10 Best Famous Rawness Poems

Here is a collection of the top 10 all-time best famous Rawness poems. This is a select list of the best famous Rawness poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Rawness poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of rawness poems.

• All Famous Rawness Poems

 I, too, dislike it: there are things that are important beyond all 
 this fiddle.
 Reading it, however, with a perfect contempt for it, one 
 discovers in
 it after all, a place for the genuine.
 Hands that can grasp, eyes
 that can dilate, hair that can rise
 if it must, these things are important not because a

high-sounding interpretation can be put upon them but because
 they are
 useful. When they become so derivative as to become 
 unintelligible, 
 the same thing may be said for all of us, that we
 do not admire what
 we cannot understand: the bat
 holding on upside down or in quest of something to

eat, elephants pushing, a wild horse taking a roll, a tireless wolf
 under
 a tree, the immovable critic twitching his skin like a horse that
 feels a
 flea, the base-
 ball fan, the statistician--
 nor is it valid
 to discriminate against 'business documents and

school-books'; all these phenomena are important. One must
 make a distinction
 however: when dragged into prominence by half poets, the
 result is not poetry,
 nor till the poets among us can be
 'literalists of 
 the imagination'--above
 insolence and triviality and can present

for inspection, 'imaginary gardens with real toads in them', shall
 we have
 it. In the meantime, if you demand on the one hand,
 the raw material of poetry in
 all its rawness and
 that which is on the other hand
 genuine, you are interested in poetry.

 crisis has a fact to get straight
it needn't be the end of the world
beginnings too are coated with death

because we've had enough of the old's
dirty jokes doesn't mean there's no
more grass ready to push itself up

or dreams can't go on being lived
the dreamers' necks having been twisted
(visions root in mists and spread outwards)
the chrysalis has to be taken apart
for the wings to erupt into freedom
ideas grow from the flesh they've grown into

murder's a godfather to birth
and the born sing illiterate songs
they intend as a new kind of language

only as their hands bloom red
with their own brand of murders
will their words simmer down to the same

but their rawness is something to hope for
and the cry in the middle of hate
is a cord we should grasp - no matter

how often it will serve as a noose
- when the dungeon we're in is so cosy
crimes-to-come put the boot in for eden