Yay! Sonnets!

This poem reminds me of one by his contemporary in France, Louise Labé.

Je vis, je meurs: je me brûle et me noie,
J'ai chaud extrême en endurant froidure;
La vie m'est et trop molle et trop dure,
J'ai grands ennuis entremélés de joie.

Tout en un coup je ris et je larmoie,
Et en plaisir maint grief tourment j'endure,
Mon bien s'en va, et à jamais il dure,
Tout en un coup je sèche et je verdoie.

Ainsi Amour inconstamment me mène
Et, quand je pense avoir plus de douleur,
Sans y penser je me trouve hors de peine.

Puis, quand je crois ma joie être certaine,
Et être en haut de mon désiré heur,
Il me remet en mon premier malheur.

Translation (not by me):

I live and die; drowning I burn to death,
Seared by the ice and frozen by the fire;
Life is as hard as iron, as soft as breath;
My joy and trouble dance on the same wire.

In the same sudden breath I laugh and weep,
My torment pleasure where my pleasure grieves;
My treasure's lost which I for all time keep,
At once I wither and put out new leaves.

Thus constant Love is my inconstant guide;
And when I am to pain's refinement brought,
Beyond all hope, he grants me a reprieve.

And when I think joy cannot be denied,
And scaled the peak of happiness I sought,
He casts me down into my former grief.

Don't get me started with poetry that "reminds me of someone". We will never finish. I think I use poetry to inspire my writing in the same way that many people use songs. Here, for a random example, is "The Lugaid and Ferdie Poem" by e.e.cummings:

the boys i mean are not refined
they go with girls who buck and bite
they do not give a fuck for luck
they hump them thirteen times a night

one hangs a hat upon her tit
one carves a cross on her behind
they do not give a shit for wit
the boys i mean are not refined

they come with girls who bite and buck
who cannot read and cannot write
who laugh like they would fall apart
and masturbate with dynamite

the boys i mean are not refined
they cannot chat of that and this
they do not give a fart for art
they kill like you would take a piss

they speak whatever's on their mind
they do whatever's in their pants
the boys i mean are not refined
they shake the mountains when they dance

Yeah!

Now I have to go write Cynan... no poem for him yet. Hmm, maybe "Twas brillig and the slithy toves..."

Yeah e.e.cummings is his own breed of poet all right... THE AWESOME BREED. That poem is wonderful because the boys are so creepy and vulgar and you're both fascinated and appalled the whole time (just like with Lugaid and Ferdie!), and then with the last line the poet shoots a giant cartoon cannon at you, and you're standing there all black and charred like Wile E. Coyote on a bad day, and then The Roadrunner comes along and brushes you with a feather and you fall into a pile of ash with eyeballs that go *blink* *blink*. THAT IS HOW AWESOME HE IS.

You are certainly free to post as many "This poem reminds me of" posts as you like, because I love poetry with all the exuberance of the ignorant and unlettered. But if you get ME started I will be all over the place. (Also I might break out the Kraash poetry, and you will cry.)