kalm wrote: ↑Tue Nov 08, 2022 10:55 am
Winterborn wrote: ↑Tue Nov 08, 2022 10:01 am
I like most of Emmerson's stuff.
His descriptions of nature is beautiful in its simplicity. Ever read much Japanese poetry? Some of their authors have a similar way of writing.
I haven’t. Not a huge poetry fan but I’ll take a look if you have any recommendations.
Emerson is similar to the stoics as he seems to embrace virtue as a guiding principle.
I will see what I have on my list once I get back home.
I am not ashamed to admit it but I thought poetry was weak and just not worth the time in my early years. Read Tennyson, Frost, and Kipling (among others) and I was hooked. The way the verses interplay and the "beat" (pentameter) appeals to my math dominated thought patterns. I love the interplay between the words to get a point or image across. Really started my love for language in general and how one can use it to both emphasize and hide particular thoughts and feelings (I like to think of it as verbal/written chess or fencing). It is great on long trips as I can read a stanza and stare out the plane window thinking about what the author was trying to convey. Poetry is a literature form that I never thought I would like, but now, doubt I could not have it in my reading répertoire.
Kipyling and Frost are two that I can pick up anytime and find something that speaks to me. Kiplying especially. Gunga Din, Recessional, and To the Unknown Goddess are three that I enjoy the most (IF is right up there as well but it is much more well known).
Tennyson was a master of the craft and his poem Ulysses is superb. And everybody knows his "Charge of the Light Brigade". Another one that popped into mind is Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelly. Which, to me, is one that has a good message for those of us that enjoy political discourse.
I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”