Name That Poet

[Unmasked Poet]

#9

Denise Levertov.

Ms. Levertov's offers us another wonderful waltz inside a poem. This is the equal to the Billy Collins' poem I posted earlier regarding appreciating the art.

Do yourself a favor, copy, print and post this next to your monitor or use the Billy Collins'. Hell, use them both.


U.P.

 

[daughter]

NAME THAT POET #10

Surge

Maybe it is the shyness of the pride
he has when he puts my hand down to feel
the hardness of his cock I hadn't tried

by any conscious gesture to raise,
yet it rose for my soft presence in the bed:
there was nothing I did to earn its praise
but be alive next to it. Maybe it is
the softness of want beneath his delight
at his body going on without his...

his will, really, his instructions...that
surges inside me as a sort of surrender
to the fact that I am, that I was made, that

there is nothing I need do to please but be.
To do nothing but be, and thus be wanted:
so this is love. Look what happened, he says as he

watches my hand draw out what it did not raise,
purpled in sleep. The surge inside me must
come from inside me, where the world lies,

just as the prick stiffened to amaze us
came from a rising inside him. The blessing
we feel is knowing that out there is nothing.
The world inside us has come to praise us.

 

[daughter]

Are you enjoying these poems

While you may not know the poets' names are you enjoying the reads? If not, I will discontinue the thread.

Please comment on the poems and post selections you enjoy. Otherwise, I'll stop clogging the board with it.

Thanks.

Peace,

daughter

 

[SA Storm]

[No message]

 

[daughter]

How about adding your favorites here

Poets--

If you're including the entire text, please post here. Famous lines, would work in trivia.

We have some here that haven't been answered. What have you thought about these works? Please comment on them even if you don't know the author.

Is there a genre or time period you'd like me to showcase?

Thanks.

Peace,

daughter

 

[WriterDom]

one of my favorite poets

To My Brother Poet, Seeking Peace

People wish to be settled. Only as long as
they are unsettled is there any hope for
them.
--Thoreau

My life has been
the instrument
for a mouth
I have never seen,
breathing wind
which comes
from I know not
where,
arranging and changing
my moods,
so as to make
an opening
for his voice.

Or hers.
Muse, White Goddess
mother with invisible
milk,
androgynous god
in whose grip
I struggle,
turning this way and that,
believing that I chart
my life,
my loves,
when in fact
it is she, he,
who charts them--
all for the sake
of some
as yet unwritten poem.

Twisting in the wind,
twisting like a pirate
dangling in a cage
from a high seawall,
the wind whips
through my bones
making an instrument,
my back a xylophone,
my sex a triangle
chiming,
my lips stretched tight
as drumskins,

I no longer care
who is playing me,
but fear
makes the hairs
stand up
on the backs
of my hands
when I think
that she may stop.

And yet I long
for peace
as fervently as you do--
the sweet connubial bliss
that admits no
turbulence,
the settled life
that defeats poetry,
the hearth before which
children play--
not poets' children,
ragtag, neurotic, demon-ridden,
but the apple-cheeked children
of the bourgeoisie.

My daughter dreams
of peace
as I do:
marriage, proper house,
proper husband,
nourishing dreamless
sex,
love like a hot toddy,
or an apple pie.

But the muse
has other plans
for me
and you.

Puppet mistress,
dangling us
on this dark proscenium,
pulling our strings,
blowing us
toward Cornwall,
toward Venice, toward Delphi,
toward some lurching
counterpane,
a tent upheld
by one throbbing
blood-drenched pole--
her pen, her pencil,
the monolith
we worship,
underneath
the gleaming moon.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

For all the Ladies of Lit...

Name that Poet #11

SEX GODDESS OF THE WESTERN HEMISPHERE

I am THE SEX GODDESS OF THE WESTERN HEMISPHERE
so don't mess with me,
I've got a big bag full of SEX TOYS
and you can't have any
'cause they're all mine
'cause I'm
the SEX GODDESS OF THE WESTERN HEMISPHERE.

"Hey,"
you may say to yourself,
"who the hell's she tryin' to kid,
she's no sex goddess,"
But trust me,
I am
if only for the fact that I have
the unabashed gall
to call
myself a SEX GODDESS,
I mean, after all,
it's what so many of us have at some point thought,
we've all had someone
who worshipped our filthy socks
and barked like a dog when we were near
giving us cause
to pause and think: You know, I may not look like much
but deep inside,
I am a SEX GODDESS.

Only
we'd never come out and admit it publicly
well, you wouldn't admit it publicly
but I will
because I am
THE SEX GODDESS OF THE WESTERN HEMISPHERE.

I haven't always been
a SEX GODDESS
I used to be a mere mortal woman
but I grew tired of sexuality being repressed
then manifest
in late night 900 number ads
where 3 bodacious bimbettes
heave cleavage into the camera's winking lens and sigh:
"Big Girls oooh, Bad Girls oooh, Blonde Girls ooh,
you know what to do, call 1-900-UNMITIGATED BIMBO ooooh."

Yeah
I got fed up with the oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh
I got fed up with it all
so I put on my combat boots and hit the road
with my bag full of SEX TOYS
that were a vital part of my SEX GODDESS image
even though I would never actually use
my SEX TOYS
'cause my being a SEX GODDESS
it isn't a SEXUAL thing
it's a POLITICAL thing
I don't actually have sex, no
I'm too busy taking care of
important SEX GODDESS BUSINESS,
yeah,
I gotta go on The Charlie Rose Show
and MTV and become a parody
of myself and make
buckets full of money off my own inane brand
of self-righteous POP PSYCHOLOGY
because my pain is different
because I am a SEX GODDESS
and when I talk,
people listen
why?
Because, you guessed it,
I AM THE SEX GODDESS OF THE WESTERN HEMISPHERE
and you're not.

 

[karmadog]

Name that poet #12 (sorry D)

I'm just beginning my poetry education, so I can't name any of these, but I like number eight (whoever it is). I came across this poem today. The author is VERY interesting.

The Dream
by Aphra Behn (Cheers to Maid of Marvels)
All trembling in my arms Aminta lay,
Defending of the bliss I strove to take;
Raising my rapture by her kind delay,
Her force so charming was and weak.
The soft resistance did betray the grant,
While I pressed on the heaven of my desires;
Her rising breasts with nimbler motions pant;
Her dying eyes assume new fires.
Now to the height of Languishment she grows,
And still her looks new charms put on;
- Now the last mystery of love she knows,
We sigh and kiss: I waked and all was done.

'Twas but a dream, yet by my heart I knew,
Which still was panting, part of it was true:
Oh how I strove the rest to have believed;
Ashamed and angry to be undeceived!

 

[daughter]

A little uniformity goes a long way

Guys--

I am thrilled to see some activity in here. Just a reminder, please number the selection. In the subject line post: Name That Poet #X

The extra dialogue and signature lines are a little confusing for me. I don't know how others feel.

Maid of Marvels, is this poet published in print or apart of our Lit community?

Karma dog, do you know the author? If no one comes up with the correct answer, that is a poet not being given due credit.

WriterDom, please provide the title.

Okay, now I'm really going to be anal, please post published poems not song lyrics.

If all goes well, we'll be introduced to accomplished poets we have not read and we'll increase our breadth as readers.

Peace,

daughter

 

[daughter]

I thought it might be fun to post poems by published poets.

Number the poem in the subject line: Name That Poet # "X"

Poets when you reply please reference the poem number.

Instead of critiquing the work, intepret it, post your impression. Did you enjoy it, hate it, nuetral? say why.

Thanks.

Peace,

daughter

 

[WriterDom]

Re: A little uniformity goes a long way

Guys--

WriterDom, please provide the title.

The title is above the quote. Sorry about the number thing.

 

[karmadog]

lucky 13

Here's another one:

A Late Aubade

You could be sitting now in a carrel
Turning some liver-spotted page,
Or rising in an elevator-cage
Toward Ladie's Apparel.

You could be planting a raucous bed
Of salvia, in rubber gloves,
Or lunching through a screed of someone's loves
With pitying head.

Or making some ungappy setter
Heel, or listening to a bleak
Lecture on Schoenberg's serial technique.
Isn't this better?

Think of all the time you are not
Wasting, and would not care to waste,
Such things, thank God, not being to your taste.
Think what a lot

Of time, by woman's reckoning,
You've saved, and so may spend on this,
You who had rather lie in bed an kiss
Than anything.

It's almost noon, you say? If so,
Time flies, and I need not rehearse
The rose-buds theme of centuries of verse.
If you must go,

Wait for a while then slip downstairs
And bring us up some chilled white wine,
And some blue cheese, and some crackers and some fine
Ruddy-skinned pears.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

daughter

The poet from #11 is indeed published. Took her right out of a book on my shelf.

Gee.. did I say it was my own ledger? No.. really. She is published, and I don't think she is unheard of.

 

[daughter]

Thanks, guys

Maid of Marvels--

My hope was to give our members a reading list that they might not come across otherwise. I can't purchase every collection or poet I like.

I appreciate the support you given, folks.

Peace,

daughter

 

[daughter]

Name That Poet #11

is Maggie Estep.

Peace,

daughter

 

[karmadog]

yes

Did you mean do I know Maids posting. The answer is yes. I looked her's up. Maggie Estep has some very interesting essays posted on her site. She is a fine writer, although I didn't care too much for that poem. Just me though. If you meant mine: Yeah! Of course I do. The first is public domain for several hundred years, the other poet is 20th C, but pretty famous. I understand why you might wonder though.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Name that Poet #8

Louise Glück

 

[daughter]

NAME THAT POET #14

When I Have Fears that I May Cease To Be

Before high-piled books, n charact'ry,
Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain';
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,
Hugh cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love-then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink.

 

[karmadog]

# 14

You should be proud of me, D. You and some others inspired me.

#14 Keats.


Am I right?

 

[daughter]

Bravo

Thanks karmadog!!!

I'm still waiting on your recommendation on my next story read.

Peace,

daughter

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Name that Poet #12

"The Dream" by Aphra Behn.

Thanks for introducing me to this poet. Looking for more. *S*

 

[karmadog]

Aphra Behn

Imentioned her interesting life, so here's a taste.

She was an open lesbian in the 17th century, and a spy for King Charles. Also reputed to be the first woman in England to make a living as a writer. I'm hoping to find a biography of her.

 

[alice]

NAME THAT POET #15

TOUCHING YOU UNDER WATER

I want to find your texture under water
in the darkest night, with my hands
open, like the blind who can move
on a current of breath and odor.
It's their strange luck to have this touch:
leaf to branch, water to shore,
hand to cheek. To know
the difference between tears and rain;
morning's dampness. In the black
pools, where the moon rests,
and rainbows rise
I want to lift you above the wetness
and watch stars spark over
your shoulders and feel the
brush of air as you take flight.

 

[karmadog]

re: # 15

I don't know who this is (still looking), but I like it. I love the evocation of the feeling of skin in water, and at the end the visual of lifting a woman out of the water and the water droplets like stars. Yum. Brings back those good ole days skinny dipping after work at night.