- Jul 20, 2008
- 973
- 15
- 234
(No, I did not mean to write "poultry" thread...hyuk hyuk hyuk) anyway...
I thought since the fading of the castle thread we needed some more culture around here on BYC (no, redneck "culture" is NOT what I'm talking about...
) and hence--The Poetry Thread.
I'll start by posting a poem, and we can chat about it. Once we've completely and totally exhausted all possible topics for discussion, I'll post a new one. To keep things orderly, don't post a poem in the middle of the discussion about another one. Check out Boyd's thread (which inspired me to do this!)--> https://www.backyardchickens.com/forum/viewtopic.php?id=311940 (You can PM me if you want to contribute one of your own, or suggest one, or whatever
)
Here's the first entry:
pity this busy monster,manunkind,
not. Progress is a comfortable disease:
your victim(death and life safely beyond)
plays with the bigness of his littleness
-electrons deify one razorblade
into a mountainrange;lenses extend
unwish through curving wherewhen until unwish
returns on its unself.
A world of made
is not a world of born-pity poor flesh
and trees,poor stars and stones,but never this
fine specimen of hypermagical
ultraomnipotence. We doctors know
a hopeless case if-listen
ere's a hell
of a good universe next door;let's go
- e. e. cummings
So, what do you think? I find this poem so haunting, considering that it was written over 60 years ago, yet captures many of the problems the world faces today.
I thought since the fading of the castle thread we needed some more culture around here on BYC (no, redneck "culture" is NOT what I'm talking about...
I'll start by posting a poem, and we can chat about it. Once we've completely and totally exhausted all possible topics for discussion, I'll post a new one. To keep things orderly, don't post a poem in the middle of the discussion about another one. Check out Boyd's thread (which inspired me to do this!)--> https://www.backyardchickens.com/forum/viewtopic.php?id=311940 (You can PM me if you want to contribute one of your own, or suggest one, or whatever
Here's the first entry:
pity this busy monster,manunkind,
not. Progress is a comfortable disease:
your victim(death and life safely beyond)
plays with the bigness of his littleness
-electrons deify one razorblade
into a mountainrange;lenses extend
unwish through curving wherewhen until unwish
returns on its unself.
A world of made
is not a world of born-pity poor flesh
and trees,poor stars and stones,but never this
fine specimen of hypermagical
ultraomnipotence. We doctors know
a hopeless case if-listen
ere's a hellof a good universe next door;let's go
- e. e. cummings
So, what do you think? I find this poem so haunting, considering that it was written over 60 years ago, yet captures many of the problems the world faces today.
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