Little Known Classics

[BALLYCOMMON]

My first post which I hope will generate some interest.

I recently came across this piece written in the 3rd Century BC by Hedylus of Samos. I think it is beautiful.

If you know of rare pieces why not share them here. A Gem is only really beautiful in the light.


SEDUCTION

With wine, and words of love, and every vow
He lulled me into bed and closed my eyes;
A sleepy,stupid innocent -- so now
I dedicate the spoils of my surprise.

The silk that bound my breasts, my virgin zone,
The cherished purity I could not keep;
Goddess, remember: we were all alone.
And he was strong -- and I was half asleep.

 

[butters]

welcome to the Poetry Forum, Ballycommon

a gem sparkles brightest when refracting the light *nods*


as for the piece, it makes me think - the human condition remains as it ever was

 

[corndog_]

Can something "little known" be a "classic"? What makes it so? Perhaps that it was popular once, but has been shrouded by the dust of years intervening.

Would 17th century writer Andrew Marvel's "To His Coy Mistress" count? It is, of course, quoted in many discussions on erotic verse (including, I suspect, in this very forum) because its humor and candor are timeless.

You probably know it:

Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, Lady, were no crime
We would sit down and think which way
To walk and pass our long love's day.
////
Now let us sport us while we may;
And now, like am'rous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour,
Than languish in his slow-chapp'd power.​

Read it in its entirety if it is new to you.

Much of John Donne's early work (before he returned to the Church) was explicit as well, as in Elegy 20:

Unpin that spangled breast-plate, which you wear,
That th' eyes of busy fools may be stopp'd there.
Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime
Tells me from you that now it is bed-time.
Off with that happy busk, which I envy,
That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.​

Nice to know our prurience has such a rich history, isn't it?

 

[fridayam]

Charles Cotton (1630-87) has always seemed to me an unjustly neglected poet How about this:

Epitaph upon M.H

In this cold Monument lies one,
That I know who has lain upon,
The happier He : her Sight would charm,
And Touch have kept King David warm.
Lovely, as is the dawning East ,
Was this Marble's frozen Guest ;
As soft, and Snowy, as that Down
Adorns the Blow-balls frizled Crown;
As straight and slender as the Crest,
Or Antlet of the one beam'd Beast;
Pleasant as th' odorous Month of May :
As glorious, and as light as Day .

Whom I admir'd, as soon as knew,
And now her Memory pursue
With such a superstitious Lust,
That I could fumble with her Dust.

She all Perfections had, and more,
Tempting, as if design'd a Whore ,
For so she was; and since there are
Such, I could wish them all as fair.

Pretty she was, and young, and wise,
And in her Calling so precise,
That Industry had made her prove
The sucking School-Mistress of Love :
And Death , ambitious to become
Her Pupil , left his Ghastly home,
And, seeing how we us'd her here,
The raw-bon'd Rascal ravisht her.

Who, pretty Soul, resign'd her Breath,
To seek new Letchery in Death.

 

[corndog_]

That is wonderful, Friday! Never has necrophilia seemed so right.

Cotton and I share a passion, and it has nothing to do with Blow-balls-- he was an avid flyfisherman.

 

[fridayam]

That is wonderful, Friday! Never has necrophilia seemed so right.

Cotton and I share a passion, and it has nothing to do with Blow-balls-- he was an avid flyfisherman.

Indeed. If he is remembered at all today it is for his contribution to "The Compleat Angler".

 

[corndog_]

Don't tell me you, too, love the ring of the rise!

 

[fridayam]

Don't tell me you, too, love the ring of the rise!

No, never had the time, but I do love reading about it, especially Walton and Cotton and Arthur Ransome's fishing pieces for the Manchester Guardian.

 

[corndog_]

As long as we're splashing about, from Walt Whitman's "Song of Myself":

....
Where are you off to, lady? for I see you,
You splash in the water there, yet stay stock still in your room.

Dancing and laughing along the beach came the twenty-ninth
bather,
The rest did not see her, but she saw them and loved them.

The beards of the young men glisten'd with wet, it ran from their
long hair,
Little streams pass'd all over their bodies.

An unseen hand also pass'd over their bodies,
It descended tremblingly from their temples and ribs.​

 

[butters]

As long as we're splashing about, from Walt Whitman's "Song of Myself":

....
Where are you off to, lady? for I see you,
You splash in the water there, yet stay stock still in your room.

Dancing and laughing along the beach came the twenty-ninth
bather,
The rest did not see her, but she saw them and loved them.

The beards of the young men glisten'd with wet, it ran from their
long hair,
Little streams pass'd all over their bodies.

An unseen hand also pass'd over their bodies,
It descended tremblingly from their temples and ribs.​

and there's an excerpt from my favourite of every favourite poem!

 

[BooMerengue]

I hope I'm not sidetrackin this thread; not my intention. These 2 poems are not ancient, nor are they by forotten poets. But I never hear them discussed and they are the Number One Poems of my life. I just wanted to share.

What Lips My Lips Have Kissed, And Where, And Why (Sonnet XLIII)

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

and...


October’s Party

October gave a party;
The leaves by hundreds came.
The Chestnuts, Oaks and Maples,
And leaves of every name.

The Sunshine spread a carpet,
And everything was grand,
Miss Weather led the dancing,
Professor Wind the band.

The Chestnuts came in yellow,
The Oaks in crimson dressed;
The lovely Misses maple
In scarlet looked their best.

All balanced to their partners,
And gaily fluttered by;
The sight was like a rainbow
New fallen from the sky.

George Cooper

Hope someone likes these as much as I do.