#about contemporary poetry

[madame-verte]

“Ours does not promise to go down in literary history as a great age of religious poetry. Yet if contemporary poetry is not often religious, it is still intensely, covertly metaphysical. Human nature, it seems, compels us to keep asking about the first things, even if we no longer accept the same answers that our ancestors did, or even the same kind of answers. The more widely you read, in fact, the clearer it becomes that our poetry has a distinctive metaphysics, a set of principles or intuitions held in common by poets as different as Seamus Heaney, Charles Simic, and Billy Collins. This metaphysical sensibility, I think, is what will give our period a retrospective unity, when readers of the future come to survey what looks to us like chaos."

- Adam Kirsch, from the piece “The Taste of Silence”, read at Poetry Foundation.                                                

[ivaspinoza]

"(...) attempts to find general laws on literature have always failed."

"Most of these 'laws' (...) could not tell us anything really significant about the processes of literature."

"(...) no work of art can be wholly 'unique' since it then would be completely incomprehensible."

Theory of Literature, René Wellek and Austin Warren, 1948

[esoterichermetic]

(paula)

It’s been twelve years since I’ve set foot on this sacred ground The best days of my life were spent here Amounting, in total, to just about a year I walk up from the road, see you smoking a cigarette There in your truck, not a day has passed.

“Our son is in the box” shatters my halcyon The lid is the color of your eyes. “Do you wanna see him?” You tell me that you’ve got plans And our boy will be remembered I don’t want to see, I think it will break me But I’m so proud of you He got his eyes from you And his adoration of you from me

Cool Novembers in your treehouse, our hideaway Almost like That 70s Show Directed by Wes Anderson Written by Quentin Tarantino A little space heater in the corner Multi-colored throw rug on the floor Gods of chaos and creation reside here

I don’t remember the first time I made love But I remember holding you there on that rug Looking into your eyes And I’ve been lost since vessel adrift in a sea of cerulean Any illusion of grandiosity I had crumbled to ash “The neighbors complained, we had to tear it down” Repurposed lumber has the potential to create Or rot next to the pool

You invited me to swim one august “Which bikini looks better? Black or red?” I said black, you picked red Red looked better Water almost as soft as your touch, slowly rolling against my chest Pulse pounding in my eardrums While you kiss me Your hand on the back of my neck And in my shorts Mine on your cheek and hips

This is heaven

I found myself damned when once again Streams of reality came through The plastic sheeting pretending To be a sliding glass door “The house settled and the glass just broke one night. No one knew it was under that much stress” One must be aware by now Long term settling often leads to some kind of break

But metaphor was never my fortè So to drive the point home I broke my ring finger just before leaving.

Does life imitate art?

[piizunn]

pro pelle cutem (2023)

a pelt for a skin. are we animals to you? a skin for a skin.

collage of found images and text, personal writing

[discoidal]

i miss the era where all i did was read contemporary poetry i was a worse person then to be clear. but i miss it

[kaus-quietis]

A Circus Library - quick recommendations of short stories, poems, comics and novels I've recently read #1

Hello there! I'm the circus resident poltergeist, Eliott, managing this blog until Lav comes back. Today I offer you a slightly different formula of my super awesome super rare super bookclub post, as Lav would say!

Hello hello hello! Is this a bookclub?! Is this chaotic ramble?! Ding ding! You got it wrong!

Writing full on reviews is tiedous and long, and while I appreciate doing it, I'm myself not always in the mood to read a long post explaining why a book is genius. Do I love that from time to time? Yes! Do I have the attention span to write one now? Nope! However, I still wanted to share some titles I recently (re)discovered, and that I think are marvellous reads for anyone wanting to dive into something new.

Here you'll find a few recommendations with the shortest of words to tell you why they are great, or just scream about it.

short disclaimer before I begin because this is tumblr and while I forgot a lot about this website, I remember how the TW thing works lol, it's at your own discretion to search for the works beforehand if you have any trigger you don't want to encounter.

Jack Spicer - Billy the kid

The master of my fate, captain of my soul as Timothée Chalamet would say idk I barely know the guy. Classic and gold, Spicer is an amazing writer and this poem is phenomenal. It's quite short and perfect if you want to know more about the wonder that was US American poetry during the 20th century. Of course I'd encourage you to read all of his works, but Billy the Kid is perfect to start somewhere.

Ryunosuke Akutagawa - Hell Screen

Classic and iconic, I've recently pushed further than Rashomon and boy oh boy am I never turning back. Hell Screen is a phenomenal short story displaying all the elegance and cruelty Akutagawa can incorporate in his works. It's mesmerizing, it aches, it's everything I love. I read this story in Jay Rubin's translation (Penguin Classics), and even though I do not speak Japanese so I cannot compare, I dare say it's a very good one.

Lucie Bryon, Thieves

I never recommended comic books before but I wanted to for a change! I am a huge comic book lover, but most of the ones I usually read are not available in english language. This one is, though. Thieves is a beautiful comic about growth, falling in love and finding acceptance in others and in yourself. It's light and heartwarming, like eating candy.

Ottessa Moshfegh, Lapvona

Now, this book exploits one of my biggest plot weaknesses ever, and that is fucked up people in medieval settings. Lapvona tells the story of Marek, a sheperd's son, who'll be caught in a series of unfortunate events, political struggles, and secrets, all inside the town of Lapvona. It's dark and unsettling, the characters are scandalous and horrible, yet sickeningly human. Now, I said to check the TW yourselves, but be very careful with this one, if you can think of a TW, then it's certainly in this book.

Osamu Dazai, Early Light

In the Storybook ND series, this book contains three short stories : Early Light, Three Hundred Views of Mount Fuji, and Villon’s Wife. I'd recommend the three of them, as it's a fantastic dive into Dazai's shorter works. I think that reading his short stories is very important to understand his work and the width of the subjects and stories he wrote about. It helps that once again, in my opinion, the translation chosen by this publishing house is so good.

This is it for today! Here you have five of the works I read (or re-read) this summer, and that I'd warmly recommend. There are two short stories (Dazai, Akutagawa), a comic book (Bryon), a novel (Moshfegh) and a poem (Spicer). 'Till next time!

[sivavakkiyar]

probably the best engagements with music—-the experience of listening to music, but also creating—-I’ve ever found in novels have come from two of them—-Ralph Ellison (ah! Juneteenth!) and Thomas Mann

[dandelionsinthepavement]

a certain kind of smile (unforgotten days)

there's a certain look in their eyes as they look at you, A softness in their voice A stillness of their mind, A gentle feeling in their heart. A warmth that envelops them.

there was a feeling. It's long burnt out. A feeling of freedom, Of the warm glow of the sun, The pink tulips that grow in boxes, Bike rides through paths that lead nowhere, It's a feeling of peace, of safety, Of warmth.

The way they looked at you, It was that feeling. The affection that laced their very being.

Now it's empty. As empty as the promises they made. As empty as the jar of stars, they said they'd collect one day. The stars are still scattered in the sky. And that warmth left long ago.

You wonder if it will leave when winter passes.

You wonder if they will love you when the sun rises.

There was a certain kind of day, a certain kind of love, now there's a night. a cold, endless night.

The stars are just as pretty, but they no longer smile back at you.

[wabblebees]

never never never in my life gonna be able to beat the weirdo theatre nerd allegations. its midnight and for the last few hours ive been (voluntarily of my own free will At No-One's Behest) doing some character research for the show we're working on (which at a certain level is Absolutely Necessary!! but at *this* level is Absolutely Not. lmfao)(and so... ik for a fact if i mention this in rehearsal tomorrow im gonna get a whole lotta blank stares ((or TERRIFIED looks from the freshmen wondering if they should be doing this much work lmao))

but anyway so about 10 minutes ago i found a fucking essay (just 9 pages out of this philological collection from the 60s) that just the idea behind the Very Simple title made me so excited i had to stand up at my desk to start reading it and fully forgot to sit back down until i realized i wanted to start TAKING NOTES..... WHICH I GENERALLY HATE DOING WHILE READING........ BUT IM TOO EXCITED AND DONT WANNA FORGET ANY OF IT.................. SO IM TAKING FUCKING NOTES

but anyway beyond tHAT the thing that actually made me pause to start typing this post though is the fact that just now, four pages in, this essay finally put something into place that ive been puzzling over in my head since i very first read the play which... made me happystim so hard i almost knocked myself out of my fucking chair. hdkdgsjfkfhdgskdgwrdjfk.

so yeah. never beating the nerd allegations. lmao

[tauromacos]

Episode 2.2 Kristen Case

In this episode I had the opportunity to speak with Kristen Case. She is the author of two books of poems “Little Arias” and “Principles of Economics” and has a new manuscript “Daphne” looking for a home. An editor and a professor of English at the university of Maine, she wrote a fascinating book on the connections between philosophy and poetry called “American Pragmatism and Poetic…

[cto10121]

Clowns: Shakespeare was so tawdry and dirty and profane!1!1!1!

Shakespeare’s Actual Contemporaries: He writes the most beautiful lines, I can’t 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭Wish he’d write about other things than love, though. What’s that? He actually wrote some killer tragedies and fun stage comedies? Oh. Yeah, I guess he does that. Still, his style is super sweet. So sweet. Sweet as honey. 8/10, ngl kinda basic

[piizunn]

a skin for a skin (Indigiqueer desire)

when you’re howling, hard, for me. like roogaaroo in the night we devour. if you asked me to eat you whole i would.

a desire for impossible closeness.

your skin like the summer air when the wind doesn’t blow, warming me from the outside in.

passion in the soil. passion in the water. passion in the roots of the plants that i pick berries from.

i want to lay with you in the prairie grass until we both return to the dirt and the dust once animated with our spirits.

can we be animals again? animals in love with the land, with other animals that look like us. with hands to hold and faces to kiss.

[brian-ur-bruh]

I LOVE LOVE LOVE MAJORING IN ENGLISH STUDIES <3<3<3<3<3

[contemporary-devotion]

Silvery Moon

Oh, how high the moon

Let me love amongst the stars,

There is no moon above

When love, too, is far.

Oh silvery moon, 

Do you watch me as I watch you? 

I stumble into you so often now,

As you orbit around,

Around, around...

You pull me like the tide,

A steady ebb and flow.

A stillness washes over

Bathed in your gentle glow. 

Oh silvery moon, 

Do you turn your back?

Do you still watch us through the darkness? 

Fill my heart with song and let me love

My longing, my reverence, my adoration

For you, above. 

My love,

Oh how I love.

And what a privilege it is.

My heaven on Earth

My temptation, my sin,

Illuminated by soft silver light,

Ethereal.

Hold me a minute longer, won't you?

Let me linger, my love...

My angel, my darling, my sweet

Sweet Selene,

Are you happy?

Surely you've seen the most of me;

You, of all, should understand

How enamoured I am.

How it hurts, how it heals,

How she holds my whole heart in her hands.

Oh, her hands...

Dearest Artemis,

Have mercy, protect me.

Oh, how I've fallen,

Fallen, fallen.

I wish they hadn't touched you

And tarnished your skin with our world—

How that must hurt.

At least,

How it hurts me

For humanity to have touched the moon.

Of course dawn goes down to day,

And nothing gold will stay,

But shouldn't we protect

The things so sacrosanct.

Oh how we've fallen.

Protect us, have mercy,

Dearest Artemis.

Oh silvery moon,

Watch over me, keep vigil

For as long as you can

Slow the tides.

Let us linger, let us wait.

For I love her as I love you,

And though I know you must go,

Stay a minute, tarry,

Let the constellations spin

But stop the Earth.

We'll spend eternity in a minute

And I'll delude myself into forever,

Helpless at the hands of her divinity.

My love, I'll love you until time itself ends,

Though circumstance has never been kind

And my love may be left behind.

Oh "How High the Moon,"

What a silly, happy tune...

[burningflash]

Blood Moon

The highlight of each year is the lunar eclipse

The people who live in light

Gawk at the darkness that brings forth a night

Blacker than any other, witnessed with parted lips

Gathered on roofs, in gardens, a hand grips

Another

Shuffling feet, they cling to each other

Silently, their gazes shift, transfix

And their muddy eyes

Blink

They watch in awe as the moon begins to rise

An umber jewel set in ink

Third contact, heads tilt away from the skies

And the moon begins to sink

[basilepesso]

Absolutely remarkable and extremely clever minimal composition with excellent use of the depth of field, the bokeh (blur part of the image) being huge. By the excellent French Xav2Bri. Basile Pesso, Yes We Are Magazine director since 2 014 16 March 2 023 (Fb)