#modernist poetry

[blackhyena]

Thomas Hardy, ‘The Haunter’.

#the haunter #thomas hardy #modernist poetry #20th century poetry #poems of 1912 13 #quote #p #poetry #elegy

[bloodybosom]

T.S. Eliot

Let us go then, you and I,

When the evening is spread out against the sky

Like a patient etherized upon a table;

Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,

The muttering retreats

Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels

And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:

Streets that follow like a tedious argument

Of insidious intent

To lead you to an overwhelming question ...

Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”

Let us go and make our visit.

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

#nekrogasm #ts eliot #modernist poetry #the love song of j. alfred prufrock #unconscious #medical #anesthesia #anesthetized #prufrock #poetry #american poetry

[creatediana]

I will rise from my troth with the dead, I will sweeten my cup and my bread with a gift; I will chisel a bowl for the wine, for the white wine and red; I will summon a Satyr to dance, a Centaur a Nymph and a Faun; I will picture a warrior King, a Giant, a Naiad, a Monster; I will cut round the rim of the crater some simple familiar thing, vine leaves or the sea-swallow's wing; I will work at each separate part till my mind is worn out and my heart: in my skull, where the vision had birth, will come wine would pour song of the hot earth, of the flower and the sweet of the hill, thyme, meadow-plant, grass-blade and sorrel; in my skull, from which vision took flight, will come wine will pour song of the cool night, of the silver and blade of the moon, of the star, of the sun's kiss at midnoon; I will challenge the reed-pipe and stringed lyre, to sing sweeter, pipe wilder, praise louder the fragrance and sweet of the wine jar, till each lover must summon another, to proffer a rose where all flowers are, in the depths of the exquisite crater; flower will fall upon flower till the red shower inflame all with intimate fervor; till: men who travel afar will look up, sensing grape and hill-slope in the cup; men who sleep by the wood will arise, hearing ripple and fall of the tide, being drawn by the spell of the sea; the bowl will ensnare and enchant men who crouch by the hearth till they want but the riot of stars in the night; those who dwell far inland will seek ships; the deep-sea fisher, plying his nets, will forsake them for wheat-sheeves and loam; men who wander will yearn for their home, men at home will depart. I will rise from my troth with the dead; I will sweeten my cup and my bread with a gift; I will chisel a bowl for the wine, for the white wine and red.

—"Wine Bowl" by the American modernist poet H.D. (Hilda Doolittle) (1886–1961)

#influences #h.d. #hilda doolittle #modernism #modernist poetry #poem #poetry #twentieth century #american poetry #american literature

[robcam-wfu]

— James Joyce, "Night Piece"

#james joyce #night piece #irish poetry #modernist poetry #poetry #poem #poems and poetry #literature #writing

[the-shooting-star]

Robert Frost, Mending Wall

#robert frost #mending wall #poetry #american poetry #modernist poetry #poems #words #spring #may #spring poetry #spring poem #nature poetry #nature poem

[cine-poeme]

“Voices & Visions: Ezra Pound”

#ezra pound #modernist poetry #documentary

[byronicist]

"All I have is a voice / To undo the folded lie, / The romantic lie in the brain / Of the sensual man-in-the-street / And the lie of Authority / Whose buildings grope the sky: / There is no such thing as the State / And no one exists alone; / Hunger allows no choice / To the citizen of the police; / We must love one another or die."

W.H. Auden, September 1, 1939 (1939)

#quotes #literature #lit #poetry #british literature #british poetry #war poetry #wwii poetry #ww2 poetry #political poetry #protest poetry #wh auden #spiller ink #modernist poetry #modernist literature #queer poets

[cicadacorpse]

It is the sinners' dust-tonged bell - Dylan Thomas

It is the sinners’ dust-tongued bell claps me to churches

When, with his torch and hourglass, like a sulphur priest,

His beast heel cleft in a sandal,

Time marks a black aisle kindle from the brand of ashes,

Grief with dishevelled hands tear out the altar ghost

And a firewind kill the candle.

Over the choir minute I hear the hour chant:

Time’s coral saint and the salt grief drown a foul sepulchre

And a whirlpool drives the prayerwheel; 

Moonfall and sailing emperor, pale as their tideprint,

Hear by death’s accident the clocked and dashed-down spire

Strike the sea hour through bellmetal.

There is loud and dark directly under the dumb flame,

Storm, snow, and fountain in the weather of fireworks,

Cathedral calm in the pulled house;

Grief with drenched book and candle christens the cherub time

From the emerald, still bell; and from the pacing weather-cock

The voice of bird on coral prays.

Forever it is a white child in the dark-skinned summer

Out of the font of bone and plants at that stone tocsin

Scales the blue wall of spirits;

From blank and leaking winter sails the child in colour,

Shakes, in crabbed burial shawl, by sorcerer’s insect woken,

Ding dong from the mute turrets.

#dylan thomas #it is the sinners' dust-tongued bell #poetry #modernism #modernist poetry

[sehnsuchtz]

I, too, dislike it: there are things that are important beyond all this fiddle. Reading it, however, with a perfect contempt for it, one discovers in it after all, a place for the genuine

"Poetry" by Marianne Moore

#poetry #excerpt #literature #on writing #marianne moore #poetics #quote #academia #light academia #light academia aesthetic #dark academia #dark academia aesthetic #modernism #modernist poetry #20th century #20th century poetry #20th century writing #20th century writers

[ratbits]

"from ‘Cancer, or, The Crab’, a section of The Ecliptic" by Joseph Macleod

A poem for Cancer season image: The Crab and the Heron – Gurupada//@Google Arts & Culture As we enter the final week of Cancer, here’s a poem about crabs. This excerpt from Joseph Macleod’s long poem from 1930 captures the eerie unearthly stillness of a moonlit beach, edges blurry and indistinct beneath pale blue light. It’s rooted in classicism, with Leda and Catullus and Aphrodite Pandemos…

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#1930 #20th Century Poetry #Aphrodite #Aphrodite Pandemos #astrological poems #astrology #birds #Cancer #Catullus #classical #classical mythology #classical poetry #cornflowers #correspondence web #crabs #goldfinches #Joseph Macleod #Leda #modern poetry #modernist poetry #Poetry #poetry themes #Scottish poetry #Scottish poets #The Goldfinch #The Moon #The Waste Land #TS Eliot #Zeus #zodiac

[blackhyena]

Thomas Hardy, ‘The Phantom Horsewoman’.

#thomas hardy #the phantom horsewoman #poems of 1912 13 #modernist poetry #elegy #poetry #20th century poetry #quote #p

[sleepinginthelobby]

the public cult

show me the individual beams,

the ones that hold you

from every part of your body

and your mind and your soul too.

display me the disciples

of Narcissus and his opposers.

those who dried up, or withered away,

and show me what brought them closer.

both a cult of excess,

a mass ascension,

hedonistic youth praise liars,

and feed on internal tension.

i am you, says one.

and the other will not respond.

as they would repeat.

this is the bond.

i am you. but i hate

being you and life

is nothing and we

are everything

i want to be life

and everything.

#poem #poetry #modernist #modernist poetry #female #female poet #feminist #feminist poetry #narcissus #greek poetry #greek #literature #student #poetry student #english #english student #poeticstories

[artesussy]

Phases

Phases seem to define me nowI try so hard to make memoriesTo make things seem specialTo be the pretend-intellectual you areTrying to find fire in this blank spaceIt’s mundaneIt’s all so blankSo goddamn blankMake up stories to feel for a secondNothing seems to come without validationPretense is the name of this gameWant to put a blade across my skinBut too tired to go and get itI’m the one who’s…

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#Indie Poetry #Mental Health #Mental Health Awareness #Modernism #Modernist Poetry #New Age Poetry #Poetry #Spiritualism

[thatwhichdoesnotsuffer]

“Something forgets us perfectly”

— Leonard Cohen

#poetry #Leonard cohen #romantic poetry #modernist poetry #death #forget

[creatediana]

“here is little Effie’s head” by American poet E. E. Cummings, first published in the collection & (1925)

#influences #e. e. cummings #e.e. cummings #modernist poetry #american modernism #poetry #twentieth century

[britneyshakespeare]

"One Day We Played a Game" by Countee Cullen, from Copper Sun (1927)

#poetry #countee cullen #modernist poetry #harlem renaissance #american poetry #1920s #black literature