Does something such as good gore poetry exist?
There was a German physician-poet who wrote pretty disgusting poems about surgery. I'm sure if you look at supervert's translated poetry on his website you could find this poet. I believe he belongs to the modernist period.
>>8168105
You're talking about Gottfried Benn? He worked in a morgue.
Der Mund eines Mädchens, das lange im Schilf gelegen hatte,
sah so angeknabbert aus.
Als man die Brust aufbrach, war die Speiseröhre so löcherig.
Schließlich in einer Laube unter dem Zwerchfell
fand man ein Nest von jungen Ratten.
Ein kleines Schwesterchen lag tot.
Die anderen lebten von Leber und Niere,
tranken das kalte Blut und hatten
hier eine schöne Jugend verlebt.
Und schön und schnell kam auch ihr Tod:
Man warf sie allesamt ins Wasser.
Ach, wie die kleinen Schnauzen quietschten!
The mouth of a girl who had long lain in the reeds
looked so chewed up.
When we broke open the torso, the esophagus was so full of holes.
Finally in a bower under the diaphragm
we found a nest of young rats.
One little sister rat lay dead.
The others were living off liver and kidney,
drinking the cold blood and enjoying
a fine childhood.
And fine and fast was their death too:
we threw the whole bunch into water.
Oh, how those little snouts squeaked!
Dammit. I read one about a chicken by some girl named E___ Bass. It was called "What I loved Most" I think. Horrific poem. Godspeed.
>>8168205
http://www.ellenbass.com/books/like-a-beggar/what-did-i-love/
>>8168067
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uny90Cl8ahM
White Stains by Aleister Crowley without a doubt.
Kind of fits the bill I think. But it's prose poetry.
Ape -- Russell Edson
You haven't finished your ape, said mother to father,
who had monkey hair and blood on his whiskers.
I've had enough monkey, cried father.
You didn't eat the hands, and I went to all the
trouble to make onion rings for its fingers, said mother.
I'll just nibble on its forehead, and then I've had enough,
said father.
I stuffed its nose with garlic, just like you like it, said
mother.
Why don't you have the butcher cut these apes up? You lay
the whole thing on the table every night; the same fractured
skull, the same singed fur; like someone who died horribly. These
aren't dinners, these are post-mortem dissections.
Try a piece of its gum, I've stuffed its mouth with bread,
said mother.
Ugh, it looks like a mouth full of vomit. How can I bite into
its cheek with bread spilling out of its mouth? cried father.
Break one of the ears off, they're so crispy, said mother.
I wish to hell you'd put underpants on these apes; even a
jockstrap, screamed father.
Father, how dare you insinuate that I see the ape as anything
more thn simple meat, screamed mother.
Well what's with this ribbon tied in a bow on its privates?
screamed father.
Are you saying that I am in love with this vicious creature?
That I would submit my female opening to this brute? That after
we had love on the kitchen floor I would put him in the oven, after
breaking his head with a frying pan; and then serve him to my husband,
that my husband might eat the evidence of my infidelity . . . ?
I'm just saying that I'm damn sick of ape every night,
cried father.
>>8168241
I've just began reading it and I'm impressed. Any favourite poem?
Also, thank you.
>>8168256
Damn, this is great.
>>8168177
Gottfried Benn began his literary career as a poet when he published a booklet titled Morgue and other Poems in 1912, containing expressionist poems dealing with physical decay of flesh, with blood, cancer, and death — for example No III — „Cycle:
Der einsame Backzahn einer Dirne, / die unbekannt verstorben war, / trug eine Goldplombe. / Die übrigen waren wie auf stille Verabredung / ausgegangen. / Den schlug der Leichendiener sich heraus, / versetzte ihn und ging für tanzen. / Denn, sagte er, / nur Erde solle zur Erde werden.
—Gottfried Benn[3]
The lonesome molar of a love-maid, / who had died unknown, / wore a gold filling. / As if by silent agreement the leftovers / had gone out. / The mortician knocked out the filling, / pawned it and went dancing for. / Because, he said, / only earth should return to earth.
—Natias Neutert[4][5]
Library in Berlin named after Gottfried Benn
Poems like this "were received by critics and public with shock, dismay, even revulsion."[6] In 1913 a second volume of poems came out, titled Sons. New Poems.[7]
PLEASE, I NEED A PDF OF THIS, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE... (It will help me a lot with some scenes and speeches for the play I am writing)
>>8168067
Have you tried reading the lyrics of a Cryptopsy song?
>>8168067
Edward Gorey limericks
There once was a curate whose brain
became deranged through the use of cocaine
He lured a small child
to a copse, dark and wild
where he beat it to death with his cane
Crow?
