Howdy, Stranger!
Categories
- 6.2K All Categories
- 3.1K Everything Achaea
- 1.5K North of Thera
- 26 Archives of the Terraformer
- 257 The Matsuhama Arena
- 885 The Golden Dais of Creation
- 299 The Scarlattan Theatre
- 149 The Blank Canvas
- 2K Getting Help
- 412 General Questions
- 258 Quick Class Questions
- 1.3K Tech Support
- 313 Client Help
- 486 Curing Systems and Scripts
- 841 Off-Topic
- 255 The Wander Inn
- 586 The Universal Membrane
- 298 Class Discussions
- 298 Individual Class Sections
- 20 Alchemist
- 9 Apostate
- 30 Blademaster
- 9 Depthswalker
- 14 Druid
- 4 Infernal
- 20 Jester
- 19 Magi
- 34 Monk
- 11 Occultist
- 8 Paladin
- 7 Priest
- 29 Runewarden
- 18 Sentinel
- 26 Serpent
- 20 Shaman
- 9 Sylvan
The Poetry Thread
Amunet
Spokane, Washington, USA
Simple. Post your favourite poems (or links to them, as you see fit).
Charles Baudelaire (All poems linked are in French, with several English translations below.)
Edgar Allan Poe
and, of course, The Raven.
There are thousands more poems in my list, but these are enough for a start. I'll post more later.
My avatar is an image created by this very talented gentleman, of whose work I am extremely jealous. It was not originally a picture of Amunet, but it certainly looks a great deal like how I envision her!
6
Comments
and we are so awed because it serenely disdains to annihilate us.
Kate Tempest - Best Intentions.
David J - This is what we do.
Alim Kamara - Imagine.
Allen Ginsberg - "Howl"
Wallace Stevens - "Disillusionment of Ten O'Clock"
Wallace Stevens - "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird"
Wallace Stevens - "The Snow Man"
Robert Browning - "The Last Ride Together"
Robert Frost - "Fire and Ice"
Alfred Tennyson - "Ulysses"
Percy Shelley - "Adonais"
Last one, I swear.
Algernon Charles Swinburne - "The Garden of Proserpine"
I got carried away, but there are just too many that I really really like. I liked Poe, Plath, and Baudelaire as well. And, I like some spoken word poets like Tyler Malley and Rudy Francisco.
A somewhat awkward way to view, but this is my all time favourite poem, pages 93-97, Dream of an Old Meltonian, by William Bromley-Davenport.
I have the book, but it's not kept separate anywhere online.
The voice of Melantha, Goddess of the Seasons, echoes amid the rustle of leaves, "That's the censored version."
Taylor Mali and a good one for finals week.
"The the impotence of proofreading."
It's really funny, go watch it.
James Fenton: Out of the East, In a Notebook, A Staffordshire Murderer (mainly for a few very memorable stanzas and lines scattered throughout)
Thom Gunn: Jack Straw's Castle, A Mirror for Poets, Song of a Camera
A few more actually come to mind for him, but I don't think they're quite as good as those three.
Joao Cabral de Melo Neto (translated by Kerry Shawn Keys): A Knife All Blade
W.B. Yeats: The Second Coming
The soul of Ashmond says, "Always with the sniping."
(Clan): Ictinus says, "Stop it Jiraishin, you're making me like you."
31
My heart, the bird of the wilderness, has found its sky in your
eyes.
They are the cradle of the morning, they are the kingdom of the
stars.
My songs are lost in their depths.
Let me but soar in that sky, in its lonely immensity.
Let me but cleave its clouds and spread wings in its sunshine.
I have spent my days in stringing and in unstringing my instrument.
The time has not come true, the words have not been rightly set;
only there is the agony of wishing in my heart.
The blossom has not opened; only the wind is sighing by.
I have not seen his face, nor have I listened to his voice;
only I have heard his gentle footsteps from the road before my house.
The livelong day has passed in spreading his seat on the floor;
but the lamp has not been lit and I cannot ask him into my house.
I live in the hope of meeting with him; but this meeting is not yet.
and we are so awed because it serenely disdains to annihilate us.
The Hollow Men
T. S. Eliot
Mistah Kurtz—he dead. A penny for the Old Guy I We are the hollow men We are the stuffed men Leaning together Headpiece filled with straw. Alas! Our dried voices, when We whisper together Are quiet and meaningless As wind in dry grass Or rats’ feet over broken glass In our dry cellar Shape without form, shade without colour, Paralysed force, gesture without motion; Those who have crossed With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom Remember us—if at all—not as lost Violent souls, but only As the hollow men The stuffed men. II Eyes I dare not meet in dreams In death’s dream kingdom These do not appear: There, the eyes are Sunlight on a broken column There, is a tree swinging And voices are In the wind’s singing More distant and more solemn Than a fading star. Let me be no nearer In death’s dream kingdom Let me also wear Such deliberate disguises Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves In a field Behaving as the wind behaves No nearer— Not that final meeting In the twilight kingdom III This is the dead land This is cactus land Here the stone images Are raised, here they receive The supplication of a dead man’s hand Under the twinkle of a fading star. Is it like this In death’s other kingdom Waking alone At the hour when we are Trembling with tenderness Lips that would kiss Form prayers to broken stone. IV The eyes are not here There are no eyes here In this valley of dying stars In this hollow valley This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms In this last of meeting places We grope together And avoid speech Gathered on this beach of the tumid river Sightless, unless The eyes reappear As the perpetual star Multifoliate rose Of death’s twilight kingdom The hope only Of empty men. V Here we go round the prickly pear Prickly pear prickly pear Here we go round the prickly pear At five o’clock in the morning. Between the idea And the reality Between the motion And the act Falls the Shadow For Thine is the Kingdom Between the conception And the creation Between the emotion And the response Falls the Shadow Life is very long Between the desire And the spasm Between the potency And the existence Between the essence And the descent Falls the Shadow For Thine is the Kingdom For Thine is Life is For Thine is the This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends Not with a bang but a whimper.[ SnB PvP Guide | Link ]
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream---and not make dreams your master;
If you can think---and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings---nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And---which is more---you'll be a Man, my son!
[ SnB PvP Guide | Link ]
내가 제일 잘 나가!!!111!!1
Terrence, this is stupid stuff. A. E. Housman
Don't know if I'd consider it to be my favourite though.
I will not draw them in the order that they are requested... rather in the order that I get inspiration/artist block.
Stories by Jurixe and Stories by Jurixe 2
Interested in joining a Discord about Achaean RP? Want to comment on RP topics or have RP questions? Check the Achaean RP Resource out here: https://discord.gg/Vbb9Zfs
The Conqueror Worm
Simple girl, likes simple poems
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
1874–1963 Robert Frost
y se quedará mi huerto, con su verde árbol,
y con su pozo blanco.
Todas la tardes, el cielo será azul y plácido;
y tocarán, como esta tarde están tocando,
las campanas del campanario.
Se morirán aquellos que me amaron;
y el pueblo se hará nuevo cada año;
y en el rincón aquel de mi huerto florido y encalado.
mi espíritu errará, nostálgico…
Y yo me iré; y estaré solo, sin hogar, sin árbol
verde, sin pozo blanco,
sin cielo azul y plácido…
Y se quedarán los pájaros cantando.
and my garden will stay, with its green tree,
with its water well.
Many afternoons the skies will be blue and placid,
and the bells in the belfry will chime,
as they are chiming this very afternoon.
The people who have loved me will pass away,
and the town will burst anew every year.
But my spirit will always wander nostalgic
in the same recondite corner of my flowery garden.
EDIT: well, not exactly translation, but the excerpt from the book that used the poem as part of its story - especially as the 4th stanza is missing :P I'm not as fond of other translations I've seen though.
and we are so awed because it serenely disdains to annihilate us.