#love haiku book of haiku

[sweetdreamsjeff]

The poetry that inspired Jeff Buckley

Aimee Ferrier

Sun 1 October 2023 21:15, UK

Voices as incredible as the one belonging to Jeff Buckley don’t come around too often. Unfortunately, after releasing one record, Grace, Buckley, with all his potential, was taken away too soon. At the age of 30, the singer went for a swim from which he never returned, drowning in the Mississippi River.

Yet, his legacy lives on as one of the most influential artists to emerge from the 1990s, and his music is widely celebrated today for its emotional and lyrical complexity. Not only did Buckley possess an otherworldly voice, but he was also an extremely gifted guitar player and writer, with all his talents combining to create a masterful body of work.

Even when Buckley was covering other artists’ songs, such as ‘Lilac Wine’, ‘The Other Woman’ and ‘Hallelujah’, he imbued the pieces with his own distinctive style. Yet, his penchant for covers wasn’t a reflection of an aversion to writing. Buckley knew how to pen a stunningly poetic track, with songs like ‘Lover, You Should’ve Come Over’ and ‘Morning Theft’ suggesting that even if Buckley didn’t have the vocal pipes he was gifted with, he’d get by just fine as a writer.

Buckley took inspiration from many different writers and musicians when writing his own songs. Musically, Buckley looked back to folk artists like Leonard Cohen, Bob Dylan and, of course, his own father, Tim Buckley, from whom he was estranged. Elsewhere, he loved the work of Pakistani singer Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, the rich tones of Nina Simone, and Led Zeppelin, calling Robert Plant “my man”.

However, when it came to his literary inspirations, Buckley had an extensive book collection, which he no doubt looked to for ideas when writing his lyrics. He owned a lot of poetry, with Rainer Maria Rilke proving to be a particular favourite. Not only did Buckley own Dunio Elegies, Rilke on Love and Other Difficulties: Translations and Considerations Poems from the Book of Hours, but he also owned his epistolary collection Letters to a Young Poet.

Buckley was also a fan of the classic American poet Walt Whitman, owning Leaves of Grass and From the Soil. Of course, no poetry collection is complete without copies of Arthur Rimbaud’s A Season in Hell and Illuminations, alongside some Charles Baudelaire – Buckley-owned Paris Spleen. The singer also owned the Selected Poems of confessional poet Anne Sexton and modernist writer T.S Eliot.

Check out Buckley’s complete poetry collection below.

The poetry that inspired Jeff Buckley:

Dunio Elegies – Rainer Maria Rilke

Poems from the Book of Hours – Rilke

Rilke on Love and Other Difficulties: Translations and Considerations – Rilke

Leaves of Grass – Walt Whitman

From This Soil – Whitman

The Odyssey – Homer

Early Work, 1970-1979 – Patti Smith

You Get So Alone at Times That it Just Makes Sense – Charles Bukowski

Selected Poems of Ezra Pound

The Complete Lyrics – Hank Williams

A Haiku Journey: Basho’s Narrow Road to a Far Province – Matsuo Basho

Paris Spleen – Charles Baudelaire

The Captain’s Verses – Pablo Neruda

Selected Poems – T.S. Eliot

A Season in Hell and Illuminations – Arthur Rimbaud

Writing and Drawings – Bob Dylan

Ode to Walt Whitman – Federico Garcia Lorca

New Poems: 1962 – Robert Graves

Fear of Dreaming: The Selected Poems – Jim Carroll

Selected Poems of Anne Sexton – Anne Sexton

Selected Poems – John Shaw Neilson

Selected Poems: Summer Knowledge – Demore Schwartz

The Collected Poems of Frank O’Hara – Frank O’Hara

Poems – Pier Paolo Pasolini

Space: And Other Poems – Eliot Katz

Tim Buckley Lyrics

[jasonisntboring]

Look what ya girl got for Christmas

I also got Hreek Heroes but it’s coming Friday instead bc my aunt forgot to order it lol

[soulmvtes]

i need to read every poetry anthology ever

[lowkeyflynn]

Believe in every sparkle Shadows cannot last.

-Flynn Caulfield

[mychemicalroadworkahead]

This book is consuming my entire brain so you get an AJW haiku that’s just a slightly edited line of Compound Fracture’s authors note

A lot like moonshine

This is gonna burn like hell

The entire way down

[patheticbookaddict]

Nick & Charlie

Lovers of today

Inseparable spirits

Hand in hand ever.

04/08/23

Nick & Charlie

[rmarvin100]

BUSQUE DA VIDA

LINK DO MEU LIVRO NA BIO

[princedrowning]

Your smile, a bright dawn that melts my gloom away,

Its warmth, a comfort that eases my dismay.

Though we're apart, I yearn to see your smile once more,

To chase my sadness, as the morning sun does for sure.

-Ryu Adrian

[blossomdivinefinewine]

Sonia Sanchez - Morning Haiku 🤍

[vastingedachten]

[storiesofoko]

“Don’t Weep”

Don’t weep, insects –

Lovers, stars themselves,

Must part.

-Kobayashi Issa

[sakshinarula]

You, a silent song a rhyme, a shard piercing all the birds in my throat

//Haiku - Bad Poetry and This Loving, Sakshi Narula

[thepoeticbubble]

Here the world wakes up, the sky unfolds, the clouds unclog like active acne, bloody hearts throb with a heaviness, salts seep in, amidst the freezed viens and cemented bones , everything is solid from the outside but gnawed from behind.

Infront of our house,few miles ahead there used to be a lake, the lake is orphaned , the stream about to be silenced , the birds about to be subjugated by thirst, the skin about to be parched.

I grow timid at prepositions else there's more to describe, what's beneath, behind,infront and after you. theres more to envision through imagery , but I can't figure out how to photograph it in words.i cant put everything in language even if I want to, I can't bake poetry everytime ,the oven of mind gets in distress ,sometimes the chimney doesn't clear the smoke off efficiently enough that I can cook the next prose. i wish someone would arrive and let open the windows to bring gush of fresh air without intervening my thoughts ,you will be Noticed not by my eyes but heart .

But my door bell doesn't ring anymore, its throat is lacerated and I don't think anyone visits here either, so it could make even the faintest sound.

It's not like city is out of stock , there is a plethora people but I think I exist remotely.

On days , I yearn to fix the bell but the thought of not being visited deliberately seems more repulsive , so I let the broken door bell follow the code of conduct ~ somebody might have tried to reach me but ughhh curse this doorbell

It is unjust for Inanimate things that surround me,dismembered by the loudness of my Grievances , sinking in a air of loneliness. I never ask them if they are fine because what if the reply is blasphemous.

But Some day some one will knock for sure, and i don't intend to send them back without a cup of tea , send them off annoyed by the smell of flashbacks of burning bread crumbs in fire , I intent to offer hospitality.

So, I mop the floor of my heart, scrubb off the dizziness , measure the diameter to have an idea of space left empty , I could be clear enough but why should I, I estimate the entire fleshy landscape is vacant and not even one thirty-sixth of yard is available in yours, I don't expect you to evaluate my measurements, how would the world care if my sound echos paradoxically, my thoughts appear convoluted , my mind a labyrinth where people stray in search of an exit but are Incapable of , where hope sits aloof and inert .

Here the walls are painted red with a mural that pictures thin blue branches stretching in and out the blind walls. Certain fissures depict that this framework has been susceptible to severe earthquakes from years.

In between the cracks, love's left a goodbye letter , an unredeemable heart ache , a kiss of death , verses of ill-omen never to be read by these fragile lips of life.

The realisation jolts my consciousness in exceedingly high S.I units that i decide to depart as soon as possible.

The road is forlorn, no busses are on business, no one promises a lift to home. It's said when you are overwhelmed, you must reminiscent memoirs from your good books , like a thought that would pacify the quarrels of your mind.

I sit on bench nearby try to recollect my address, which doesn't pass on through my head and i feel defeated down to my bones again. The pickle is what people say should be done , doesn't really compensate for my troubles because to retrieve a congenial memory at times of crisis means to uproot the brain and implant a fictitious spray of dopamine without thinking, this quick aid of "not thinking" vigorously mocks at me.

So, I take my head in my hands to wave off the ridiculous resolutions and again count the shops that come in the way of my home.

The numbers do not stop because cities are always on display and to be found in a market is such a farce, you will sold for sale. I wonder if anyone else was this absurd while being on fright and flight mode~nonsence

The bats babble , you see no life in human form and you ought to get panicked in an amount never metered, the leaves clap and claw out your heart,a strange laughter comes from the wild and you are in the middle of road that doesn't have a board to assure you where you are. Your mind has no gps, and location was never mapped too. The lake has perhaps migrated flushing your home or the lake never existed.

So, to scream just for the sake of hopelessness that adheres you seems the only option. When the tears are about to be delivered, you are called by your mother and the glass shatters, you are home , pulled back from your nightmares

Hope is sometimes cloaked in hopelessness, the cry is made to reach to ears and that is what hope is, to subconsciously believe that your tears will be harvested even when you are in your worst dream, that you will be found from the unknown and unnamed roads.

Home is somewhere in the hearts of those who take this responsibility of holding your hand in times when your identity card is lost, those who come uncalled , those who won't let you be lost when you have lost the address, those who remember you .

Home is always nearby ,you are never estranged from it, just know that while you are fidgeting in your worries somebody is looking for you. Someone is searching you and someone's going to hug right after you are traced . You are homed in hearts that aren't dead

-tabish.j

[therisellchronicle]

Rain

Rain on the window, silent tears from the gray sky, lost love in my heart.

[bubbelvicious]

Can't wait to share my poetry with the world.

[neprieinamas]

Sometimes, I think of how your eyes crinkle when you smile, and I always fall a little bit more in love with you.