Poetry In Motion

Poetry

I am a Philistine. I don’t know what great art is, but I know what I like.  The same applies to poetry.  I have been exposed to some of the ‘Great Poetry’, The Rime of The Ancient Mariner, The Twa Sisters O’ Binorrie, La Belle Dame sans Merci, William Blake’s, The Tyger, and many of Shakespeare’s sonnets.  I still like the poems that begin, “There was a young man from Kent.”

I express myself on this site though prose. When I check to ‘see what others are writing about,’ I find an interesting number of bloggers who express themselves in – poetry(?).  Some of the poems are actually quite good.  Others….are more a pretentious stream of unconsciousness.

Song lyrics, written out, should make sense. I feel the same should apply to poetry, even if it’s only published on WordPress.  Here’s an example.  See if you agree with me.  The first is how it would look/sound, if it were simply written as prose.

writing

The morning adrenaline in class essay exam detailing the ways to restore lost dynamic to man. Caffeine fumes, school bus, Drive, write your heart out!  With speed, with force, believe, you were born for this thrill of academics.

Speaking scholars and students inspired. This is my arena, my work, brain on display.  Bare, stuttering, but speaking again.  Grasping at straws, texts, engaging in every aspect.

The parkway was packed by 4:30 and given recent attacks, at night, plus rush hour fears from the kid who sped into my lane last year as evident by 3 bulging cervical discs. Thought it best, surely, safer to wait out traffic elsewhere.

***

The following is how it was actually published. Does it make any more sense?  Is it significant?  Artistic?

***

writing

The morning adrenaline
in class essay exam
detailing the ways
to restore lost dynamic to man.

Caffeine fumes, school bus,
Drive, write your heart out!
With speed, with force,
believe, you were born for this
thrill of academics.

Speaking scholars
and students inspired.
This is my arena, my work,
brain on display.
Bare, stuttering, but
speaking again.
Grasping at straws,
texts, engaging
in every aspect.

The parkway was packed by 4:30
and given recent attacks, at night,
plus rush hour fears
from the kid who sped into my lane
last year
as evident by 3 bulging cervical discs.

Thought it best, surely, safer
to wait
out
traffic elsewhere..

When ‘an artist’ throws paint-soaked sponges at a sheet of plywood, the resulting mess on the wood is not the Art.  The action, the process, is the art – performance art – like 12 clowns getting out of a tiny car at the circus.

I’m sure that many of these blog-poets are serious, and are struggling, as I do, to get their feelings out. When I come across something like the above, I just get the feeling that I’ve missed the real performance, and my only reaction is, “Huh!”  How about you?  😕

 

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9 thoughts on “Poetry In Motion

  1. Daniel Digby says:

    Personally, I’m a romantic at heart. I’m a sucker for things like The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. Your heart-rend[er]ing poem, on the other hand, reminds me of the intellectually intense and deeply moving lyrics to Incense and Peppermints. Poetry like that only emerges once in a lifetime. I hope that some day my writing will measure up to those standards.

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  2. Dan Antion says:

    Prose, even fiction, leaves me feeling that the author has taken the point and is leading me where he/she wants me to go. If I wander off the path, I get the feeling later in the text that Ive made a mistake.

    Poetry, on the other hand, gives me the freedom to wander about. Off the leash as it were. I think it’s an implicit agreement between the poet and the reader.

    “Caffeine fumes, school bus,
    Drive, write your heart out!
    With speed, with force,
    believe, you were born for this
    thrill of academics.”

    As prose, makes no sense. But, as poetry, it takes me back to high school. To an English class in which I tried to prove that I was more than a science nerd, that I understood deeper meaning and literary devices and all the junk I was supposed to be learning. It’s a good description of the day, but it needs my memories to bring it to life for me.

    That, IMO, is the beauty of poetry. I follow a lot of poets on WordPress and I enjoy reading almost everything they write.

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    • Archon's Den says:

      The poem (?) I chose is actually one of the more comprehensible ones and, as you note, a fair description of ‘a day in the life.’ Others, not only seem to ask ‘what did you think about that?’ but ‘what did I actually say by writing all that down?’
      It’s like being the straight guy at a dope-smokers’ convention. 😯 I guess I’m too linear to really ‘get’ a lot of it. 😕

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  3. Jim Wheeler says:

    My favorite magazine is the New Yorker. About half of it is of no interest to me, but when it’s good, it’s very, very good. It regularly publishes new poetry and I’ve yet to read one that made any sense, so I guess I’m pretty much like you, Archon.

    I too like Blake, I like haiku’s often, and authors like Robert Frost and, quite a bit of Emily Dickenson. Also, Walter de la Mare. Poems that don’t rhyme leave me cold.

    One of my own feeble attempts:

    Planet No More

    Poor Pluto, whirling in a tilted orbit
    Is now demoted status forfeit.
    Sharing fate in the debate
    With little asteroids and Charon.

    What’s the difference in a name I say?
    Space hasn’t changed in any way.
    It’s only we who can’t agree
    And mostly astronomers a’carin’.

    Like

    • Archon's Den says:

      Cute little poem. 🙂 I’m interested in what might have inspired you to write it. I’ve produced a couple of free-verse poems, but at least the story and intent progressed logically.
      This throwing random words at the page/screen seems about the same as the guy who throws paint-soaked sponges at a canvas. I don’t see why it’s up to me (or anyone) to ‘interpret.’ It’s like paying to go to a concert, and being expected to play the kazoo or spoons, to produce my own poor-quality music. I suppose it’s cheaper than psychotherapy. 🙂

      Like

  4. 1jaded1 says:

    To each his own. Writing is healing. I am partial to limericks though. 🙂

    There once sat a lady in waiting
    She was prim and proper and baiting
    She sat and she sat
    Her eyes she did bat
    She devoured her prey after mating.

    Liked by 2 people

    • Archon's Den says:

      I’d sooner be ‘eaten’ before the mating. 😉
      The closest to limericks that I’ve ever got, was today, when I (finally) mailed off my DNA kit to Dublin, that I wrote about earlier. The Genetic Police may get to enforce an eviction notice by my birthday in late September. 😛

      Like

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