poetry of the romantics or the drunken?

Question

i love poetry and a while ago i bought a book "poetry of the romantic" that contains many great poems on that theme, but as the same time contains many silly ones (there was apoem called "to a mouse" by robert burns that goes like
"wee, sleeket, cowran, tim'rouse beastie,
o, what a panic's in thy breastie!" LOL
do u guys know what i mean now?
so has any of u read a silly poem lately? let me know a few lines..
THANKX

Answer 1

The Romantics (perhaps you'd be interested in reading up on the various Romantic movements in Germany, Britain, and America) seemed to be quite often drunk or drugged. British Romantic Thomas de Quincey, in his _Confessions of an English Opium-Eater_, recounts his addiction in a lovely but disturbing narrative (the question being that if drugs make us happier, more alive, more creative, more social, is this to say they help us reveal our true selves, or, as the current rhetoric would have us believe, twist us into our untrue selves?). But I would not exactly call the Romantic poets ... silly.

A silly non-Romantic poem you would like, however, is _A Nosty Fright_ by poet May Swenson:

"The roldengod and the soneyhuckle,
the sack eyed blusan and the wistle theed
are all tangled with the oison pivy,
the fallen nine peedles and the wumbleteed.

A mipchunk caught in a wobceb tried
to hip and skide in a dandy sune
but a stobler put up a EEP KOFF sign.
Then the unfucky lellow met a phytoon

and was sept out to swea. ... "

Answer 2

sober poetry is possible and beautiful, but I agree that poets tend toward inibriation...the Romantics were amazing and I assure not all were drunk, just brilliant...the two are often confused

Robert Burns was a Scottish poet and he wrote to relfect his dialect.

Here's an explanation of 'To a Mouse':

The poet is doing his utmost to assure this terrified little creature that he has no intention of causing it any harm. bickerin’ brattle =scurry, run; laith = loath; pattle = a small spade for cleaning a plough

He then goes on to apologise to the mouse for the behaviour of mankind using beautiful prose which requires neither translation nor interpretation. Listen to what he is saying, and you will be well on your way to understand what made Burns such a greatly loved man. Note how he equates himself with the mouse in life’s great plan.

Here he tells the mouse that he realizes its need to steal the odd ear of corn, and he does not really mind. He’ll get by with remainder and never miss it. daimen = occasional; icker = an ear of corn; thrave = twenty four sheaves; lave = remainder

Dismay at the enormity of the problems he has brought on the mouse causes him to reflect on what he has done - destroyed her home at a time when it is impossible to rebuild. There is no grass to build a new home and the December winds are cold and sharp. Her preparations for winter are gone! Big = build; foggage = moss; baith = both

Where the mouse had thought that she was prepared for winter in her comfortable little nest in the ground, now she is faced with trying to survive in a most unfriendly climate, with little or no hope in sight. cosie = comfortable; coulter; = iron cutter in front of a ploughshare

It seems probable that here the poet is really comparing his own hard times with that of the mouse – a life of harsh struggle, with little or no reward at the end. monie = many; thole = to endure; dribble = drizzle; cranreuch = hoar-frost; cauld = cold

How many times have people glibly trotted out, “The best laid schemes” without realising that they were quoting from Burns? The sadness, the despair, the insight contained within this verse are truly remarkable and deeply moving. no ‘thy lane = not alone; gan aft agley = often go awry

This final verse reveals the absolute despondency that Burns was feeling at this stage in his life. Not at all what one might expect from a young man of twenty-six, supposedly so popular with the lassies, and with his whole life ahead of him, but nevertheless expressing sentiments with which many of us today can easily relate.

Answer 3

Poetry is a drunken event - not always intoxicating but always drunken. The best and the worst of poetry occurs when the poet is in the highest of highs or the lowest of lows. My personal favorite goes: "I once was here, and now I'm not, You were too but you forgot." I don't remember more or who authored it but I love the sentiment of that brief envelope.