Archive for the Poetry at large Category

Les Fleurs du mal

Posted in Poetry at large with tags , , , , , , , , on October 30, 2017 by Mj Rains

les fleurs du mal

Posthumous Remorse

    Ah, when thou shalt slumber, my darkling love,
Beneath a black marble-made statuette,
And when thou’lt have nought for thy house or alcove,
But a cavernous den and a damp oubliette.

When the tomb-stone, oppressing thy timorous breast,
And thy hips drooping sweetly with listless decay,
The pulse and desires of mine heart shall arrest,
And thy feet from pursuing their adventurous way,

Then the grave, that dark friend of my limitless dreams
(For the grave ever readeth the poet aright),
Amid those long nights, which no slumber redeems”?

‘Twill query “What use to thee, incomplete spright
That thou ne’er hast unfathomed the tears of the dead?”
Then the worms will gnaw deep at thy body like Dread.

~The Flowers of Evil, Les Fleurs du mal, by Charles Baudelaire

(…If rape or arson, poison or the knife
Has wove no pleasing patterns in the stuff
Of this drab canvas we accept as life–
It is because we are not bold enough.
~Beaudelaire, To the Reader)

Image: Dark fleur by The Wit Continuum

 

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Surrender

Posted in Poetry at large with tags , , , , , , on October 23, 2017 by Mj Rains

 

His eyes dark and voice

sweet. Surrender, he says,

and you fall.  There is no choice.

-Surrender, by Mj Rains

Image: Kit Harington

From a Childhood

Posted in Poetry at large with tags , , , , , , , , , , on July 14, 2016 by Mj Rains

piano keysThe darkening was like riches in the room
in which the boy sat, almost hidden from sight.
And when his mother entered, as in a dream,
a glass trembled in the quiet cupboard.
She felt how the room  betrayed her,
and she kissed the boy: “Oh, you’re here?…”
Then both looked fearfully at the piano,
because some evenings she’d play the child a song
in which he found himself strangely deeply caught.

He sat very still. His great gaze hung
on her hand, weighed down by its ring,
as if struggling through drifted snow
it went over the white keys.

~Rainer Maria Rilke

From The Essential Rilke

Great spirits now on earth are sojourning…

Posted in Poetry at large with tags , , , , , , , , , , on February 4, 2016 by Mj Rains

Keats3An excerpt from AUTOBIOGRAPHY by Benjamin Robert Hayden

KEATS

About this time (October 1816) I met John Keats at Leigh Hunt’s, and was amazingly interested by him prematurity of intellectual and poetical power.

I read one or two of his sonnets and formed a very high idea of his genius. After a short time I liked him so much that a general invitation on my part followed, and we became extremely intimate. He visited my painting-room at all times, and at all times was welcome.

He was below the middle size, with a low forehead and an eye that had an inward look, perfectly divine, like a Delphian priestess who saw visions. The greatest calamity for Keats was his being brought before the world by a set who had so much the habit of puffing each other that every one connected with it suffered in public estimation. Hence every one was inclined to disbelieve his genius. …

One evening (November 19, 1816) after a most eager interchange of thoughts I received from Keats his sonnet, beginning “Great spirits now on earth are sojourning.” I thanked him, and he wrote, “Your letter has filled me with a proud pleasure, and shall be kept by me as a stimulus to exertion. I begin to fix my eye on one horizon. The idea of your sending it to Wordsworth puts me out of breath. You know with what reverence I would send my well wishes to him.”

As I was walking one day with him in the Kilburn meadows, he said: “Haydon, what a pity it is there is not a human dusthole.”

Bright-Star-movies-9133146-1600-1000KeatsTLS: When did Keats become a great writer? Ask Gigante

Hear sexy Tom Hiddleston read Bright Star here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6vlIXu9C3Hw

An Annual of the Dark Physics

Posted in Poetry at large with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 5, 2016 by Mj Rains


The Baltic Sea froze in 1307. Birds flew north
From the Mediterranean in early January.
There were meteor storms throughout Europe.

On the first day of Lent
Two children took their own lives:
Their bodies
Were sewn into goats’ skins

And were dragged by the hangman’s horse
The three miles down to the sea.
They were given a simple grave in the sand.

The following Sunday, Meister Eckhart
Shouted that a secret word
Had been spoken to him. He preached

That Mary Magdalene
Sought a dead man in the tomb
But, in her confusion, found
Only two angels laughing…

This was a consequence of her purity

And her all to human grief.
The Baltic Sea
Also froze in 1303–

nothing happened that was worthy of poetry.

~Norman Dubie
 

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