One of the best ever. Lady chatterley’s lover is my favorite english novel. Check out the story the rocking horse winner to get a quick glimpse of him first.
I've never read his novels, but his short story The Rocking Horse Winner is a favorite of mine. It's excellent. I enjoy his poetry as well, yet I have an impression of him as an xNFx (ENFP, perhaps) who would clash with me strongly, irl.
Yeah he's great. Start with Sons and Lovers if you're a man, The Rainbow if you're a woman coming from kindle romance, or Kangaroo if you're an Australian.
A snake came to my water-trough
On a hot, hot day, and I in pyjamas for the heat,
To drink there.
In the deep, strange-scented shade of the great dark carob tree
I came down the steps with my pitcher
And must wait, must stand and wait, for there he was at the trough
before me.
He reached down from a fissure in the earth-wall in the gloom
And trailed his yellow-brown slackness soft-bellied down, over
the edge of the stone trough
And rested his throat upon the stone bottom,
And where the water had dripped from the tap, in a small clearness,
He sipped with his straight mouth,
Softly drank through his straight gums, into his slack long body,
Silently.
Someone was before me at my water-trough,
And I, like a second-comer, waiting.
He lifted his head from his drinking, as cattle do,
And looked at me vaguely, as drinking cattle do,
And flickered his two-forked tongue from his lips, and mused
a moment,
And stooped and drank a little more,
Being earth-brown, earth-golden from the burning bowels
of the earth
On the day of Sicilian July, with Etna smoking.
The voice of my education said to me
He must be killed,
For in Sicily the black, black snakes are innocent, the gold
are venomous.
And voices in me said, >If you were a man
You would take a stick and break him now, and finish him off.
But must I confess how I liked him,
How glad I was he had come like a guest in quiet, to drink
at my water-trough
And depart peaceful, pacified, and thankless,
Into the burning bowels of this earth?
Was it cowardice, that I dared not kill him?
Was it perversity, that I longed to talk to him?
Was it humility, to feel so honoured?
I felt so honoured.
And yet those voices: >If you were not afraid, you would kill him!
And truly I was afraid, I was most afraid,
But even so, honoured still more
That he should seek my hospitality
From out the dark door of the secret earth.
He drank enough
And lifted his head, dreamily, as one who has drunken,
And flickered his tongue like a forked night on the air, so black,
Seeming to lick his lips,
And looked around like a god, unseeing, into the air,
And slowly turned his head,
And slowly, very slowly, as if thrice adream,
Proceeded to draw his slow length curving round
And climb again the broken bank of my wall-face.
And as he put his head into that dreadful hole,
And as he slowly drew up, snake-easing his shoulders,
and entered farther,
A sort of horror, a sort of protest against his withdrawing into
that horrid black hole,
Deliberately going into the blackness, and slowly drawing
himself after,
Overcame me now his back was turned.
I looked round, I put down my pitcher,
I picked up a clumsy log
And threw it at the water-trough with a clatter.
I think it did not hit him,
But suddenly that part of him that was left behind convulsed
in an undignified haste,
Writhed like lightning, and was gone
Into the black hole, the earth-lipped fissure in the wall-front,
At which, in the intense still noon, I stared with fascination.
And immediately I regretted it.
I thought how paltry, how vulgar, what a mean act!
I despised myself and the voices of my accursed human education.
And I thought of the albatross,
And I wished he would come back, my snake.
For he seemed to me again like a king,
Like a king in exile, uncrowned in the underworld,
Now due to be crowned again.
And so, I missed my chance with one of the lords
Of life.
And I have something to expiate:
A pettiness.
Women think he's the shit because he was a proponent of "muh female empowerment." He tends to be overrated because of that.
I found The Rainbow little more than a tedious soap opera, and decided to put Women in Love on the backburner as a result.
Sons and Lovers is pretty great though.
What are you talking about he was sexist as frick, Lawrence is known specifically for being mean as frick to women, he’s literally the protagonist in fathers and sons who throws his pencil at the girls face for being stupid. Women like him because they like to be treated like shit, his work is very romantic, and LCL makes them wet.
I do remember there being some female empowerment parts here and there, like, weird tangents about how powerless men are against the power of their own lust and pussy, and how men are made women's b***hes by those things despite their physical superiority.
All of his poetry, some of his essays, none of his novels. Perhaps this is a personal bias. Not sure what it is, but the shorter the form, the better I like anything by him.
Finally get a Lawrence thread free of the moron trying to make countercurrents out to be a good unbiased source for information on writers and it still devolves into moron
Yes. Next.
No. Next.
Not sure. Next.
Probably. Next.
Destiny looks weird in that outfit
Yeah, I liked Sons and Lovers.
The Plumed Serpent was strange however.
He is quite good, great style built around the minutiae and the moment.
One of my favorites
One of the best ever. Lady chatterley’s lover is my favorite english novel. Check out the story the rocking horse winner to get a quick glimpse of him first.
I've never read his novels, but his short story The Rocking Horse Winner is a favorite of mine. It's excellent. I enjoy his poetry as well, yet I have an impression of him as an xNFx (ENFP, perhaps) who would clash with me strongly, irl.
Yeah he's great. Start with Sons and Lovers if you're a man, The Rainbow if you're a woman coming from kindle romance, or Kangaroo if you're an Australian.
>the three genders
A snake came to my water-trough
On a hot, hot day, and I in pyjamas for the heat,
To drink there.
In the deep, strange-scented shade of the great dark carob tree
I came down the steps with my pitcher
And must wait, must stand and wait, for there he was at the trough
before me.
He reached down from a fissure in the earth-wall in the gloom
And trailed his yellow-brown slackness soft-bellied down, over
the edge of the stone trough
And rested his throat upon the stone bottom,
And where the water had dripped from the tap, in a small clearness,
He sipped with his straight mouth,
Softly drank through his straight gums, into his slack long body,
Silently.
Someone was before me at my water-trough,
And I, like a second-comer, waiting.
He lifted his head from his drinking, as cattle do,
And looked at me vaguely, as drinking cattle do,
And flickered his two-forked tongue from his lips, and mused
a moment,
And stooped and drank a little more,
Being earth-brown, earth-golden from the burning bowels
of the earth
On the day of Sicilian July, with Etna smoking.
The voice of my education said to me
He must be killed,
For in Sicily the black, black snakes are innocent, the gold
are venomous.
And voices in me said, >If you were a man
You would take a stick and break him now, and finish him off.
But must I confess how I liked him,
How glad I was he had come like a guest in quiet, to drink
at my water-trough
And depart peaceful, pacified, and thankless,
Into the burning bowels of this earth?
Was it cowardice, that I dared not kill him?
Was it perversity, that I longed to talk to him?
Was it humility, to feel so honoured?
I felt so honoured.
And yet those voices:
>If you were not afraid, you would kill him!
And truly I was afraid, I was most afraid,
But even so, honoured still more
That he should seek my hospitality
From out the dark door of the secret earth.
He drank enough
And lifted his head, dreamily, as one who has drunken,
And flickered his tongue like a forked night on the air, so black,
Seeming to lick his lips,
And looked around like a god, unseeing, into the air,
And slowly turned his head,
And slowly, very slowly, as if thrice adream,
Proceeded to draw his slow length curving round
And climb again the broken bank of my wall-face.
And as he put his head into that dreadful hole,
And as he slowly drew up, snake-easing his shoulders,
and entered farther,
A sort of horror, a sort of protest against his withdrawing into
that horrid black hole,
Deliberately going into the blackness, and slowly drawing
himself after,
Overcame me now his back was turned.
I looked round, I put down my pitcher,
I picked up a clumsy log
And threw it at the water-trough with a clatter.
I think it did not hit him,
But suddenly that part of him that was left behind convulsed
in an undignified haste,
Writhed like lightning, and was gone
Into the black hole, the earth-lipped fissure in the wall-front,
At which, in the intense still noon, I stared with fascination.
And immediately I regretted it.
I thought how paltry, how vulgar, what a mean act!
I despised myself and the voices of my accursed human education.
And I thought of the albatross,
And I wished he would come back, my snake.
For he seemed to me again like a king,
Like a king in exile, uncrowned in the underworld,
Now due to be crowned again.
And so, I missed my chance with one of the lords
Of life.
And I have something to expiate:
A pettiness.
>Unironic cuckold
Nah breh miss me with that gay shit
How would you guys rate his poetry in general? I know he wrote a fair amount but it's not talked about much.
His poetry is somewhat well-known for being underrated, if that makes sense. He was a good nature poet.
Women think he's the shit because he was a proponent of "muh female empowerment." He tends to be overrated because of that.
I found The Rainbow little more than a tedious soap opera, and decided to put Women in Love on the backburner as a result.
Sons and Lovers is pretty great though.
What are you talking about he was sexist as frick, Lawrence is known specifically for being mean as frick to women, he’s literally the protagonist in fathers and sons who throws his pencil at the girls face for being stupid. Women like him because they like to be treated like shit, his work is very romantic, and LCL makes them wet.
Sorry sons and lovers* also he hated democracy so thats pretty based
The Plumed Serpent is his fascist futurist work although its the non-whites that become fascists.
>implying women don't love that
Try asking an undergraduate Eng Lit class what they think of him. They get wet at the mention of Women in Love.
I literally said women do like him
I do remember there being some female empowerment parts here and there, like, weird tangents about how powerless men are against the power of their own lust and pussy, and how men are made women's b***hes by those things despite their physical superiority.
All of his poetry, some of his essays, none of his novels. Perhaps this is a personal bias. Not sure what it is, but the shorter the form, the better I like anything by him.
Yes
Finally get a Lawrence thread free of the moron trying to make countercurrents out to be a good unbiased source for information on writers and it still devolves into moron
Have you tried reddit? Sounds like it would suit you better.
No, reading is not worth it, you can consume information more efficiently via YouTube video