Post some crazy poems you found and maybe a short summary at the bottom so people who don't understand the poem would know what it means. You can be wrong in the summary.
Guilty by Jack Gilbert.
The man certainly looked guilty.
Ugly, ragged, and not clean. Not to mention
their finding him there in the woods
with her body. Neighbors told how he was
always playing with dead squirrels,
mangled dogs, even snakes. He said
those were the only things that would
allow him to get close. Look at me,
the old man said with uncomplaining
simplicity, I'm already one of the dead
among the dead. It's hard to watch things
humiliated the way death does it.
Possums smeared on the road, birds with ants
eating out their eyes. Even dying rats
want privacy for their disgrace.
It's true I washed the dirt from her face
and the blood off the body. Combed her hair.
I slept beside her, at her feet for two days,
the way my dog used to. I got the dress
on the best I could. She looked so neglected.
Like garbage thrown in the weeds.
Like nobody cared because he had done that
to her. I kept thinking about how long
she is going to be alone now. I knew
the police would take pictures and put them
in the papers naked and open so people
eating breakfast could look at her. I wanted
to give her spirit enough time to get ready.
[QUOTE] poem [/QUOTE] Summary:
If - By Rudyard Kipling
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!
Immortal Aphrodite, on your intricately brocaded throne,
child of Zeus, weaver of wiles, this I pray:
Dear Lady, don’t crush my heart
with pains and sorrows.
5 But come here, if ever before,
when you heard my far-off cry,
you listened. And you came,
leaving your father’s house,
yoking your chariot of gold.
10 Then beautiful swift sparrows led you over the black earth
from the sky through the middle air,
whirling their wings into a blur.
Rapidly they came. And you, O Blessed Goddess,
a smile on your immortal face,
15 asked what had happened this time,
why did I call again,
and what did I especially desire
for myself in my frenzied heart:
“Who this time am I to persuade
20 to your love? Sappho, who is doing you wrong?
For even if she flees, soon she shall pursue.
And if she refuses gifts, soon she shall give them.
If she doesn’t love you, soon she shall love
even if she’s unwilling.”
25 Come to me now once again and release me
from grueling anxiety.
All that my heart longs for,
fulfill. And be yourself my ally in love’s battle.
Some say an army of horsemen,
some of footsoldiers, some of ships,
is the fairest thing on the black earth,
but I say it is what one loves.
5 It’s very easy to make this clear
to everyone, for Helen,
by far surpassing mortals in beauty,
left the best of all husbands
and sailed to Troy,
10 mindful of neither her child
nor her dear parents, but
with one glimpse she was seduced by
Aphrodite. For easily bent...
and nimbly...[missing text]...
15 has reminded me now
of Anactoria who is not here;
I would much prefer to see the lovely
way she walks and the radiant glance of her face
than the war-chariots of the Lydians or
20 their footsoldiers in arms.
That man to me seems equal to the gods,
the man who sits opposite you
and close by listens
to your sweet voice
5 and your enticing laughter—
that indeed has stirred up the heart in my breast.
For whenever I look at you even briefly
I can no longer say a single thing,
but my tongue is frozen in silence;
10 instantly a delicate flame runs beneath my skin;
with my eyes I see nothing;
my ears make a whirring noise.
A cold sweat covers me,
trembling seizes my body,
15 and I am greener than grass.
Lacking but little of death do I seem.
Come now, luxuriant Graces, and beautiful-haired Muses.
I tell you
someone will remember us
in the future.
Now, I shall sing these songs
for my companions.
The moon shone full
And when the maidens stood around the altar...
“He is dying, Aphrodite;
luxuriant Adonis is dying.
What should we do?”
“Beat your breasts, young maidens.
And tear your garments
O, weep for Adonis!
But come, dear companions,
For day is near.
The moon is set. And the Pleiades.
It’s the middle of the night.
Time [hôrâ] passes.
But I sleep alone.
I love the sensual.
For me this
and love for the sun
has a share in brilliance and beauty
And I crave.
You set me on fire.
Giver of pain...
Coming from heaven
his purple cloak.
Again love, the limb-loosener, rattles me
a crawling beast.
As a wind in the mountains
assaults an oak,
Love shook my breast.
I loved you, Atthis, long ago
even when you seemed to me
a small graceless child.
But you hate the very thought of me, Atthis,
And you flutter after Andromeda.
Honestly, I wish I were dead.
Weeping many tears, she left me and said,
“Alas, how terribly we suffer, Sappho.
I really leave you against my will.”
And I answered: “Farewell, go and remember me.
You know how we cared for you.
If not, I would remind you
...of our wonderful times.
For by my side you put on
many wreaths of roses
and garlands of flowers
around your soft neck.
And with precious and royal perfume
you anointed yourself.
On soft beds you satisfied your passion.
And there was no dance,
no holy place
from which we were absent.”
They say that Leda once found
like a hyacinth.
Where will you go when you’ve left me?”
“I’ll never come back to you , bride,
I’ll never come back to you.”
Sweet mother, I can’t do my weaving—
Aphrodite has crushed me with desire
for a tender youth.
Like a sweet-apple
on the tip
of the topmost branch.
Forgotten by pickers.
they couldn’t reach it.
Like a hyacinth
in the mountains
that shepherds crush underfoot.
Even on the ground
a purple flower.
To what shall I compare you, dear bridegroom?
To a slender shoot, I most liken you.
[Sappho compared the girl to an apple....she compared the bridegroom to Achilles, and likened the young man’s deeds to the hero’s.]
Himerius (4th cent. A.D.), Or. 1.16
Raise high the roofbeams, carpenters!
Hymenaon, Sing the wedding song!
Up with them!
Hymenaon, Sing the wedding song!
A bridegroom taller than Ares!
Hymenaon, Sing the wedding song!
Taller than a tall man!
Hymenaon, Sing the wedding song!
Superior as the singer of Lesbos—
Hymenaon, Sing the wedding song!
—to poets of other lands.
The Marriage of Hektor and Andromakhe
...The herald Idaios came...a swift messenger
...and the rest of Asia...unwilting glory (kleos aphthiton).
Hektor and his companions led the dark-eyed
luxuriant Andromakhe from holy Thebes and...Plakia
in ships upon the salty sea. Many golden bracelets and purple
robes..., intricately-worked ornaments,
countless silver cups and ivory.
Thus he spoke. And his dear father quickly leapt up.
And the story went to his friends through the broad city.
And the Trojans joined mules to smooth-running carriages.
And the whole band of women and...maidens got on.
Separately, the daughters of Priam...
And the unmarried men led horses beneath the chariots
set forth into Troy...
And the sweet song of the flute mixed...
And the sound of the cymbals, and then the maidens
sang in clear tones a sacred song
and a divinely-sweet echo reached the sky...
And everywhere through the streets...
Mixing bowls and cups...
And myrrh and cassia and frankincense were mingled.
And the older women wailed aloud.
And all the men gave forth a high-pitched song,
calling on Apollo, the far-shooter, skilled in the lyre.
And they sang of Hektor and Andromakhe like to the gods.
The marriage is accomplished as you prayed.
You have the maiden you prayed for.
I don’t know what to do: I am of two minds.
For gold is Zeus’ child.
I have a beautiful daughter
Like a golden flower
My beloved Kleis.
I would not trade her for all Lydia nor lovely...
When you lie dead, no one will remember you
For you have no share in the Muses’ roses.
No, flitting aimlessly about,
You will wildly roam,
a shade amidst the shadowy dead.
Death is an evil.
That’s what the gods think.
Or they would die.
Because you are dear to me
Marry a younger woman.
I don’t dare live with a young man—
KEY PASSAGES RELEVANT TO THE POETICS OF SAPPHO
TRANSLATED BY GREGORY NAGY
1. And they passed by the streams of Okeanos and the White Rock
and past the Gates of the Sun and the District of Dreams.
2. ...they say that Sappho was the first,
hunting down the proud Phaon,
to throw herself, in her goading desire, from the rock
that shines from afar.
But now, in accordance with your sacred utterance,
lord king, let there be silence
throughout the sacred precinct of the headland of the White Rock.
Menander F 258K
3. One more time taking off in the air, down from the White Rock
into the dark waves do I dive, intoxicated with lust.
Anacreon PMG 376
4. I would be crazy not to give all the herds of the Cyclopes
in return for drinking one cup [of that wine]
and throwing myself from the white rock into the brine,
once I am intoxicated, with eyebrows relaxed.
Whoever is not happy when he drinks is crazy.
Where it is allowed to make this thing stand up erect,
to grab the breast and touch with both hands
the meadow that is made all ready. And there is dancing
and forgetting [root lêth-] of bad things.
Euripides Cyclops 163-172
5. Related sources (summaries and commentary by G.N.): According to the account in Book VII of the mythographer Ptolemaios Chennos (ca. A.D. 100; by way of Photius Bibliotheca 152-153 Bekker), the first to dive off the heights of Cape Leukas, the most famous localization of the White Rock, was none other than Aphrodite herself, out of love for a dead Adonis. After Adonis died (how it happened is not said), the mourning Aphrodite went off searching for him and finally found him at ‘Cypriote Argos’, in a shrine of Apollo. She consults Apollo, who instructs her to seek relief from her love by jumping off the white rock of Leukas, where Zeus sits whenever he wants relief from his passion for Hera. Then Ptolemaios launches into a veritable catalogue of other figures who followed Aphrodite’s precedent and took a ritual plunge as a cure for love. For example, Queen Artemisia I is reputed to have leapt off the white rock out of love for one Dardanos, succeeding only in getting herself killed. Several others are mentioned who died from the leap, including a certain iambographer Charinos who expired only after being fished out of the water with a broken leg, but not before blurting out his four last iambic trimeters, painfully preserved for us with the compliments of Ptolemaios (and Photius as well). Someone called Makês was more fortunate: having succeeded in escaping from four love affairs after four corresponding leaps from the white rock, he earned the epithet Leukopetrâs ‘the one of the white rock’. We may question the degree of historicity in such accounts. There is, however, a more important concern. In the lengthy and detailed account of Ptolemaios, Sappho is not mentioned at all, let alone Phaon.
From this silence we may infer that the source of this myth about Aphrodite and Adonis is independent of Sappho’s own poetry or of later distortions based on it. Accordingly, the ancient cult practice at Cape Leukas, as described by Strabo (10.2.9 C452), may well contain some intrinsic element that inspired lovers’ leaps, a practice also noted by Strabo (ibid.). The second practice seems to be derived from the first, as we might expect from a priestly institution that becomes independent of the social context that had engendered it. Abstracted from their inherited tribal functions, religious institutions have a way of becoming mystical organizations.
Another reason for doubting that Sappho’s poetry had been the inspiration for the lovers’ leaps at Cape Leukas is the attitude of Strabo himself. He specifically disclaims Menander’s version about Sappho’s being the first to take the plunge at Leukas. Instead, he offers a version of “those more versed in the ancient lore,” according to which Kephalos son of Deioneus was the very first to have leapt, impelled by love for Pterelas (Strabo 10.2.9 C452). The myth of Kephalos and his dive may be as old as the concept of the White Rock. I say “concept” because the ritual practice of casting victims from a white rock may be an inheritance parallel to the epic tradition about a mythical White Rock on the shores of the Okeanos (as in Odyssey 24.11) and the related literary theme of diving from an imaginary White Rock (as in the poetry of Anacreon and Euripides). In other words, it is needless to assume that the ritual preceded the myth or the other way around.
6. Others say that, in the vicinity of the rocks at Athenian Kolonos, he
[Poseidon], falling asleep, had an emission of semen, and a horse
Skuphios came out, who is also called Skîrônîtês [‘the one of the White Rock’].
Scholia to Lycophron 766
Poseidon Petraios [‘of the rocks’] has a cult among the Thessalians...because he, having fallen asleep at some rock, had an emission of semen; and the earth, receiving the semen, produced the first horse, whom they called Skuphios....And they say that there was a festival established in worship of Poseidon Petraios at the spot where the first horse leapt forth.
Scholia to Pindar Pythian 4.246
8. But I love luxuriance [(h)abrosunê]...this,
and lust for the sun has won me brightness and beauty.
Sappho F 58.25-26 V
Alternatively: “with varieties of brocaded flowers on your gown”—G.N.
Euphemism for female genitalia.
This translation follows the reading ¶rvw éel¤v (vs. ¶row).
Life is short, though I keep this from my children.
Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine
in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,
a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways
I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least
fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative
estimate, though I keep this from my children.
For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.
For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,
sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world
is at least half terrible, and for every kind
stranger, there is one who would break you,
though I keep this from my children. I am trying
to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,
walking you through a real shithole, chirps on
about good bones: This place could be beautiful,
right? You could make this place beautiful.
My waifu has two melons,
And she's good at cooking.
But for now I am alone,
In the dark and sorrowing.
I may have a juicy dream,
Of tasting those fruits of love,
And pulling of a daring move,
To smear them with my cream.
Will she accept my heart,
Or compel me to depart,
As my mad hope goes on,
To caress her melons?
As I resolve my mind,
The mettle I don't find,
As my heart boldly urges,
My head the instinct purges.
To understand her humour,
I must rely on Google.
For her melons to ogle,
A painful MS Paint hour.
Her smile won't be for me,
But for some chad in 2D.
And alone her story I scanlate.
For my salvation it's too late.
The 3D world loves evil money,
But of gold I'd refuse tons,
For my waifu to be lovey-dovey,
And to soothe me with her melons.