greatest poem of all time

If you forget me
I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

—  Pablo Neruda , If you Forget me 
Headcannon: Pynch + Poetry

Although Ronan Lynch can string his swears and curses together like a poem, let it be noted that ronan lynch is not a poet. Nor does he like poetry. 

Adam Parrish loves poetry. The metaphors, the symbolism, the allegories. Like figuring out puzzles, but with art. And so when he has to stay up late one night in the dorms studying themes in Edgar Allen Poe for undergrad lit, he doesn’t complain. 

Ronan lynch calls him like he does every night and listens as Adam chats tiredly, but excitedly about his analysis. 
“What’s this poem called again?” Ronan interjects. 

Adam lets out a crooked grin, “The raven” . 

“Coincidence” they both snort in unision.

“Who wrote this thing Parrish” Ronan drawls, admittedly now a little intrigued.

“Edgar Allen Poe” Adam smirks.

And so Ronan lynch decides to read poetry for Adam. And that would be the sweet sweet end of it, if it wasn’t Ronan lynch.

Who, for some odd reason, finds this poem nothing short of hillarious.

“I thought you said this was considered one of the greatest poems of all time” he laughs loudly the next night. 

Adam closes his book, stretching from his desk and rolling his eyes, “It is”

“Come on Parrish” Ronan scoffs, “I thought the people over there were supposed to be smart. Gansey’s midnight exential crises make more sense than this!”

Adam raises his eyebrows, “alright, are you done now” he asks, smiling a little despite himself

And he would have been. That would have been the end of it. If it wasn’t Ronan lynch.

And so Adam parrish went to bed only to be curiosly woken at 12:00 in the morning, by a strange tapping on his dorm room door. 

He arose sleepily, barely glancing at his roomates and rubbing his eyes to answer the knocking at his dorm room dorm.

His heart skips three beats when a raven, a bit larger than chainsaw, comes fluttering in. 

The following morning, Adam calls ronan a thousand and ten times, and ronan hasn’t picked up once. He ignores his roomates whispers about another “odd thing that happened with adam” and the kids on campus are all terrified and intrigued that this weird plant kid has somehow managed to train some random bird to follow him to all his classes. The end of the day couldn’t come soon enough. 

Come night Ronan finally calls at his alloted time,
“Parrish” he greets in an amused voice.

Adam is not amused, “Lynch, get this thing to stop following me. It pooped on the professor’s desk in English lit”
Ronan couldn’t contain his laughter.
Adam frowned, “lynch” he ground out sharply.

“What?!” ronan asked innocently. 

Adam sighed, gently placing the phone phone down and opening the window as his roomates walked in. Kneeling down to a whisper, he looked the bird straight in the eye; 

“You need to go” he said. sternly. politely. 

His roomates looked on curiousley, no longer able to hide their interest. 

He jumped from his desk two seconds later, hands shaking, heart pounding, listening to his roommates hight pitched squeals and loud “holy f- “, sounding remarkably like three year old girls who learned bad language, as the bird took sudden flight out the window all while dramatically croaking

“Nevermore!”

One roomate may or may not have wet himself. 

No one speaks of it. 

Both roomates think they may have dreamt it. 


Legend goes, if you close your eyes and listen closely, you can still hear Ronan lynch laughing his arse off from the barns.

Reasons why people should love Cats

• It’s an incredibly ambitious show that requires an insane amount of talent to pull off

• The dancing is amazing

• The lyrics were taken from poems by TS fucking Elliot, one of the greatest English poets of all time

• It’s not just some silly show about cats. The characters in the show are supposed to be reflections of different kinds of people

• It has powerful themes about humanity, youth, mortality, and the hope of life after death - things that resonate with everyone

• It brilliantly manages to tell a story with virtually no dialogue (an impressive feat)

• It can be enjoyed on multiple levels. If you want to debate whether Deuteronomy is supposed to be a Jesus figure, then go ahead. If you just like the catchy tunes and pretty costumes, well that’s fine too

• It is one of the most accessible shows around, and all ages can find something to enjoy

• Its mass appeal makes Broadway in general so much more accessible to the public (it was one of the first Broadway shows I saw as a young kid, and it really opened the door to theater for me)

• “Touch me! It’s so easy to leave me!”

• Theater snobs love to hate it. By loving Cats, you can save yourself from that silly elitism

• It’s a grand celebration of human emotion, unburdened by pretension or the need to appease the critics. It can be unabashedly enjoyed

Let’s take a walk
In the city
Till our shoes get wet
(It’s been raining
All night) and when
We see the traffic
Lights and the moon
Let’s take a smile
Off the ashcan, let’s walk
Into town (I mean
A lemon peel)

Let’s make music
(I hear the cats
Purply beautiful
Like hallways in summer
Made of snowing rubber
Valence piccalilli and diamonds)
Oh see the arch ruby
Of this late March sky
Are you less intelligent
Than the pirate of lemons
Let’s take a walk

I know you tonight
As I have never known
A book of white stones
Or a bookcase of orange groans
Or symbolism
I think I’m in love
With those imaginary racetracks
Of traced grey in
The sky and the gimcracks
Of all you know and love
Who once loathed firecrackers
And license plates and
Diamonds but now you love them all
And just for my sake
Let’s take a walk
Into the river
(I can even do that
Tonight) where
If I kiss you please
Remember with your shoes off
You’re so beautiful like
A lifted umbrella orange
And white we may never
Discover the blue over-
Coat maybe never never O blind
With this (love) let’s walk
Into the first
Rivers of morning as you are seen
To be bathed in a light white light
Come on

— 

Kenneth Koch, “Spring," Thank You and other poems, 1962.

This is our annual reminder that Kenneth Koch knew what’s up and this is one of the greatest springtime poems of all time. Read it aloud to yourself or someone you love, and experience how in love the syntax and sensations of spring make you feel. 

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December 9th 1608: John Milton born

On this day in 1608 the British poet John Milton was born in London. He attended Cambridge in 1625 and there he developed a keen interest in writing. After leaving university, Milton traveled extensively throughout Europe, spending a lot of time in France and Italy. Milton was appointed to Oliver Cromwell’s government as Secretary of Foreign Tongues in 1649. He is most famous for his 1667 epic poem ‘Paradise Lost’, which is still considered one of the greatest poems of all time. Milton died in November 1674.