it was a toss-up between this and Browning's Childe Roland.
Baby Tortoise - DH Lawrence.
You know what it is to be born alone, Baby tortoise!
The first day to heave your feet little by little from the shell, Not yet awake, And remain lapsed on earth, Not quite alive.
A tiny, fragile, half-animate bean.
To open your tiny beak-mouth, that looks as if it would never open Like some iron door; To lift the upper hawk-beak from the lower base And reach your skinny neck And take your first bite at some dim bit of herbage, Alone, small insect, Tiny bright-eye, Slow one.
To take your first solitary bite And move on your slow, solitary hunt. Your bright, dark little eye, Your eye of a dark disturbed night, Under its slow lid, tiny baby tortoise, So indomitable.
No one ever heard you complain.
You draw your head forward, slowly, from your little wimple And set forward, slow-dragging, on your four-pinned toes, Rowing slowly forward. Wither away, small bird? Rather like a baby working its limbs, Except that you make slow, ageless progress And a baby makes none.
The touch of sun excites you, And the long ages, and the lingering chill Make you pause to yawn, Opening your impervious mouth, Suddenly beak-shaped, and very wide, like some suddenly gaping pincers; Soft red tongue, and hard thin gums, Then close the wedge of your little mountain front, Your face, baby tortoise.
Do you wonder at the world, as slowly you turn your head in its wimple And look with laconic, black eyes? Or is sleep coming over you again, The non-life?
You are so hard to wake.
Are you able to wonder? Or is it just your indomitable will and pride of the first life Looking round And slowly pitching itself against the inertia Which had seemed invincible?
The vast inanimate, And the fine brilliance of your so tiny eye, Challenger.
Nay, tiny shell-bird. What a huge vast inanimate it is, that you must row against, What an incalculable inertia.
Challenger, Little Ulysses, fore-runner, No bigger than my thumb-nail, Buon viaggio.
All animate creation on your shoulder, Set forth, little Titan, under your battle-shield. The ponderous, preponderate, Inanimate universe; And you are slowly moving, pioneer, you alone.
How vivid your travelling seems now, in the troubled sunshine, Stoic, Ulyssean atom; Suddenly hasty, reckless, on high toes.
Voiceless little bird, Resting your head half out of your wimple In the slow dignity of your eternal pause. Alone, with no sense of being alone, And hence six times more solitary; Fulfilled of the slow passion of pitching through immemorial ages Your little round house in the midst of chaos.
Over the garden earth, Small bird, Over the edge of all things.
Traveller, With your tail tucked a little on one side Like a gentleman in a long-skirted coat.
All life carried on your shoulder, Invincible fore-runner.
Re: your favourite poem?
Posted: Sun Apr 26, 2015 11:31 pm
by Phatscotty
The poem of valor
How about I just go eat some hay I can make things out of clay And lay By the bay I just may What do you say?
Re: your favourite poem?
Posted: Mon Apr 27, 2015 12:25 am
by TA1LGUNN3R
I know I have the best of time and space, and was never measured and never will be measured.
I tramp a perpetual journey, (come listen all!) My signs are a rain-proof coat, good shoes, and a staff cut from the woods, No friend of mine takes his ease in my chair, I have no chair, no church, no philosophy, I lead no man to a dinner-table, library, or exchange, But each man and each woman of you I lead upon a knoll, My left hand hooks you round the waist, My right hand points to landscapes of continents and the public road.
Not I, not any one else can travel that road for you, You must travel it for yourself.
It is not far, it is within reach, Perhaps you have been on it since you were born and did not know, Perhaps it is every where on water and on land.
Shoulder your duds dear son, and I will mine, and let us hasten forth, Wonderful cities and free nations we shall fetch as we go.
If you tire, give me both burdens, and rest the chuff of your hand on my hip, And in due time you shall repay the same service to me, For after we start we never lie by again.
This day before dawn I ascended a hill and look'd at the crowded heaven, And I said to my spirit When we become the enfolders of those orbs, and the pleasure and knowledge of every thing in them, shall we be fill'd and satisfied then? And my spirit said No, we but level that lift to pass and continue beyond.
You are also asking me questions and I hear you, I answer that I cannot answer, you must find out for yourself.
Sit a while dear son, Here are biscuits to eat and here is milk to drink, But as soon as you sleep and renew yourself in sweet clothes I kiss you with a good-by kiss and open the gate for your egress hence.
Long enough have you dream'd contemptible dreams, Now I wash the gum from your eyes, You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light and of every moment of your life.
Long have you timidly waded holding a plank by the shore, Now I will you to be a bold swimmer, To jump off in the midst of the sea, rise again, nod to me, shout, and laughingly dash with your hair.
Whitman
Re: your favourite poem?
Posted: Mon Apr 27, 2015 12:51 am
by mrswdk
Zhang Jiuling - The Full Moon Brings Longing (张九龄 - 望月怀远)
海上生明月 The moon rises over the sea 天涯共此时 A distant shore shares this same moment. 情人怨遥夜 I resent that far away night 竟夕起相思 For it reawakens my longing. 灭烛怜光满 Even though I blow out my candle the room stays bright, 披衣觉露滋 So I put on my coat and walk out into the dew. 不堪盈手赠 I try but I'm unable to hold the moonlight in my hands, 还寝梦佳期 At least I will meet you in my dreams.
Re: your favourite poem?
Posted: Mon Apr 27, 2015 3:52 am
by /
My favorite poem tells a story; something that is so relatable and simplistic that it remains one of history's greatest classics even after over a hundred years since it was told. Even so, its clever use of words changed the English language, and inspires imitators to the style to this day.
poetry is stupid. although "go the f*ck to sleep" did make me chuckle...
Re: your favourite poem?
Posted: Mon Apr 27, 2015 9:37 pm
by DaGip
My Weiner
When I am alone and in bed, And I am quite yearning for porn, I grab the knob o' me head, And pump it 'til the rise o' the morn.
My weiner stands straight as a missile, Looking for enemy ships. I rub me oysters and whistle, A tune to ascend me lips.
Me eyes they's crossed for Snapper, Looking deep within me mind, For images o' Wicked or Clapper, Stroking me monkey so kind.
Then a strange feeling came 'fore me, Me body all numb it did go. The air was full o' bright colours to see, And it was pleasing from head to toe!
Ah, a good wank job finally came to term! Me mornin' mission complete! What do I do with this handful o' sperm? Hmmm...well, I hadn't yet anything to eat.
I just heard this poem on the Disney channel today, I can't even...
Re: your favourite poem?
Posted: Fri May 08, 2015 11:11 pm
by Dukasaur
A bird shit on your head And you complained Why? Do you think you're somebody important?
That was from a novel called Message From A Spy. It was one of my favourite novels when I was in my late teens. I don't remember the name of the author, and googling it only yields irrelevant entries. If anybody knows the author feel free to post..
The dust jacket also contained my favourite quote from Kim Philby: "At a time like this, how else could one behave but badly?"
Re: your favourite poem?
Posted: Sat May 09, 2015 1:13 am
by muy_thaiguy
I don't do much poetry, but I do like "The Raven" by Edgar Allen Poe. In spoiler tags because it's so long.
A bird shit on your head And you complained Why? Do you think you're somebody important?
That was from a novel called Message From A Spy. It was one of my favourite novels when I was in my late teens. I don't remember the name of the author, and googling it only yields irrelevant entries. If anybody knows the author feel free to post..
The dust jacket also contained my favourite quote from Kim Philby: "At a time like this, how else could one behave but badly?"
It's hilarious. I did a Google search for "how else could one behave but badly" and this came up as #1 on my list.
Self-recursive thought processes are said to be the first step on the road to artificial intelligence.
Posted: Sun Apr 26, 2015 10:39 pm
