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He Must Not Be Much Of A Poet
He must not be much of a poet---
his poems do not reflect the news;
or politicize his opinions---
his sort, those subverts, will always choose
to write in a skillfull tradition
disparaging this duty
of ours to record reportage;
his sort would rather talk of beauty.
His sort will write in some format of verses;
and once in a while (oh horrors!) the verses will rhyme;
he will avoid our daily briefings
to our readers about our perilous times.
He will write in sonnets and ballads;
and not in form of a blog.
He will prefer the salad bar
rather than the dank, damp droplets of a local fog.
Starward
The price of an open forum is
The price of an open forum is that everyone has a key. But I would say this is a beautiful thing. At least to this reader, it's one of the few true treasures of the internet. One of the true forms of democratic spirit that is still in existence, in the places like this one, where one is still able to simply write what ever they feel.
I, for one, love the idea of the reader being allowed to decide what is poetry, themselves, as opposed to a gatekeeper or gatekeepers. It might take cycling through some writes that you or I might not hold as particularly poetic, depending our tastes and perceptions of what poetry is (or if it is simply poetry alone that one of us is looking for at that moment, or rather curious to a broader engagement), but I think it's worth the price. I imagine, more than myself, with your experience you can probably take a quick glance and know whether you want to read on or go on to the next post.
In the long haul, I'd say time itself is the only necessary gatekeeper. For all of the Whitman's, Dickinson's, Shakespeare's, Brook's, Bradford's and Poe's, there's countless voices who weren't timeless. Perhaps, though, they had their time with someone, some audience. Hell, even if it was just working things out within themselves. That might just be worth something, too, even if not on the level of the iconic writers.
I'd also like to add one more thought, for what it's worth. Though I'd hardly acclaim my own writing as something of particular note, it was a real aid to me in being able to post what I'd write on postpoems when I had much less of clue as to what I was doing. Learning a lot from a variety of others attempts - as well as receiving a wide range of feedback - in the long term has made me better. There were a couple of other sites I came across before I tried this one. The responses I generally got were merely attempts by people to show how brilliant they were, rather than to give me a helpful/encouraging critique. Generally, to paraphrase their guidance, they wrote "Go away, you're not as good as I am". Which, as you might imagine, didn't give me much to work with ; ) Today's rant poemer might just turn into a timeless writer, given time, experience, and some helpful tips. : )
Thank you for that reply, and
Thank you for that reply, and the compelling analysis of the situation. I suppose my poem is a product of the reading I did in my formative years---directed by scholars who preferred the literary idealists like Stevens, Eliot, Pound, and Cunningham, rather than the populists like Whitman and Masters (although I can empathize with certain aspects of Whitman's perspective). I am disturbed by the profusion of items that are labeled as "poems" but are simply rants reactive to the news cycle; or op-ed pieces that belong more properly in a blog or a podcast. I do not think that Poetry has a place for that as a trend; and an occassional exception, yes, but not as a trend. And its a personal dislike; I do not expect anyone else to share, or approve of, it. The poem arose from a question that nagged at me while I have browed through the archived poems: why does a difference seem to exist between then and now? The only difference I can come up with is the blog-like rants, the daily diary entries, and the op-eds. And, again, that is an entirely personal response which I do not expect others to share or approve.
Starward
I've no doubt that you have
I've no doubt that you have more are more versed in some of the most timeless poetry, and the poets themselves that have penned such work. Eliot is someone I am familiar with and could have listed, but I admit I haven't read much of the writers Stevens, Pound or Cunningham - at least to this point. I've read a lot of Whitman merely due to schooling. He was a little too much of a poetic version of Norman Rockwell for me at times, but I think one of his saving graces was that he was attempting to inspire towards an ideal rather than brush over the flaws of the past and (his) present. Anyhow, our backgrounds do inform, don't they?
I don't find it unreasonable that you have preferences and may find a significant portion of writes on here (or on any site, for that matter) to be lacking in satisfaction to your poetic tastebuds. This conversation is healthy, on the whole. You certainly are in the right place to express how you feel, poetically, but I don't have to tell you that ; )
The world - or at least our portion of it - has undergone an extremly dramatic shift in a relatively short amount of time. There's been many layers to that shift, including but not exclusive to (a) a severe decline in actual verbal communication (one study found that 90 percent of all "verbal" communication between people under 30 in the U.S. is now via emoji's), (b) severe decline in educational assistance and even mere practing in writing/language (all of the students I've worked with in the last 5 years have been severely deficient in writing when they've began working with me), (c) our massively growing divide between each other (aided by the prior two factors, for sure).
I believe you and Patricia have provided some remarks on factor C, already, of which I'd like to add a few thoughts. First, though, let me say that in a world where verbal communication is in a drought period, people starving for it are bending the traditionally held parameters of poetry to find some way to express themselves and connect, truly, with others. I think that art is constantly altering it's shape and borders, and so if poetry can bend a little to give people an outlet, that may be a heroic effort on the part of the art. Art meeting people's wants is wonderful, yet art meeting people's needs is probably connecting to it's very origins. Poetry has certainly been watered down by what amounts to social media memes that get popular and sell (what at least to me are) uninspiring books, but I would say that rant poems are providing us witness to people trying to express themselves rather than sell t-shirts, so this a different animal. Yes, some is (often self unaware) propaganda, to which the collapse of education and rise of pricey miseducation has played a big hand, but I think it's more complex than that.
Division, of course, is largely due to people being constantly led to believe by media they absorb that the end is constantly near, either due to a presidential choice (heck, now we have two groups simultaneously thinking the other "choice" means doomsday), the climate, terrorists, diseases, you name it. We're in a constant apocalyptic state, by in large. Which, I think sir, leads a lot of people to write the way they do. It feels like now or never, leaving many people no time to feel like anything other than a rant-style poem is going to suffice. When one is constantly absorbing what we call the news cycle, today's apocalypse can be ancient history, or at least buried under a couple more apocalypses, in just a matter of months, if not weeks or days.
I think poetry can help people to find and take the long view. It's certainly helped me to take a longer and longer view on life and existence over my years, I can vouch from that. Many of the rants may evolve. Some will probably not. But when we log our writing in this way, we can look back and see what we said/felt/feared versus what actually happened. People can also share insights with the writer, both to aid their writing and also perhaps to help provide a more healthy perspective (and certainly to at least see other perspectives rather than get trapped in echo chambers). Which is more productive than someone constantly re-posting or liking new fear on social media and constantly being sucked into the feed, never looking back. In this way, we can find a positive in that, if nothing else.
The ultimate cure here, at least to me, is for people to largely unplug from the news cycle, remember that "the world is always ending", and touch the world directly around them with more passion and fervor than ever, realizing there is beauty - not just pain - to being so small. I don't know that this will happen, but it might just be a stunning poem of yours or Patricia's or many of the wonderful writers here that inspires someone to do so. In that light, perhaps, you can appeal to your taste buds to accept the added mission of licking your fingers a little more frequently, in order to flip through the pages of writing you don't care for in this digital book called Postpoems. : )
Thank you for your insight
Thank you for your insight into the issue. As for the last paragraph of it, that is wise advice, and I like your concept of postpoems as a digital book. I never thought of it in that unique way; but I will do so now. In a paradoxical way, my complaint about some of the contemporary content at postpoems arises because I love it so much. I feel very privleged to be a member of postpoems. Having learned from reading Stevens' letters how much respect one should accord one's publisher, I think of Jason not just as the site administrator or its creator, but as my Publisher. Some of my poems at postpoems also appear on other sites (only a few poems, only a couple of sites); and one site, operated by the first Internet Poet I ever admired, includes a poem of mine (entitled "Mayerling") on that Poet's list of, and links to, those poems that he considers to me the most important published since 1950. Postpoems made this possible for me; and in the same way, the site has allowed me to experience and realize the fulfillment of an ambition I have held since 1975---to be a published poet. My complaint about the rants and the op-eds is merely a tempest in a teapot, made because I feel so comfortable at postpoems that I believe I can freely raise the objection---in the manner of a rant or an op-ed. But the metaphor occurs to me, as I write this, to deal with the same attitude I had when, in my youth, my First Beloved had to put on shoes to traverse a rough surface or inclement weather. No reason to complain; it was simply the reality of the situation; and on the other side of the rough surface or inclement weather, my patience found itself well rewarded. This metaphor now reminds me of the attitude I should maintain, going forward, about postings that do not conform to my personal perspective of what constitutes poetry. I thank you most humbly and sincerely that your comment led me to this realization, and this metaphor---which provides a corrective to my previous snarly mood.
Starward
Your perception, and the
Your perception, and the comfort to ripple the waters a bit that comes with it, I would say is spot on, and I feel a similiar and most unique endearment towards Postpoems in part due to this. We have to work things out, out loud, sometimes. And, for how ever I could aid in that through sharing in the discussion, I'm glad that I caught sight of your poem yesterday. Your rediscovered metaphor is a great example of how our written past often reteaches us something in the future.
You know, it's easy, and even necessary, to spot and try to confront the difficulties, challenges, blockades and mere unpleasantries of one's own time. But, with working through these things - and being open - there we can find also the beauties, the wonders of our time. Such as the reality that we're actively seeing and participating in the building work of this digital book of Poetry. Has there ever been a thicker book of unchained works, or one that has challenged us to explore what poetry is more than this? I don't know, but I think we're blessedly in unique and meaningful territory here. : )
And yet many are grateful
And yet many are grateful that Shakespeare wrote of
the poiitics of kings, including Richard III
Thank you, and I respect your
Thank you, and I respect your view. But I would suggest that your example---Richard III---was, by the time Shakespeare wrote of him, history not politics. And that goes to my point: Shakespeare did not dash off vignettes about, say, the Elizabethan settlement upon the English Church, or the Armada being constructed, or Mary Stuart's connivance with the aristocrats in Northern England, or even about the discovery of tobacco in Virginia. He did not give us a reportage of current events of his contemporary time, or his politics, or any op-ed blurbs as he watched world events unfold. His chief art was Poetry, as declaimed on the stage in the form of histories, romances, fantasies, even some zany comedies---but no op-eds.
Starward
Well said! In defense of
Well said! In defense of timeless poetry, unadulterated by raw, ripped-from-the-front-page propaganda (although some topical poetry is true art if imaginatively written), you wrote an example of praiseworthy language yourself.
This is a change I've noticed myself. Perhaps it is a reflection of our polarized and turbulent times marked by social unrest (some necessary) and anxiety. But, like you, I find myself at times seeking the comfort of the "salad bar": the savory, structured bliss from the ones who have "paid their dues".
Intelligent commentary.
Thank you. That postpoems
Thank you. That postpoems still features Poetry like yours is one of the great blessings of remaining here. It saddens me, though, to browse through the archive---and to see the names of friends who no longer post, and the quality of what they posted. But your Poetry, as it continues to unfold here, keeps reminding me to keep faith that what postpoems has been it will also continue to be.
Starward