it is about? Take your best guess. Only 2 people have ever got it right on their 1st guess.

Forbidden Love

Sixteen when first you seduced me with a kiss.
Tightly hold me, in your grip I am caught,
Warm all over, partly numb, feeling bliss;
Like a drug overcome me, fill my thoughts.

First love, brand new and good enough for me;
Certain that our perfect union breeds disgust;
True love, pure need, I have to make them see,
The want of your embrace can drive my lust.

My head swims, lost in the stupor you create.
Kindred spirits, I ache to be with you;
Can one so good as you cause them to hate?
They beg me let you go, begin anew.

Twelve steps, give me a moment to confess,
Unfold the sordid story of this mess.

Alcoholism?

 

[Hostile]

Alcoholism?

Yes sir. Teenage alcoholism. I wrote that the day I took my younger brother to rehab for alcohol and drugs.

 

[Ben_n_austin]

I studied John Donne and have read the Holy Sonnetts. I confess I don't know which one that is. Donne was not only a poet, he was a spiritualist and a preacher. Some of his most impressive works are his sermons. If I remember right Holy Sonnets is a collection of his sermons as poetry and in particular his struggle to find faith and how we wrestle with ourselves as we journey. It's been a long time since I've read that and I doubt i have my notes from class any more.

Cool, that's what I got out of it. I think I'm pretty close to what he was writing about. And your input confirms my analysis as being at least close. I copped out of 1500s poetry, but in hindsight it would have been easier to have taken it.

I was really interested in Victorian lit. and literature from India due to the whole East India Company connection to India and J.S. Mill's role over there.

 

[burmafrd]

Benny, you KNOW what it meant about "the rest HUNG out and he lost em"

 

[Ben_n_austin]

Benny, you KNOW what it meant about "the rest HUNG out and he lost em"

Yeah, bubba, I want to say I know what that means. But I'm lost. How do you get a new Austin?

Burmfrd's Poem

There was a young man from Boston
Who bought himself a new Austin
There was room for his *** and a gallon of gas
But the rest hung out and he lost em

Is the petroleum reference supposed to mean something?

I don't care and I'm not saying it's bad, a lot of poems are vague. I was just hoping you could elaborate and tell me the honest meaning behind it.

 

[AbeBeta]

Yes, the source seems unreliable--humboldt.edu... where is humboldt?

OK, AbeBeta, what is your analysis? I'm baffled. Additionally, I wish someone who has studied 1500s literature would tell me if I'm even close in my analysis of Holy Sonnets....

the university is a quality one in CA - the work however seems to have been done by a student which is my issue.

Personally, I think that applying analysis to a poem kinda kills it. But I do know some folks enjoy that. Not my thing though.

 

[vta]

Yeah, bubba, I want to say I know what that means. But I'm lost. How do you get a new Austin?

 

[VietCowboy]

HOW ANNANDALE WENT OUT "They called it Annandale--and I was there
To flourish, to find words, and to attend:
Liar, physician, hypocrite, and friend,
I watched him; and the sight was not so fair
As one or two that I have seen elsewhere:
An apparatus not for me to mend--
A wreck, with hell between him and the end,
Remained of Annandale; and I was there.
"I knew the ruin as I knew the man;
So put the two together, if you can,
Remembering the worst you know of me.
Now view yourself as I was, on the spot--
With a slight kind of engine. Do you see?
Like this. . . You wouldn't hang me? I thought not."
--E. A. Robinson

 

[VietCowboy]

Do not go gentle into that good night


Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

-Dylan Thomas