He didn't want his metaphors to be taken literally.
Because they’re a-muse-ing
here's some context:
(if you don't feel like too much detail you can skip this part but to get the full picture go ahead )
there's this guy from my class who thinks he's a poet, i mean he's good at school he has the highest class grades I'll give him that but he's definitely not an intellectual deep poet, he uses complicated words to sound complex, now I wanna rap so i write lyrics on a notebook and listen to Rap 24/7,and i believe i can write some cool shit but I'm not here to suck my own ego off, anyway he's so unoriginal he copies everything i do from my music to writing lyrics, he also has a God complex and believes and whispers insults at people however he notices that the girls in my class take an interest in my song writing so he copies me and during our English class and in my country you choose an area to study and my class is in an area that studies languages and human studies so everyone is somewhat smart enough to pull lyrics apart and understand complex meaning and shit
Context Over
in class I'm writing lyrics on my notebook and this girl i have a huge crush notices it and starts up small talk about it i have a feeling she has interest in me too anyway , small class everyone notices and they ask if i wanna read my lyrics i obviously say no because you never show someone an unfinished song she's the only one who who has seen the finished ones
so having the God complex he says "may i step up to recite one of my poems which i write on the accounts of my life" that's about has fat has i can translate
now our teacher is very young bout 24 i think so she knows that if he says someone cringey shit which she knows he will she says very silently to us "don't you dare laugh"
he whips out his notebook finally yes the one time he came prove he's better than me and everyone else
clears his throat
proceeds to say the most cliché overused i am depressed and i am very deep lines that are so surface level they don't even touch the ground like I'm talking 2012 Facebook quotes shit like "stare into mirrors can't find myself" "lost in my thoughts" "i want to die"
we barely contain our laughter and we are cringing the whole way and he notices this and goes on a rant on how "we are mindless" and "don't understand true art" and "our best efforts to breakdown his poems are futile"
before you put me on R/ThatHappened i have one of his poems four proof
"Oh." said the counselor. "I see what the problem is. You can't decide whether to marry for batter or verse."
Suggestions on specific books would be rather helpful.
In Book 3, Socrates discusses with Adeimantus about the censorship of poets, "Our next task, I take it, is to investigate their style. And then we will have completely investigated both what they should say and how they should say it." He goes on to talk about Homer and poets like him who use narration but also include imitation in their narration. While talking about imitation, he talks about genres such as tragedy and comedy. Can someone explain why he mentions these two genres while trying to explain the use of imitation in narration? Thank you.
Sometimes (more often than not), I come across a poem in which the speaker's gender is unspecified. When analysing this sort of work, is it safe to refer to the speaker as "he" when its poet is a man and "her" if it is woman?
چلو اک بار پھر سے اجنبی بن جائیں ہم دونوں
Chalo ik baar phir se ajnabi ban jayen hum dono
O beloved! Let's become strangers once again
نا میں تم سے کوئی امید رکھوں دل نوازی کی
نا تم میری طرف دیکھو غلط انداز نظروں سے
نا میری دل کی دھڑکن لڑکھڑائے میری باتوں سے
نا ظاہر ہو تمہاری کشمکش کا راز نظروں سے
Na mein tum se koi umeed rakhon dil nawazi ki
Na tum meri taraf dekho ghalat andaaz nazron se
Na mere dil ki dharkan larkharae meri baton se
Na zahir ho tumhari kas-ma-kash ka raaz nazron se
Neither should I expect some kindness from you
Nor should you look at me in any wrong way
Neither should my heartbeat tremble when I talk
Nor should your secret be revealed from your eyes
تمہیں بھی کوئی الجھن روکتی ہے پیش قدمی سے
مجھے بھی لوگ کہتے ہیں کہ یہ جلوے پرائے ہیں
میرے ہمراہ بھی رسوائیاں ہیں میرے ماضی کی
تمہارے ساتھ بھی گزری ہوئی راتوں کے سائے ہیں
Tumhein bhi koi uljhan rokti hai pesh-qadmi se
Mujhe bhi log kehte hein ke ye jalwe parae hein
Mere hum-rah bhi ruswaiyan hein mere maazi ki
Tumhare sath bhi guzri hoi raton ke saaye hain
Some confusion stalls your approach towards me
I am also told by people this love is shallow
I have my disgraces of my past with me
You are also haunted by the shadows of gone days
تعارف روگ بن جائے تو اس کا بھولنا بہتر
تعلق بوجھ بن جائے تو اس کا توڑنا اچھا
وہ افسانہ جسے انجام تک لانا نہ ہو ممکن
اسے اک خوبصورت موڑ دے کر چھوڑنا اچھا
Taaruf rog ban jae to us ka bholna behtar
Taluq bojh ban jae to us ka torna acha
Woh afsana jise anjam tak lana na ho mumkin
Use ek khoobsorat mor de kar chorna acha
It's better to forget the acquaintance once it becomes a malady
It's better to break the relationship once it becomes a burden
The story that can not be brought to a satisfactory conclusion
It's better to bring it to peak and leave it ambiguous
چلو اک بار پھر سے اجنبی بن جائیں ہم دونوں
Chalo ik baar phir se ajnabi ban jayen hum dono
O beloved! Let's become strangers once again
THE LIFE OF BEAUTY
by Joy Harjo
The sung blessing of creation
Led her into the human story.
That was the first beauty.
Next beauty was the sound of her mother’s voice
Rippling the waters beneath the drumming skin
Of her birthing cocoon.
Next beauty the father with kindness in his hands
As he held the newborn against his breathing.
Next beauty the moon through the dark window
It was a rocking horse, a wish.
There were many beauties in this age
For everything was immensely itself:
Green greener than the impossibility of green,
the taste of wind after its slide through dew grass at dawn,
Or language running through a tangle of wordlessness in her mouth.
She ate well of the next beauty.
Next beauty planted itself urgently beneath the warrior shrines.
Next was beauty beaded by her mother and pinned neatly
To hold back her hair.
Then how tendrils of fire longing grew into her, beautiful the flower
Between her legs as she became herself.
Do not forget this beauty she was told.
The story took her far away from beauty. In the tests of her living,
Beauty was often long from the reach of her mind and spirit.
When she forgot beauty, all was brutal.
But beauty always came to lift her up to stand again.
When it was beautiful all around and within,
She knew herself to be corn plant, moon, and sunrise.
Death is beautiful, she sang, as she left this story behind her.
Even her bones, said time.
Were tuned to beauty.
