Can you tell me something about modern American and Brtitish poetry? What poets are famous and popular now? If you can, please, post here some examples of their poems.
Quote from: Eugeny Anatolievich on October 29, 2016, 11:13:29 AM
Can you tell me something about modern American and Brtitish poetry? What poets are famous and popular now? If you can, please, post here some examples of their poems.
I shall watch with you as I know squeek all about poetry.
Quote from: Tank on October 29, 2016, 11:22:28 AM
Quote from: Eugeny Anatolievich on October 29, 2016, 11:13:29 AM
Can you tell me something about modern American and Brtitish poetry? What poets are famous and popular now? If you can, please, post here some examples of their poems.
I shall watch with you as I know squeek all about poetry.
About poetry you know squeak?
Does this mean your knowledge is weak?
Or do you say that tongue in cheek?
Perhaps to you it's like ancient Greek.
Your question my interest did pique
if time permits, I will return to sneak a peek.
Quote from: Eugeny Anatolievich on October 29, 2016, 11:13:29 AM
Can you tell me something about modern American and Brtitish poetry? What poets are famous and popular now? If you can, please, post here some examples of their poems.
You should probably be asking this in a poetry forum.
I know there are them 'cause we banned a guy banned by them.
We're Philistines here, we don't get it, the fault is with the form, not us.
Robin Williams played a Russian in America asking where are your poets?
Sitting alone probably, unless they play guitar.
There're so many other forms of entertainment
I think probably after the collapse of civilisation,
when the remnants huddle together by the fire,
poetry will come back, I'm looking forward to it.
Some think this guy should get a Nobel.
I find this more accessible than underlying principles of quantum mechanics.
QuoteThe Cows on Killing Day
By Les Murray
All me are standing on feed. The sky is shining.
All me have just been milked. Teats all tingling still
from that dry toothless sucking by the chilly mouths
that gasp loudly in in in, and never breathe out.
All me standing on feed, move the feed inside me.
One me smells of needing the bull, that heavy urgent me,
the back-climber, who leaves me humped, straining, but light
and peaceful again, with crystalline moving inside me.
Standing on wet rock, being milked, assuages the calf-sorrow in me.
Now the me who needs mounts on me, hopping, to signal the bull.
The tractor comes trotting in its grumble; the heifer human
bounces on top of it, and cud comes with the tractor,
big rolls of tight dry feed: lucerne, clovers, buttercup, grass,
that's been bitten but never swallowed, yet is cud.
She walks up over the tractor and down it comes, roll on roll
and all me following, eating it, and dropping the good pats.
The heifer human smells of needing the bull human
and is angry. All me look nervously at her
as she chases the dog me dream of horning dead: our enemy
of the light loose tongue. Me'd jam him in his squeals.
Me, facing every way, spreading out over feed.
One me is still in the yard, the place skinned of feed.
Me, old and sore-boned, little milk in that me now,
licks at the wood. The oldest bull human is coming.
Me in the peed yard. A stick goes out from the human
and cracks, like the whip. Me shivers and falls down
with the terrible, the blood of me, coming out behind an ear.
Me, that other me, down and dreaming in the bare yard.
All me come running. It's like the Hot Part of the sky
that's hard to look at, this that now happens behind wood
in the raw yard. A shining leaf, like off the bitter gum tree
is with the human. It works in the neck of me
and the terrible floods out, swamped and frothy. All me make the Roar,
some leaping stiff-kneed, trying to horn that worst horror.
The wolf-at-the-calves is the bull human. Horn the bull human!
But the dog and the heifer human drive away all me.
Looking back, the glistening leaf is still moving.
All of dry old me is crumpled, like the hills of feed,
and a slick me like a huge calf is coming out of me.
The carrion-stinking dog, who is calf of human and wolf,
is chasing and eating little blood things the humans scatter,
and all me run away, over smells, toward the sky.