top of page

Beauty is the sole legitimate province of the poem.-Edgar Allan Poe

Poetry is when emotion has found its thought and thought has found words--Robert Frost

Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance--Carl Sandburg

I have nothing to say, I am saying it, and that is poetry--John Cage

You will find poetry nowhere unless you bring some of it with you--Joseph Joubert

Poetry is what in a poem makes you laugh, cry, prickle, be silent, makes your toe nails twinkle, makes you want to do this or that or nothing, makes you know that you are alone in the unknown world, that your bliss and suffering is forever shared and forever all your own. ~Dylan Thomas

joybragi84

Buying a New Friend?

I finally received my token of friendship from The American Poetry Review this week. I seem to remember when being friends did not require subscriptions, and I also seem to recall that paying someone to be your “friend” is frequently referred to by a different term that has some of the same sounds and the same end as “subscription” but certainly different connotations.

Anyway…I am not going to start spattering my blog with continuous reference to The American Poetry Review, but I cannot help but admit that the general ordinariness or even badness of its offerings do provide inspiration for writing. The first set of poems offered in the quarterly are written exactly in the “forms” that I do not understand. The poems are neither metrical verse, nor are they line and page-filling prose. They are not particularly descriptive in nature, but they are certainly not intended as narrative prose either. They seem overly personal while, I feel, trying to be universally understood by a particular group whose lifestyle and culture are different than most people. They do not express original thought, yet do not use a mode, style, or words that would make the thoughts seem well-expressed. The poems in this token of my subscription friendship get better, at least to me, in providing more lyrical expression, but they start off with “prosetry,” and if we would call it that, I would be much happier. See my books The Mercy Killing or The Joy of Shadows to see what I mean. By the way, having a term to define what the writings might be does not make them better or even good.

Speaking of “lyrical,” essayist and poet (The token says. I have not read her works.), Lisa Wheeler writes probably the most interesting piece of work in this edition that talks about taking poetry personally—or at least how far a reader can go in judging a poem only by her or his feelings about it. The most interesting statement that she makes reads, “Researchers tend to ignore lyric poetry or argue that its terseness and formal qualities short-circuit total engagement.” Huh?

Let’s conduct two experiments. You ready? Complete this lyric.

Old Mother Hubbard

Went to her cupboard

To get her poor doggy a bone,

When she got there…


Please, finish the text two lines. The poem, while a child’s lyric, is one of a collection of lyrical poetry often referred to as nursery or Mother Goose rhymes. Maybe you will not know the two lines. I think that you will, and, thus, I believe that we will have proven “researchers” wrong.


Now, the second experiment: I am going to write a collection of words in two different ways. All I ask is for you to think about two things: (1) which collection is more enjoyable, and (2) which you are more likely to remember. Both enjoyment and memory are terms that indicate engagement.


Tree stump, fence post, cross bar, pole

Fish pond, spill way, frog’s egg, hole

Blue sky, white cloud, jet stream, soul

Groundhog, squirrel, black crow, mole


Black crow, mole, spill way, frog’s egg

Hole, spillway, white cloud, squirrel

Jet stream, fence post, ground hog, soul

Blue sky, fish pond, pole, tree stump


Boy, that second one was hard to write.

Okay, it is up to you. One of these offerings is lyrical. It has a few aspects that are songlike including purposeful rhythm, a broken rhythm in the last line, some alliteration, consonance, and assonance, and end rhymes. The other, because it uses the same words, has similar rhythmic opportunities and alliterative potential but does not seem to fulfil them, or does it? Which of the two is more engaging? Your answer concludes our experiment.

Catch you later.

Today’s picture is one that I took at the Salem City Park last week. I could not capture the twinkling between the leaves that I could see with my eyes.

Comments


I find that I cannot exist without Poetry--without eternal poetry--half the day will not do--the whole of it--I began with a little, but habit has made me a Leviathan.-John Keats

We do not quite say that the new is more valuable because it fits in; but its fitting in is a test of its value.-T. S. Eliot

A man may praise and praise, but no one recollects but that which pleases.-George Gordon, Lord Byron

The great beauty of poetry is that it makes everything in every place interesting.-John Keats

Our faulty elder poets sacrificed the passion and passionate flow of poetry to the subtleties of intellect and to the stars of wit; the moderns to the glare and glitter of a perpetual, yet broken and heterogeneous imagery, or rather to an amphibious something, made up, half of image, and half of abstract meaning. The one sacrificed the heart to the head; the other both heart and head to point and drapery.-S. T. Coleridge

The purpose of rhythm, it has always seemed to me, is to prolong the moment of contemplation, the moment when we are both asleep and awake, which is the one moment of creation.-W. B. Yeats

bottom of page