Who is your favorite poet and why?

Question

OR what is your favorite poem and why?

10 points to the person that introduces me to another great poet or poem... :)

Answer 1

James Douglas Morrison (of the doors) - His spoken stuff is amazing, (the severed garden is great if you can get the recording)

http://www.huddersfield1.co.uk/poetry/mo...

Answer 2

Spike Milligan. To move so swiftly from histerical nonsense  to the the most profound depths. Genius.

Answer 3

William Wordsworth, was the first classic poet that drew me in, to class poetry, with Odes, Recollection of childhood

ode# 180, 185, still dear in heart.

Of another sort and style I like Rod Mc Kuen.

And too many various others! Why? Because they touch the

human heart, and affirm our sameness, eternal.

Answer 4

Kafka. taste his poem. I think U gonna like it. It is dark type however.

Answer 5

alexander pope.

his poems,quotes make me ponder about everyday actions.

e.g:"A little learning is a dang'rous thing" (from the Essay on Criticism);

"To err is human, to forgive, divine"

"Hope springs eternal in the human breast"

"The proper study of mankind is man" (Essay on Man).

    "True wit is nature to advantage dress’d;

    What oft was thought, but ne’er so well express’d."

Answer 6

Eliot's "TheWaste Land". do u know that it was edited by ezra Pound?

The Waste Land

I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD

APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding  

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing  

Memory and desire, stirring  

Dull roots with spring rain.  

Winter kept us warm, covering          5

Earth in forgetful snow, feeding  

A little life with dried tubers.  

Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee  

With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,  

And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,   10

And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.  

Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch.  

And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,  

My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,  

And I was frightened. He said, Marie,   15

Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.  

In the mountains, there you feel free.  

I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.  

  

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow  

Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,   20

You cannot say, or guess, for you know only  

A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,  

And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,  

And the dry stone no sound of water. Only  

There is shadow under this red rock,   25

(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),  

And I will show you something different from either  

Your shadow at morning striding behind you  

Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;  

I will show you fear in a handful of dust.   30

                Frisch weht der Wind  

                Der Heimat zu.  

                Mein Irisch Kind,  

                Wo weilest du?  

'You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;   35

'They called me the hyacinth girl.'  

—Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,  

Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not  

Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither  

Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,   40

Looking into the heart of light, the silence.  

Od' und leer das Meer.  

  

Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,  

Had a bad cold, nevertheless  

Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe,   45

With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,  

Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,  

(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)  

Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,  

The lady of situations.   50

Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,  

And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,  

Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,  

Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find  

The Hanged Man. Fear death by water.   55

I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring.  

Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,  

Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:  

One must be so careful these days.  

  

Unreal City,   60

Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,  

A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,  

I had not thought death had undone so many.  

Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,  

And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.   65

Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,  

To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours  

With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.  

There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying 'Stetson!  

'You who were with me in the ships at Mylae!   70

'That corpse you planted last year in your garden,  

'Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?  

'Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?  

'Oh keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men,  

'Or with his nails he'll dig it up again!   75

'You! hypocrite lecteur!—mon semblable,—mon frère!'  

  

II. A GAME OF CHESS

THE Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne,  

Glowed on the marble, where the glass  

Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines  

From which a golden Cupidon peeped out   80

(Another hid his eyes behind his wing)  

Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra  

Reflecting light upon the table as  

The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it,  

From satin cases poured in rich profusion;   85

In vials of ivory and coloured glass  

Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes,  

Unguent, powdered, or liquid—troubled, confused  

And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air  

That freshened from the window, these ascended   90

In fattening the prolonged candle-flames,  

Flung their smoke into the laquearia,  

Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling.  

Huge sea-wood fed with copper  

Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone,   95

In which sad light a carvèd dolphin swam.  

Above the antique mantel was displayed  

As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene  

The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king  

So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale  100

Filled all the desert with inviolable voice  

And still she cried, and still the world pursues,  

'Jug Jug' to dirty ears.  

And other withered stumps of time  

Were told upon the walls; staring forms  105

Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed.  

Footsteps shuffled on the stair.  

Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair  

Spread out in fiery points  

Glowed into words, then would be savagely still.  110

  

'My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me.  

'Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak.  

'What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?  

'I never know what you are thinking. Think.'  

  

I think we are in rats' alley  115

Where the dead men lost their bones.  

  

'What is that noise?'  

                      The wind under the door.  

'What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?'  

                      Nothing again nothing.  120

                                              'Do  

'You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember  

'Nothing?'  

  I remember  

Those are pearls that were his eyes.  125

'Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?'  

                                                         But  

O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag—  

It's so elegant  

So intelligent  130

'What shall I do now? What shall I do?'  

'I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street  

'With my hair down, so. What shall we do to-morrow?  

'What shall we ever do?'  

                          The hot water at ten.  135

And if it rains, a closed car at four.  

And we shall play a game of chess,  

Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.  

  

When Lil's husband got demobbed, I said—  

I didn't mince my words, I said to her myself,  140

HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME  

Now Albert's coming back, make yourself a bit smart.  

He'll want to know what you done with that money he gave you  

To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there.  

You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set,  145

He said, I swear, I can't bear to look at you.  

And no more can't I, I said, and think of poor Albert,  

He's been in the army four years, he wants a good time,  

And if you don't give it him, there's others will, I said.  

Oh is there, she said. Something o' that, I said.  150

Then I'll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look.  

HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME  

If you don't like it you can get on with it, I said.  

Others can pick and choose if you can't.  

But if Albert makes off, it won't be for lack of telling.  155

You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique.  

(And her only thirty-one.)  

I can't help it, she said, pulling a long face,  

It's them pills I took, to bring it off, she said.  

(She's had five already, and nearly died of young George.)  160

The chemist said it would be alright, but I've never been the same.  

You are a proper fool, I said.  

Well, if Albert won't leave you alone, there it is, I said,  

What you get married for if you don't want children?  

HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME  165

Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon,  

And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot—  

HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME  

HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME  

Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight.  170

Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight.  

Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.  

  

III. THE FIRE SERMON

THE river's tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf  

Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind  

Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed.  175

Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.  

The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers,  

Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends  

Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed.  

And their friends, the loitering heirs of city directors;  180

Departed, have left no addresses.  

By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept...  

Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,  

Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long.  

But at my back in a cold blast I hear  185

The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear.  

  

A rat crept softly through the vegetation  

Dragging its slimy belly on the bank  

While I was fishing in the dull canal  

On a winter evening round behind the gashouse  190

Musing upon the king my brother's wreck  

And on the king my father's death before him.  

White bodies naked on the low damp ground  

And bones cast in a little low dry garret,  

Rattled by the rat's foot only, year to year.  195

But at my back from time to time I hear  

The sound of horns  

Answer 7

T.S.Eliot has been a mentor for these long years...the complexities of 'The Wasteland' and 'Ash Wednesday' never cease to amaze me.

When a poem creates more questions than it answers...when a poem has multiple layers of meaning...this is true poetry.

Answer 8

Mine would have to be---Ella Wheeler Wilcox.She writes poetry for the common man.Her poetry gives you direction and spiritual guidance.The poems I like best-is "Whatever is-is Best" and "Worth While."

Answer 9

Bruce Springsteen

Here's why

___________________________________

                   Thunder Road

The screen door slams, Mary's dress waves

Like a vision she dances across the porch as the radio plays

Roy Orbison singing for the lonely

Hey, that's me and I want you only

Don't turn me home again, I just can't face myself alone again

Don't run back inside, darling, you know just what I'm here for

So you're scared and you're thinking that maybe we ain't that young anymore

Show a little faith, there's magic in the night

You ain't a beauty but, hey, you're alright

Oh, and that's alright with me

You can hide 'neath your covers and study your pain

Make crosses from your lovers, throw roses in the rain

Waste your summer praying in vain

For a savior to rise from these streets

Well now, I ain't no hero, that's understood

All the redemption I can offer, girl, is beneath this dirty hood

With a chance to make it good somehow

Hey, what else can we do now?

Except roll down the window and let the wind blow back your hair

Well, the night's busting open, these two lanes will take us anywhere

We got one last chance to make it real

To trade in these wings on some wheels

Climb in back, heaven's waiting on down the tracks

Oh oh, come take my hand

We're riding out tonight to case the promised land

Oh oh oh oh, Thunder Road

Oh, Thunder Road, oh, Thunder Road

Lying out there like a killer in the sun

Hey, I know it's late, we can make it if we run

Oh oh oh oh, Thunder Road

Sit tight, take hold, Thunder Road

Well, I got this guitar and I learned how to make it talk

And my car's out back if you're ready to take that long walk

From your front porch to my front seat

The door's open but the ride ain't free

And I know you're lonely for words that I ain't spoken

But tonight we'll be free, all the promises'll be broken

There were ghosts in the eyes of all the boys you sent away

They haunt this dusty beach road in the skeleton frames of burned-out Chevrolets

They scream your name at night in the street

Your graduation gown lies in rags at their feet

And in the lonely cool before dawn

You hear their engines rolling on

But when you get to the porch, they're gone on the wind

So Mary, climb in

It's a town full of losers, I'm pulling out of here to win