ke poetry | B Michael Tumblr

Kate Tempest is doing it all backward. There are literal volumes devoted to making the argument that rap = poetry. There are probably exponentially more half-baked term papers linking 2pac-v-Biggie to Wordsworth and Coleridge. When rap does reach a “Lyrical Ballads”-level, as it did a few years ago with Kendrick’s good kid, m.A.A.d city, the collective music press collectively shits itself. Tempest, whom The Guardian said “pipped six others” to become the first person under 40 ever to win the Ted Hughes award for innovation in poetry, has released one of the most striking and exceptional rap albums of the year.

Happy National Poetry Day. Here is a poem I really like. It was written on a poster at Housing Works. No one could tell me who wrote it. I wrote it on a piece of paper and hung it near the kitchen sink. The ink has totally faded on that, and this image is the only record I have of the poem. It’s v. inspirational to me.

Happy National Poetry Day. Here is a poem I really like. It was written on a poster at Housing Works. No one could tell me who wrote it. I wrote it on a piece of paper and hung it near the kitchen sink. The ink has totally faded on that, and this image is the only record I have of the poem. It’s v. inspirational to me.

"This Living Hand" by John Keats

This living hand, now warm and capable
Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold
And in the icy silence of the tomb,
So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights
That thou wouldst wish thine own heart dry of blood
So in my veins red life might stream again,
And thou be conscience-calmed—see here it is—
I hold it towards you.

"This Living Hand" by John Keats

This living hand, now warm and capable
Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold
And in the icy silence of the tomb,
So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights
That thou wouldst wish thine own heart dry of blood
So in my veins red life might stream again,
And thou be conscience-calmed—see here it is—
I hold it towards you.

Just received proofs of Dutch translations of some of my older poems,

heatherchristle:

so stuffed them into Google Translate to see what kind of a party came out. It’s a good party, I think:

"The Handsome Man"

To walk through the woods I found you
tied to a tree and half unconscious.
My god what was your beautiful,
focused on your sword like swords do.
In an effort to bring you back to life I stepped
seven times around the tree in my
matchless squirrel fur coat. you seemed
distracted, though, by the parade
of lepers in the past trudge sang of
Oh woe is me, my feet feel cold,
I find my tons nowhere.
I took off my coat and dressed
like a rooster with a cruel eye
and taxable plumes. There you are, Manfred!
told you, while evaporated cords.
You put me under your arm
and was prepared to do something to kill while I
struggled to do with my mouth. your pants

Very pretty. “Taxable plumes” sounds very American, like “pork futures” or something.