Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost. Poetry. Charles Bukowski - All poems of Charles Bukowski. Poetry Foundation. The Writer as Meme Machine: How Has the Internet Altered Poetry? What if the poetic has left the poem in the same way that Elvis has left the building?
Long after the limo pulled away, the audience was still in the arena screaming for more, but poetry escaped out the backdoor and onto the Internet, where it is taking on new forms that look nothing like poetry. Poetry as we know it—sonnets or free verse on a printed page—feels akin to throwing pottery or weaving quilts, activities that continue in spite of their cultural marginality. But the Internet, with its swift proliferation of memes, is producing more extreme forms of modernism than modernism ever dreamed of. Wershler calls these activities “conceptualism in the wild,” referring to the aspect of nineteen-sixties conceptual art that concerned reframing, and thereby redefining, the idea of artistic genius (think of Duchamp’s urinal).
And he’s right. And it keeps coming. In the past decade, the poet Tan Lin has been treating his poetry like dance music: free for the retooling. Walt Whitman - Song of Myself and Other Poems : Alan Davis Drake. Literature and Bureaucracy by Tim Parks. If I were asked what was the greatest problem in the university I work in today, I would definitely say bureaucracy: in particular, the obsession with codifying, regulating, recording, reviewing, verifying, vetting, and chronicling, with assessing achievement, forecasting achievement, identifying weak points, then establishing commissions for planning strategies for regular encounters to propose solutions to weak points, and further commissions empowered to apply for funding to pay for means to implement these solutions, and so on.
I am presently involved, for example, in two huge projects: one to give the Italian government an absolutely exhaustive description of the degree course in which I teach and one to give the same, but in response to a different set of questions and assumptions, to the European Commission. We are talking hundreds of pages and hours upon hours that could far more usefully be spent helping students, correcting their essays, and preparing lessons. If by Rudyard Kipling. Dreams by Langston Hughes.
Dreams by Langston Hughes Live Scores Click here to see the rest of the list Share this page : Langston Hughes (1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967 / Missouri) #7 on top 500 poets Poems by Langston Hughes : 22 / 93 Listen to this poem: # 5 on top 500 Poems User Rating: ( 1,430 votes ) Report Poem What do you think this poem is about?
For Example: love, art, fashion, friendship and etc. Dreams Hold fast to dreamsFor if dreams dieLife is a broken-winged birdThat cannot fly.Hold fast to dreamsFor when dreams goLife is a barren fieldFrozen with snow. Langston Hughes Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003 Read poems about / on: snow, life, dream Langston Hughes's Other Poems More poems of Langston Hughes » Read this poem in other languages This poem has not been translated into any other language yet. I would like to translate this poem » What do you think this poem is about? Comments about this poem (Dreams by Langston Hughes ) Enter the verification code : Read all 249 comments » People who read Langston Hughes also read. Still I Rise by Maya Angelou. The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost. Phenomenal Woman by Maya Angelou. Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's sizeBut when I start to tell them,They think I'm telling lies.I say,It's in the reach of my armsThe span of my hips,The stride of my step,The curl of my lips.I'm a womanPhenomenally.Phenomenal woman,That's me.
I walk into a roomJust as cool as you please,And to a man,The fellows stand orFall down on their knees.Then they swarm around me,A hive of honey bees.I say,It's the fire in my eyes,And the flash of my teeth,The swing in my waist,And the joy in my feet.I'm a womanPhenomenally.Phenomenal woman,That's me. Men themselves have wonderedWhat they see in me.They try so muchBut they can't touchMy inner mystery.When I try to show themThey say they still can't see.I say,It's in the arch of my back,The sun of my smile,The ride of my breasts,The grace of my style.I'm a woman Phenomenally.Phenomenal woman,That's me.