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Forgotten Poets

@forgottenpoets.bsky.social

❖ #ForgottenPoets & #ForgottenPrints ❖ Pre-1930s poetry & art ❖ Edited by Dick Whyte #dwpoems ❖ https://forgottenpoets.substack.com ❖ Poetry New Zealand ❖ #PoetryAotearoa ❖ Forgotten Press ❖ https://linktr.ee/forgottenpoets

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Tom Snarsky @tomsnarsky.bsky.social · 2w ago

…consider checking out more of her work! Here are a few more poems from Hannah’s first book, Kwaad gesternte (“Unlucky Star”), in English translation: www.poetryinternational.com/en/poets-poe...

Hannah van Binsbergen

Hannah van Binsbergen studied philosophy at the University of Amsterdam. She published her first poems in the internet journal Samplekanon and writes for Tirade and DW B. Van Bi...

poetryinternational.com

Tom Snarsky @tomsnarsky.bsky.social · 2w ago

Hannah van Binsbergen (@hannahvanbins.bsky.social), from “ESL IS THE GREATEST LANGUAGE ON EARTH” @bulbregion.bsky.social

I am
trying
to talk
in the
language
we are
trying
to talk
together.

Kyla Houbolt @luaz.bsky.social · 2w ago

Whoop! It's #WeirdPoemWednesday! Thank you, @tomsnarsky.bsky.social , here is Instant Zen:

Instant Zen

Tell yourself things to do
and then don't do them.

Tom Snarsky @tomsnarsky.bsky.social · 2w ago

Bill Corbett

I meant to press buttercups clover, bunchberry, hawkweed from that field into a book for you to celebrate this moment.
The field is brilliant where the flowers grow in clusters. Soon the hayrake.
Parting is renewal.

Tom Snarsky @tomsnarsky.bsky.social · 2w ago

Louise Glück

I open my eyes; you are watching me.
Almost over this room
the sun is gliding.
Look at your face, you say,
holding your own close to me
to make a mirror.
How calm you are. And the burning wheel
passes gently over us.

Forgotten Poets @forgottenpoets.bsky.social · 5mo ago

Howard Devoto 🖤

“I’m not interested in poetry at all. Poetry is—I dunno—it’s smelly.”

Tom Snarsky @tomsnarsky.bsky.social · 5mo ago

Georg Trakl, tr. Stephen Tapscott. just perfect

To Novalis

The holy stranger rests in dark earth.
God received the dirge from his soft modest mouth
as he sank back, in his bloom-time.
One blue flower
sustains his song, in pain’s nocturnal house.

Forgotten Poets @forgottenpoets.bsky.social · 6mo ago

Love coming across little things like this while researching - a fragment of queer poetic history by Hilda Trevelyan Thomson in The Mask (1927) 🖤

FROM A SENSIBLE LONDON JOURNAL.

Soft as a gathered flower falls
When lightly thrown,
So lies the hand of my dear love
Within my own.

II.

As petals of the palest rose
Her fingers white,
The faint sweet fragrance of her palm
Is love's delight.

III.

Like sleeping flowers, the fingers close
I kissed apart.
... . In that soft, secret hiding-place
Is hid my heart.

If Hilda Trevelyan Thomson had written of "his" hands, "his" palm, it would have been more ordinary, I admit; but it might have:
first, had a very bad influence; and secondly, done a lot of harm.

phillip crymble @phillipcrymble.bsky.social · 6mo ago

Langston Hughes

Winter Moon

How thin and sharp is the moon tonight!
How thin and sharp and ghostly white
Is the slim curved crook of the moon tonight!

Tom Snarsky@tomsnarsky.bsky.social · 6mo ago

stay classic

the moon, c-you-later crescent, waning, fabulous

phillip crymble @phillipcrymble.bsky.social · 6mo ago

Amy Lowell, for your Friday the 13th

SUPERSTITION

I have painted a picture of a ghost
Upon my kite,
And hung it on a tree.
Later, when I loose the string
And let it fly,
The people will cower
And hide their heads,
For fear of the God
Swimming in the clouds.

Forgotten Poets @forgottenpoets.bsky.social · 6mo ago

. From the latest issue of #ForgottenPoets —A. Philip Randolph (civil rights leader and publisher) #poetry #poems #booksky

—: To William Campbell :—

I heard him say:
“Tis hard
Stand to it.”
But how hard?

Winds will not tell
Nor mountains, stars nor seas.

Birds will not tell
How hard.

Forgotten Poets @forgottenpoets.bsky.social · 6mo ago

Meet my watermelon friend, Walt. 🍉

sanctorium.bsky.social @sanctorium.bsky.social · 6mo ago

swarm of dreams

Forgotten Poets @forgottenpoets.bsky.social · 6mo ago

. From the latest issue of #ForgottenPoets —Iris Tree #poetry #poem #booksky

—: What You Will :—

What is my sex and meaning and ambition?
I am what you shall name me. Superstition
Hangs on the lips of idols that are mute,
Music is holy in the silent lute
That waits the wings of every sleeping tone.
You stand beside me—we are both alone.
Where do I come from, go, what chains shall bind me?
There is nothing before me or behind me,
I come from all your margins, from your stress
Of questioning, and I am the dividing guess
Of life to dream. Or just a woman in a dress.

Forgotten Poets @forgottenpoets.bsky.social · 6mo ago

. From the latest issue of #ForgottenPoets —Iris Tree #poetry #poems #booksky

Old Iron

Old iron rustling in the nettles
Hoops and girds and battered slag
Coils and wheels writhing twisted
Sharp and fanged in the bitter grass.
If I had a flute or & whistle
If I were a fiddler
I would play on that scragged pile, in rags I would sit
Because of a melancholy mood
I would make tunes, new tunes, bitter and wild
Out of the snarl of those dead fragments.
Iron out of the earth, Iron out of the fire,
Black iron jangling upon iron
Old Iron rusting red on the green—

Forgotten Poets @forgottenpoets.bsky.social · 6mo ago

. From 'Wheels' magazine (1917) —Aldous Huxley #ForgottenPoets #poetry #booksky

FAREWELL TO THE MUSES.

My typewriter has been writing crookedly
For a very considerable time.
It is so hard to write in metre and in rime
With a typewriter that writes crookedly.
Lines should look clean and decent to the eye,
And mine have ceased to do so.
And so that is why I am ceasing to be a poet. . . .
Because my typewriter writes so exacerbatingly,
So distressingly crookedly.

Tom Snarsky @tomsnarsky.bsky.social · 6mo ago

Sara Sutterlin

Act three

The night sun is reserved for
inconspicuous hunchbacks &
golden lackeys. In the apocalyptic morning
sanctimonious myths are sung high
in memory of delicious America

Tom Snarsky @tomsnarsky.bsky.social · 6mo ago

@kimdorman.bsky.social · 6mo ago

Lorine Niedecker to Cid Corman

phillip crymble @phillipcrymble.bsky.social · 6mo ago

David Ignatow, from Living is What I Wanted: Last Poems (1999)

Fixed or impermanent

All these objects
fixed in their places--
trees, houses, the declaration
of independence, the bill of rights,
the constitution--awaiting
an end. The earth spins as if in search
of its executioner, perhaps
a comet sent at random
by the law of impermanence,
fixed in us
like a bent tree.

@kimdorman.bsky.social · 6mo ago

2/2 Joshua Beckman, from A Guide for Making Fragments from Diaries

Jeremy Millar @jeremymillar.bsky.social · 6mo ago

Well excuse me

an image showing Dom Sylvester Houédard's *great* poem

frog
pond
plop

Rose Ruane@regretteruane.bsky.social · 6mo ago

I’m not sure it’s expressly laid out in any of the great and wise texts on the subject, but still, I think one of the first principles of poetry is never to include the word plop

Forgotten Poets @forgottenpoets.bsky.social · 7mo ago

. 'Sonnet to Mrs. Reynold's Cat' —John Keats #poetry #poems #booksky

Sonnet To Mrs. Reynolds's Cat

Cat! who hast pass'd thy grand climacteric,
How many mice and rats hast in thy days
Destroy'd? How many tit bits stolen? Gaze
With those bright languid segments green, and prick
Those velvet ears -- but prythee do not stick
Thy latent talons in me - and upraise
Thy gentle mew - and tell me all thy frays,
Of fish and mice, and rats and tender chick.
Nay, look not down, nor lick thy dainty wrists--
For all thy wheezy asthma -- and for all
Thy tail's tip is nick'd off -- and though the fists
Of many a maid have given thee many a maul,
Still is that fur as soft, as when the lists
In youth thou enter'dest on glass bottled wall.

Forgotten Poets @forgottenpoets.bsky.social · 6mo ago

From ‘Two Cures For Love’ (2008) —Wendy Cope #poem #poetry #booksky

Two Cures For Love
Wendy Cope

1. Don’t see him. Don’t phone or write a letter.
2. The easy way: get to know him better.

Forgotten Poets @forgottenpoets.bsky.social · 6mo ago

From ‘There Are More Beautiful Things Than Beyoncé’ (2017) —Morgan Parker #poetry #poem #booksky

Edward L. Canavan @edwardlcanavan.bsky.social · 6mo ago

#poemsfordays #poetrycommunity #poems #poets #poetry #supportyourlocalpoets #indiewriters #poetsofinstagram #blueskypoets #poetrynetwork #poetsoflosangeles

Lena 🩷💛🩵@petalsketch.bsky.social · 6mo ago

Mary Oliver 🩷