/lit/ - Literature

Furthest, fairest things, stars, free of our humbug,
each his own, the longer known the more alone,
wrapt in emphatic fire roaring out to a black flue.
Each spark trills on a tone beyond chronological compass,
yet in a sextant’s bubble present and firm
places a surveyor’s stone or steadies a tiller.
Then is Now. The star you steer by is gone,
its tremulous thread spun in the hurricane
spider floss on my check; light from the zenith
spun when the slowworm lay in her lap
fifty years ago.

The sheets are gathered and bound,
the volume indexed and shelved,
dust on its marbled leaves.
Lofty, an empty combe,
silent but for bees.
Finger tips touched and were still
fifty years ago.
Sirius is too young to remember.

Sirius glows in the wind. Sparks on ripples
mark his line, lures for spent fish.

Fifty years a letter unanswered;
a visit postponed for fifty years.

She has been with me fifty years.

Starlight quivers. I had day enough.
For love uninterrupted night.

>no Aristocats

what's the matter, /lit/, can't pull off the punchline?

well that's okay

no one can

Is Gonzo still a relevant form of journalism?

>>3512416

They're not above just insulting each other, either.

>'He was blessed with a brain too small to impede the natural vigour of a big, powerful and tireless physique'

- Georges Duby on William Marshal

>'He seems blessed with a brain too small to impede the natural facility of his tireless pen.'

- John Gillingham on Georges Duby

>>3510678

Early history, and medieval history especially (where records are fewest and conjecture is most common), is absolutely brutal when it comes to historiography.

Seriously, those historians will utterly tear each other apart over the smallest detail.

If you look carefully, it's pretty obvious that most of the Bible is based off Tolkien.

What empty darkness, blackest black
Transforms through glass
When night gives way to spark and flame

Dark folds and falls
As colour forms and chaos frees
Voracious hue and verdant green

Pleiades, Hyades, Orion,
Clouds of dust, and fate
Wrapt in flame on Achilles’ shield

The hidden fires of hidden eyes
Who gazed on war and woe
Live beyond blood and water
Unnoticed, unforgotten,
Veins of stars on azure seas
Endless and eternal.

I don't like it

>>2969627

Yes! Awesome.

Part V, with all the winter stuff, is my favourite piece of writing ever.

Briggflatts, by Basil Bunting

Good luck discussing it here though. No one's read it, apparently

>>2962023

Yep.

>>2961901
>>2961925

Try reading Ovid's Metamorphoses. There's a story in it that explains just what Greeks thought happened to those who turned away strangers.

Spoiler: they all drown.

>>2961154

Furthest, fairest things, stars, free of our humbug,
each his own, the longer known the more alone,
wrapt in emphatic fire roaring out to a black flue.
Each spark trills on a tone beyond chronological compass,
yet in a sextant’s bubble present and firm
places a surveyor’s stone or steadies a tiller.
Then is Now. The star you steer by is gone,
its tremulous thread spun in the hurricane
spider floss on my cheek; light from the zenith
spun when the slowworm lay in her lap
fifty years ago.


The sheets are gathered and bound,
the volume indexed and shelved,
dust on its marbled leaves.
Lofty, an empty combe,
silent but for bees.
Finger tips touched and were still
fifty years ago.

Sirius is too young to remember.
Sirius glows in the wind. Sparks on ripples
mark his line, lures for spent fish.

Fifty years a letter unanswered;
a visit postponed for fifty years.

(2/2)

Light lifts from the water.
Frost has put rowan down,
a russet blotch of bracken
tousled about the trunk.
Bleached sky. Cirrus
reflects sun that has left
nothing to badger eyes.

Young flutes, harps touched by a breeze,
drums and horns escort
Aldebaran, low in the clear east,
beckoning boats to the fishing.
Capella floats from the north
with shields hung on his gunwale.
That is no dinghy’s lantern
occulted by the swell—Betelgeuse,
calling behind him to Rigel.
Starlight is almost flesh.


Great strings next the post of the harp
clang, the horn has majesty,
flutes flicker in the draft and flare.
Orion strides over Farne.
Seals shuffle and bark,
terns shift on their ledges,
watching Capella steer for the zenith,
and Procyon starts his climb.

(1/2)

>visiting Paris with a friend
>can't afford anywhere to stay
>go to Shakespeare and Company
>they won't let us sleep there due to building works

so much for that urban legend

>>2720588

The top 4 are great.

last - Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (Thompson)
current - Greenmantle (Buchan)
next - it's a gosh darned mystery.

>>2454139

okay then.

>over 750,000 items

We've also got the declaration of the war of 1812.

jelly?

What's the oldest book you own?

I found one in a little Camden market bookstore that was published in 1824 today. It was some tome of philosophy and history and suchlike. Also found a few "History of 18XX"''s (published the following year)

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
˙ʇɔɐɹʇsqɐ ǝɥʇ ǝɔɐɹqɯǝ

>>2380494

I took this advice and just tried writing something in the last ten minutes or so. I'm actually really happy with it. Thanks.

oh

ok then

cool

So, poetry.

Do you write poetry? Does poetry have a future? Do you enjoy poetry? Which writers? Are most famous modern poets absolutely crap?

I've harboured an undying love for the ol' Wordsworth/Coleridge partnership for quite some time now, though my absolute favourite is Brigflatts by Basil Bunting (the last part, about winter, is superb). I've always wanted to get into writing a bit for pleasure (especially in the style of the Romantics) but I can never get past that nagging feeling that writing poetry is kinda looked down upon these days. Plus I am never, ever, ever happy with anything I come out with. Ever.

Any tips?