| Author | Message | ||
     Chrishayden "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: Chrishayden Post Number: 843 Registered: 03-2004 Rating: N/A |
I got foes You got foes All God's Chillun got foes When we bust da enemy Doin' iniquity Fuck his sorry motherfuckin ass up All over God's Heaven Heaven Heaven When we get to Heaven Gonna put on our robes And bomb they sorry asses Back to the motherfuckin Stone Age All over Gods' Heaven CUZ if ever one thing was promised to you as you pick gingerly crablike cross this minefield laid in a vale of tears they call Life besides a six foot drop in the dirt at yo Last stop (and only then if you lucky) Is that enemies is all you got O yea Trust, like Love is but a mirage When you ain’t got health, you starving to death, when you ain’t got one thin dime in your pants be very sure that some poor, pitiful punk sonsabitches (whom ye wouldn’t even know if they came up and bit you on the ass) Is out to backstab ya It’s ‘nuff to drive you to prayer LAWD! Please deliver me from these motherfuckers! Enemies! Nothin’ but enemies Enemies Enemies Everywhere! Now you hold up and pull it over to the side of the road there partner I hate to call you out But you just told a whopper I'm Deuce Jiminy and I got no Enemies Only friends All over the world women children and men Love the stinkin shit out of my ass from Great Britain to the Holy land From Australia New Zealand to Japan After me and them nips had us a little Nagasaki Hiroshima talk they knowed who Was cock of the walk They call me Deuce Jiminy boy I got no enemies Only admirers amazed and stunned by my distinguished accomplishments I got degrees, pedigrees, medals, pedals to the metal, certificates of merit great inheritances and credentials out the ass and by the ton I'm the prophet honored in his own country an honor denied even Jesus God’s son Don't you be standing tween me and the breeze when I go for it because there ain't no dizzyin heights in this green earth I can't reach or go Thus sprach Deuce to ya I be the best goddam thing since sliced bread and ya can walk that to the bank and trade it for cash It's vanity and vexation to talk pointy-headed liberal faggot pantywaist trash My heart and motives is pure Tween you me and the fencepost odd's blood my soul is the Lord's for sure And I'm headed up yonder I got me a lock on it, wrangler the Big Chairman of the Board is in my corner My goods are laid up where the moth don't corrupt shit don't rust And thou better not make me hafta tell ya agin I am the man's fret the ladies pet the stars the moon and the sky I stride this earth in seven league cowhide shod and booted feet like a deity My Times will never end Enemies? I got nothing but friends So stuff that Bull Durham up where the sun don't show Right now I'm gonna mosey on down the trail and light me up some lives amigo Vaya Con Dios THEN Deuce Jiminy strode forth early on that frosty mornin' look away And he smelt napalm and said “It is Good” A mornin' clear and cool as a drink of West Texas well water, which runs through a man like icy knives slices the chest and brain like frigid lightning settles in the belly and makes him feel all is clean and right in this ole world as it warms AND he strode forth down streets of Old Glory past wooden picket fences white and colonial homes with porches and verandas bedecked with the stars and stripes And each blade of Kentucky bluegrass that he grew zoomed skyward Cleaved clouds like the columns of gray New England granite modeled on those of the Acropolis that guarded his offices up in Washington D.C. AND the tombs and monuments statues and obelisks of the great and mighty, pharaohs, emperors, kings, princes dukes and earls brainy philosophers and men of science were as grains of Death Valley dust beneath his cow hide shod and booted feet "Hot dang look at the world I made Purty and perfect as a picture or a poem I'm the cat's meow odds blood I am!" he smirked as his blazing saddles jiggled and jerked "My shit is gold and it don't stink and diamonds tinkle in the bowl when I piss and everybody loves me red and yellow black brown and white I am twenty four caret four in the floor number one in their sight! “Come on World! “Talk shit to me!” AND he heard the people in their teeming millions and billions sing praises in trillions Sing from stalled cars on interstates belching necklaces of choking carbon monoxide gas from slime of oil rig and claustrophobia of office cubicle, as they mopped floors and made doors in prison factories and sewed cotton drawers and Reality TV T-shirts Sing from their sweatshops, from penthouse and tenement, from sidewalk grates, Sing as they died on far-flung uranium-slathered battlefields As they were sideswiped and rear ended committed suicide, Sing as they were raped ripped off and murdered as they went insane, as their fellow sufferers kicked the stinking shit out of them in the street He did hear them sing digital hosannas AND he clicked his heels as all systems read GO/A-OK /hit the ignition switch and lifted off AND like a comet swooshed down space way and up cyberspace To his fate IN a candy striped old time saloon with a ragtime player piano roll Sawdust on the floor Black cast iron stove squatting merrily in the corner coal in its potbelly aglow Bar tables and chairs of real home grown oak Brass rail and spittoons Starched collar gentleman poker players puffin five-cent cigars And swingin doors Deuce spied Miss Andromeda Fair Stepped from memories of a perfect past Wisps of "The Maple Leaf Rag" and "Sweet Adeline" in her hair His mind roiled and compared her to a scene that might have been a Winslow Homer oil A dreamy country clearing on some romance intoxicated June night Her eyes were two ponds with hidden gold coins in their depths glittering and alight Her smiling lips were two slow dancers on honeymoon there Her face was the full bright hovering moon The soft curves of her body took him home to old time hay rides along country roads He heard verse and stanza recited live by Longfellow Tearful violins keening an aria by Stephen Foster Miss Andromeda Fair filled his eyes cool and warm strong and tender Clothed chaste as a saint from throat to ankle Covered shoulder to wrist like a good woman of the Bible She laughed and he tasted the tinkling of rain on the desert he saw silver holiday bells He knew perfume smells and those tearful violins He felt again He longed to touch her But not yet—there was a crowd surrounding open mouthed she held them rapt like a faith healer at a tent revival Deuce was dizzied dazzled lit up infatuated His heart tripped and his head skipped his gut was agitated but what he felt was not only physical He knew the spiritual Time stood still Like a pole axed steer Deuce was stunned and struck stupid Like Paul on the road to Damascus he saw light and was blinded When his vision returned She was gone Was it Love at First sight –Cupid's booby trap Was it a self-inflicted pigeon drop A legend –writ by Hack Hollywood screenwriters, lit filmed and edited with a syrupy musical track heavy on the bathos and strings-- from his own media saturated mind? The answer he'd find First to a flophouse where he banged thirteen speedballs one after the other into his writhing veins through a red hot needle as gentlefolk pretended that they did not notice Feeling normal once more, the mind fucking mixture tearing up his psyche he spake to several patriotic acolytes who entered and kneeled worshipfully at his cow hide shod and booted feet: “Who was that lady?” "Miss Andromeda Fair " they chorused Then they awaited his boons and blessings Deuce summoned Big Sixteen, his valet Waiting and willing like dodoes were they but Deuce urged gruff "Give it to them rough" (For one of his mottos was "Never give a sucker an even break.") Big Sixteen beat them to a bloody pulp and fucked them up the butt With a pecker big around as an MX Missile and with almost the thrust he split their sphincters as they screamed halfway in agony and halfway in lust Big Sixteen bust them open wide like ripe watermelons and as blood ran down their quivering bare legs and soaked his loins Deuce nodded and dreamed tenderly of Andromeda Fair Sweet Andromeda Fair And how like Perseus He'd rescue and claim her Folks in high places started murmuring that Deuce was trippin’ Don't fret He telegraphed to the planet’s nervous investors I won't ignore the store I know my Business be Bidness My Bidness be Business All bow and kiss the ass of Bidness The ass of Business Bye n bye Commerce Industry Trade & Traffic Corporate Concerns Slum ghetto rackets Downtown silk stocking firms Everywhere they're doin' Bidness Getting' down to Brass tacks 'n Business Like it’s goin out of style In my Father's House are many Mansions But they ain't safe from takeovers or expansions Spread sheets Bottom lines Profits and rents The Universal language is dollars and cents Fuck the world don't ask me for shit Everything you get you got to work hard for it Like I did at the School of Business Anything else they tell ya is a goddam lie Today some babes newborn Suckin' at their mammys' tits this morn Might still growup aspirin' to be hard up soup kitchen holy joe's Or penniless ivory tower poets with no ties But as the Dow Jones is my Witness One Day all kids'll set their sights on careers in Business Yeah and then they'll get the Bidness Get the Business Bye n Bye But it ain't all ‘bout Bidness, Nossir He said to himself and under his breath I must never forget My Quest My Ultimate Test My Holy Grail By all that's Good and Right To Find Fix and Fight The Anti Christ And I’ll not fail So away down upon the Swanee River went Deuce Jiminy walkin tall in cow hide shod and booted feet afire and aflame Obsessed with possessing his true love barrels of bread and determined to extirpate the Antichrist --though not necessarily in that order Would this cocky Cowboy Perseus slay his apocalyptical Gorgon claim a princess just like the one that married dear ol' dad and score bookoo big bucks besides Was his faith-based certainty that he was friend to all Youthful confidence Or Military Industrial Hubris Was he multi tasking to the max//processing bad data to the excess Hoodooed by Da God Complex His head so far up his stratosphere he was unaware that, inevitably, he must trod on others' toes? Was he truly born to rule Or but a zip damn fool Copyright Chris Hayden 2004 | ||
| Cynique "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: Cynique Post Number: 1864 Registered: 01-2004 Rating: N/A |
I'm sure I would appreciate this piece more if I heard you read it, Chris. It did not rivet me in its printed form because I had a hard time staying in the flow of it. | ||
| Chrishayden "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: Chrishayden Post Number: 853 Registered: 03-2004 Rating: N/A |
I will be glad to read it for you sometime--takes a little over 15 minutes--but you could read it to yourself. Then you will catch the flow-- | ||
| Carey "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: Carey Post Number: 351 Registered: 05-2004 Rating: N/A |
Hello Chris Well I read your piece and.......ahhh. See, I'm not a poetry type of guy so it was hard for me to get with. I mean, I couldn't find the flow. Plus it was difficult for me to read "God" and in the next line read "Motherfucker" this and that. It's probably me and my old tired ways. Also like I said, I'm poetically challenged so without some type of external beat, rythum or flow, I was wandering in the dark. I can no more evaluate your work than I could run a hundred meter race in under a minute *smile*. I'm sure if I heard you read it I would appreciate it much more. I think it's important to remember that those that are in the "front" are seldom going to find others to compare themselves to. Being new and innovative can be a lonely place, however without those that are strong enough to believe in themselves nothing would ever change. So my brotha, if you like it keep on doing what you do, peace can only be found from within. Carey | ||
| A_womon "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: A_womon Post Number: 1172 Registered: 05-2004 Rating: N/A |
I don't understand this, it seems like its going in 100 different directions. I don't get the point of it??? What is this about? | ||
| Carey "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: Carey Post Number: 353 Registered: 05-2004 Rating: N/A |
Hey A Womon!!!!!! How You ??? | ||
| A_womon "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: A_womon Post Number: 1173 Registered: 05-2004 Rating: N/A |
Hey Carey!!!!! IM fine YOU the one on lockdown! ahahahahahaha! Shole is good to see ya "face" in the place tho! Peace out! | ||
| Carey "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: Carey Post Number: 354 Registered: 05-2004 Rating: N/A |
ahhhh...raaa.....Lockdown???? What that mean *smile*? | ||
| Chrishayden "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: Chrishayden Post Number: 858 Registered: 03-2004 Rating: N/A |
Carey: Actually the piece is not all that cutting edge, neither in length ("Song of Myself", "The Wasteland" "Howl" "Kaddish" Big Bowls of Cereal" and "About the Author"--influences from which and other poems you will find in this piece are all much longer) It is also not really cutting edge stylistically, what with its appropriation of old Negro Spirituals in the beginning ("I got foes") use of statements that have wormed their way into everyday usage ("bomb them back into the stone age), even almost limerick toward the end ("My Bidness be Business"--"Jabberwocky is one of my favorite poems and finds its way in some kinda way to every one) Why such a long poem? I have given readings where I had to do anywhere from 20 minutes to 45 minutes on a program. Most poets sit up fiddling with pages, grinning sheepishly and otherwise eating up and wasting the audience's time (some of them have adopted that as part of their shtick) I started organizing my readings so I had my program up front. Then I started scripting my between poem chatter. Then I noticed that in effect what I was doing was creating one long piece. Then I started thinking, well, what if I wrote one long piece that would be the whole program? It does work-- "God" and "Motherfucker" in the same breath? Reports coming out of the Whitehouse say that our Fearless leader, when addressing his staff cusses one minute and quotes scripture the next. I got to thinking, is this just him? Or is this just our schizophrenic, split national psyche? Men on the radio who trumpet family values and are dope addicts and abuse women. Gay bashing gay people. Black bashing black people. Double consciousness? Or schizophrenia? The electorate seems split down the middle between blue and red. The tv viewing audience has no complaint about movies and programs wherein dozens of people die bloody deaths, but let someone show a breast. I am attempting to reflect the time. A word about length also--we are always told to praise "The Iliad" a poem of 12,000 lines, but told that audiences, especially black ones, will tolerate poems of only 30 lines or so. This poem ain't as long as your average short story. The idea that it is too long is a mental block. I refuse to buy the idea that black people are too dumb to appreciate a poem only half as long as "The Wasteland" A woman: What do you WANT the poem to be about? | ||
| Carey "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: Carey Post Number: 355 Registered: 05-2004 Rating: N/A |
Chris OOUUUUU WEEEEEE, I don't know if you were cussing me out or schooling me *smile*. Actually I followed everything you stated in your last post and generally agree.........I think? You lost me my brotha but what I could get with I nodded my head in agreement. I was merely stating my thinking process and wasn't particularily eluding to anything in your poem. What do I know about long? I sure don't know a thang about the 12,000 word poem. Ouuu Weeee, I wish I did. You were killing me over here *lol*. Big up my brotha, you the man. Carey Now A_Womon, she might have something for you. | ||
| A_womon "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: A_womon Post Number: 1175 Registered: 05-2004 Rating: N/A |
Chris, I just would like you to explain, cuz first it seems like someone else is speaking you don't make it clear whom or who they are speaking to. Then you have someone challenge the 1st speaker, and the poem becomes about him--Deuce Jiminy-who is he and what is he about? | ||
| Chrishayden "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: Chrishayden Post Number: 864 Registered: 03-2004 Rating: N/A |
A woman: Fair enough. I replied that way because I thought that this was Part I of a poem--sort of mock epic-- about a self deluded, arrogant young man who falls in love with the woman of his dreams and has a doomed love affair. I let my cousin read it and he quit halfway through and said it was about the election. The ambiguities in the piece are intentional, an impressionistic device (almost one hundred years old) which allows the reader to imagine many meanings and interpretations, including some that I, the writer am unconscious of. It is like some Miles Davis or Coltrane pieces where upon relistening you hear new stuff. Anyway-- The first section of 30 lines (beginning with "I got foes, and ending "Enemies! Enemies Everywhere" is intended for either single voice or chorus, which will re occur later in the piece. As I stated it is a mix of that old Negro Spiritual "All Gods Chillun Got Wings", historical statement and gangsta sensibilities. It is a sort of paranoid subconsciousness, freaking out at enemies everywhere. Again, the big theme of this is schizophrenia or double consciousness (the voices of the Notorious BIG and Miles Davis, both Geminis, are heavy in this and other sections) The next section (lines 31-65) beginning with "Now You Hold Up" and ending with "Vaya Con Dios" is in the voice of Deuce. He is refuting the chorus (or arguing with his own paranoid subsconscious, if you take that interpretation). The next section 66-101 (Begins with "THEN Deuce" and ends with "to his fate" is a third voice--a narrator actually describing Deuce and his world and a reporting on what he said and did--it is intended to show what kind of person he really is. The next section 102-164 (Beginning with "In a candy striped old time saloon" and ending with "Folks in high places--"this narrator describes the first time Deuce sees Andromeda Fair. The somewhat corny, old fashioned, 19th century tone of the first two thirds of it, intending to mirror the "Cowboy Consciousness" as it sees itself, is set off by the brutal last third again, contrasting his high flown thoughts with his brutal reality. 165-198 (Beginning with "Don't fret" and ending with "Bye and Bye")is Deuce "Spraching" to ya again, a short silly Lyric about Business and Bidness--another part of this 21st Century "Cowboy" consciousness--we are learning who Deuce is through his own thoughts and words--it is intended to show that, he tries to be heavy and businesslike but is rather silly and airheaded. 199-209 (Begins with "But it Aint all bout Bidness and ends with "And I'll not fail") is a short piece regarding the third of his obsessions--rooting out evil in the form of this AntiChrist figure. 210-225 is mostly just a sum up This is just the first part of the poem. If you wanna know more, ask away. | ||
| A_womon "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: A_womon Post Number: 1177 Registered: 05-2004 Rating: N/A |
oK now that Im thoroughly confused *smile* why don't we just leave it at that. I don't like this one as well as some of your others! You KNOW my favorite. But everything is not for EVERYONE, right? Keep Writin! | ||
| Rondall Moderator Username: Rondall Post Number: 47 Registered: 01-2004 Rating: N/A |
It is good to see critical discussions about poetry. Chris, it is damn good to see how open you are to constructive critisisms and questions. Keep keep keeping on... | ||
| Chrishayden "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: Chrishayden Post Number: 866 Registered: 03-2004 Rating: N/A |
Rondall: The pleasure is mine. The interaction with the reader or listener I view as essential to the continued growth and development of my art. Some may get off on isolating themselves, or writing things and stuffing them in their dressers to be discovered after they die, but I think they miss the point that art is communication. I view the input and comment of readers as essential-positive as well as negative comments. A piece like the one above breaks many so-called "rules" of poetry and, with its use of blunt language and distasteful subjects will tend to put off those in whose minds the word "poetry" triggers thoughts of The Elysian fields or French troubadours. Also, I view a poem as sort of a thesis and defense of it as a part of its creation and presentation. "Hey Chris! Why you do dat?" If I can't answer then maybe I ought to go back to the drawing board. Thanks for all comments. | ||
| Cynique "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: Cynique Post Number: 1875 Registered: 01-2004 Rating: N/A |
I agree with some of what you say, Chris. But should a poem really be self-indulgent? Maybe if it wasn't, it wouldn't be necessary to have to explain so much of it to the inquiring reader? I always like for a poet's work to speak for itself. But, that's just me, and you said you wanted feedback. | ||
| Chrishayden "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: Chrishayden Post Number: 867 Registered: 03-2004 Rating: N/A |
Cynique: I note that this is an obsession of yours that a writer should need to explain nothing to a reader--primarily one that you, it seems should apply mostly to other writers and not yourself. #1 it is impossible to write something about which at least one person will not have at least one question about. #2 If one does do this all the time, wherein is the aim of literature that it impower the reader through the impartation of some new knowlege served. #3 For example go to the King James version of the Bible. Or Shakespeare. Without annotations you would be lost. Poems are always self indulgent. One hopes that one is expressing emotions or feelings that the audience readily picks up as theirs too--as Elvis is supposed to have said, "the crowd is doin' the singin'--I just got the mouth". Failing that, one hopes that the audience at least picks up on where one is coming from, or is caused to think. Another one. "She walks in beauty like the night"--what did Lord Byron mean--and if you do know, did you now without having read annotations about the poem? | ||
| Cynique "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: Cynique Post Number: 1876 Registered: 01-2004 Rating: N/A |
On the contrary, Chris, I am the one who "tells", not "shows". Remember? I'm foolish enough to assume that the reader will read between the lines. But in expecting this, I try to make what is written conducive to creating an inspired conclusion about what is not written. Flawed though this may be, it is no more vexing than when what a writer burdens his text with great detail, but is still not effective, and the reason for this lack of communication is often because the writing is superfluous and too subjective. In poetry, it is the imagery which captivates or the emotion which transcends. But when a poet or writer doesn't connect with the reader, then who is to blame? Yes, most of the time it is the reader. But sometimes - it's the writer. That's why the ability to capture life in words is such a gift! As for annotations, they are helpful when a poem or a work is written during a different period of time. | ||
| Chrishayden "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: Chrishayden Post Number: 868 Registered: 03-2004 Rating: N/A |
Cynique: So what was Lord Byron talking about? | ||
| Cynique "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: Cynique Post Number: 1878 Registered: 01-2004 Rating: N/A |
I dont know, Chris. I remember that title from my highschool English classes but I'd have to re-read the poem to refresh my impression of it. Just off hand I would think the obvious, that maybe he was talking about the moon, or one of his mistresses since he was always writing odes to his lady-loves. I will now go and see if I can track down this poem to read. | ||
| Cynique "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: Cynique Post Number: 1880 Registered: 01-2004 Rating: N/A |
OK. I read the poem, and I didn't need any annotations to appreciate it. It was such an exquisite excursion into the English language that it was above all else a tribute to Byron's Muse. In fact the mystery of who or what the poem refers to is what makes the poem so compelling. "Beauty is truth." And it's like Keats' "Ode to a Grecian Urn," where all of the images on the vase and all of the verse describing them are frozen in time, evermore, there to be loved down through the ages. | ||
| Rondall Moderator Username: Rondall Post Number: 48 Registered: 01-2004 Rating: N/A |
Keats and Lord Byron!!! In the same thread??? Well anyway, I see both of your points. I "used to be" a lot like Chris so I am feeling him and his self reflection. "Prose flows from deep chasms with little or no continuity. When you drink from such a stream of consciousness, there is per chance that the water will not be clear but it is clean." My beatnik way of saying that my thoughts are clear to me, but what do you see? Chris, my writing preferences have changed a lot over the years. I found myself being critisized by people whom I admire and respect. My transformation was difficult but I have appreciated the journey. Poems are our visual artwork. When we write or speak our poerty, we are painting scenarios for others to see and/or interprate. Your readers nor your listeners are not privvy to "footnotes" all the time. A poem's beauty should stand as a painting in words. Which most, by the way, do not have and actually shun footnotes or explainations. (Avant Garde, Impressionist, Post-Impressionist, Cubist, etc...) Most of the time I don't want explainations of poems. I appreciate the opportunities I have to listen to the writers mind set when they wrote it. But as you mentioned before, poems are self-indulgent. And I like the fact that it is my insight that extrapulates from that a certain piece. Sometimes...truly most of the times I don't get it, but the writing is still exquisitely pleasing and poetic. And Cynique, beauty is truth. And poems are personal truths. Last but not least, the baiting question. The actually answer comes in the full stanza Chris. I love this poem... She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes Thus mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies. --Lord Byron I must admit that when I read this poem my personal interpretation is that he speaks of this beautiful Black woman. In reality, he actually speaks of a woman in a black dress that almost matches the color of her hair. C'est la vie! This has to be my favorite thread so far. | ||
| Carey "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: Carey Post Number: 361 Registered: 05-2004 Rating: N/A |
Hello Rondall I was pleased to read "Sometimes......actually most of the time I don't get it". You know, I consider myself a reasonably average thinker and many times I don't get it. So like most things we might find to be extremely difficult in life, I refrain from poking myself in the eye by trying to figure it out. So again, it was somewhat of a relief to here someone that's down in the game speak those words. In reference to "getting it" or understanding it, I believe the reader and the author could in fact "get it" yet be recieving two totally different meanings. For sure the author knows what he/she is trying to convey however the readers interpretation could again be different. Having said that, I'd like to examine the purpose of poetry because if I'm moved to a higher plain of consciousness behind reading a poem and also derive pleasure too, did I get it even though my interpretation is incorrect in the eyes of others? I feel you on the footnote thang. If a poem needs footnote or is accompanied by them, what's the purpose. So tell me, why is poetry needed? It's said to be art but why? I am not trying to be facetious, I truly wish to gain a better understanding. Those of us that are left scratch our heads or faking understanding when others seem to be filled with pleasurable insight upon hearing or reading a poem want to know. Can I get an Amen from anybody? Or is it just me? Carey | ||
| Carey "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: Carey Post Number: 362 Registered: 05-2004 Rating: N/A |
Hi BlackPlanet, how you *wink*? | ||
| Cynique "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: Cynique Post Number: 1881 Registered: 01-2004 Rating: N/A |
Poetry is just a form of self expression. And as long as a poem speaks to a reader, I don't think an explanation should be necesssary. To me, whether the person who reads a poem interprets it differently from the poet's intent is irrelevent as long as the poem stirred the imagination of the reader. A poet doesn't own the language; he is just using it, and the person who reads a poem should be free to see the words through his own eyes. The problem arises when a poem doesn't reach the reader. When this happens, who is to say that the reader is at fault? A poem is really an ego trip and, in truth, the poet is not doing others a favor by writing a poem. People are doing him a favor by reading it. Ah, but if the reader enjoys what is written, then the poem becomes a gift and "all's right with the world." | ||
| Crystal "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: Crystal Post Number: 167 Registered: 01-2004 Rating: N/A |
Well Carey, here's my Amen! Cause I just don't "get" poetry. Never have. Most of the time I end up saying to myself - what the hell are they trying to say and why don't they just say it. After reading this thread and especially Cynique's most recent post - maybe I've been going about it all wrong. Maybe I've been trying too hard to interpret and not open enough to the gift. But I’ve tried and still nothing . . . So what does it mean that I can't "get" it? I read all of the poems on this site and a lot of them get rave comments and I'm going "huh? Even the greats, the Angelou and Giovanni poems leave me scratching my head. There is one [the only one] poem I remember from school. Robert Frost’s Stopping by Woods on Snowy Evening. For some reason I “got” that one. I was there with the snow and the horse and the man. As for the rest – I was just glad to pass that class and get out. | ||
| Rondall Moderator Username: Rondall Post Number: 49 Registered: 01-2004 Rating: |
Cynique, When I spoke of the criticisms that were brought to my attention, I was talking precisely about the subject you hit upon. I was writing stuff that needed a dissertation to understand. And then someone said "then what good is it, if you are not in the room to accompany it." Some poets carry this image of "only the really hip will get this" way too far. I love reading but I actually enjoy vocabulary even more. When I wrote poems, I challenged myself to use words that made my audience think. I actually wanted the reader to pick up a dictionary and learn a new word. One of the many problems was that I had people doing this with every, or every other stanza... so in order words, keep that thesaurus handy. The flip side of this is the writer who alludes the obscure events, historic references, or facts that provide no foundation whatsoever to the allegory of their prose. Or worse, the allegory itself is irretrievable. The more you read the idiom, the less it begins to mean... This leads me to tantalize an answer to Carey's question: "So tell me, why is poetry needed? It's said to be art but why? I am not trying to be facetious, I truly wish to gain a better understanding." Carey, poetry necessitates a part of literature that demonstrates the beauty that lives within the words themselves. Poetry is art because poetry is an art. There is not an instance that exist in any genre of the great works of literature that does not borrow from the art of poetry to create in order convey to readers the power of a moment. Hence, we find these words used interchangeably, yet their purpose differs by their usage. Carey, my definition of poetry is beauty. The beauty of love, pain, anger, despair, words, song, dance, hate, of beauty itself. And to define beauty is futile, but that doesn't make it any less beautiful. | ||
| Rondall Moderator Username: Rondall Post Number: 50 Registered: 01-2004 Rating: N/A |
Like Keats said: "Beauty is truth. Truth, beauty. That is all ye know on Earth and all ye need to know." | ||
| Carey "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: Carey Post Number: 367 Registered: 05-2004 Rating: N/A |
Okay. Thanks, am going to sit on that awhile. | ||
| Chrishayden "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: Chrishayden Post Number: 869 Registered: 03-2004 Rating: N/A |
Cynique: Rondall is right. He was writing about a woman (I forget her name, I'll do some research on it) he saw at a party wearing a black dress. Rondall: Criticism is good. It is expected. It is part of this "game". As I have said before, writers have to get used to being criticized and rejected. The only ones I listen to are those who are going to pay me for my work, or who are going to publish it. Poets and writers like to trumpet that they are for freedom and then try to institute their little facist art regimes setting up "standards" and such-- Let me go further. I would rather people hated my work than be totally unmoved by it--a work of art is supposed to elicit some kind of emotional response When we are involved in art, the only standard is a subjective one. I like it. I don't like it. Saying it is "good" or "bad" is pointless, and this changes--many so called "giants" of today, from Walt Whitman to Allan Ginsberg and beyond, were roundly panned when they first appeared. The fact is also, for all their trumpeting about being brave and trendsetting poets and writers are intensely conservative, especially the older ones, who are prone to--like old hipsters rhapsodizing that the music of the late 40's and early 50's is the best ever--see works written or discovered during their youth through a nostalgic haze. Carey: Poetry is not needed at all. One need no poems to live--but ask yourself why people have expressed themselves this way, even before they could write? And what is poetry? Many of our most effective poets are working on Madison avenue and tin pan alley (that is, in advertising and commercial music) I said most effective, not best. Crystal: You don't have to "get" it. But do you like popular songs? Do you like rap and hip hop? Do you remember those little advertising jingles? That is poetry too. Rondall: A poem can be about ugly things, too. Are you familiar with the poetry of Sapphire (Ramona Lofton)? Especially "American Dreams"? | ||
| Rondall Moderator Username: Rondall Post Number: 52 Registered: 01-2004 Rating: N/A |
Chrishayden, There is beauty in the ugliest things, i.e. my wife still loves me. I am familiar with Sapphire and I have met her a few times. "American Dreams" has been taunted as a brilliant piece of work, as well as lauded for being a polemic icon of the warped imagery of ghetto life. I like some of her work although I have never read PUSH. Some masterful examples of beauty in the uglier side of life can also be found in the poet Ai or even Etheridge Knight's work about street life. But I feel you... | ||
| Chrishayden "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: Chrishayden Post Number: 871 Registered: 03-2004 Rating: N/A |
Rondall: "American Dreams" is less about ghetto life than about people's inhumanity to each other. The poem "Wild Thing" which used the voice of one of the attackers of the Central Park Jogger (and where are all the people who were howling for their heads now that DNA seems to have cleared all of them) was attacked for being lewd and a picture of ghetto life (odd, since all the attackers came from "good" homes) and it also had the poem in memory of Latasha Harlins, but by far most of the poems dealt with incest--Sapphire, as you may know, is an incest survivor. Others featured rape, spousal abuse, and lesbianism--one I remember was in remembrance of her brother who was homeless and was killed. Still others were political, attacking the excesses of the system. When I first got the book I could read at most one poem and had to stop--it was more like an experience than reading a poem, an awful one (I saw her at a reading here in St. Louis and met her too and she was a warm, funny woman and not at all the raging madwoman one would expect). As opposed to the uusual run of such poets who seem to have rage against all men, she said that she did not hate men, but she hated the bad things men did. I could deal with that. Push was a novel, not poetry, and it disappointed most. I would advise anybody wanting to read her to read "American Dreams" but to be prepared for a rough experience | ||
| A_womon "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: A_womon Post Number: 1178 Registered: 05-2004 Rating: N/A |
here's the first poem i understood, I forget who its by though, and I started liking poetry after this. nature's first green is gold her hardest hue to hold her early leaf's a flower but only so an hour then leaf subsides to leaf so Eden sank to greif so dawn goes down to day nothing gold can stay. hey chris, where is your book? When is it coming out? | ||
| Cynique "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: Cynique Post Number: 1882 Registered: 01-2004 Rating: N/A |
Carey and Crystal, you say you never "get it" after you read a poem. Maybe you're reading the wrong poems. Surely you "got" that priceless little poem a-womon cited. | ||
| Carey "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: Carey Post Number: 370 Registered: 05-2004 Rating: N/A |
Cynique Well, I looked at it a couple of times and I had a few thoughts, then as I found myself straining to come up with something I stopped. I stopped and said to myself, "what the F*&k am I doing", then I stopped thinking about it and went on over to my e-mail. | ||
| Chrishayden "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: Chrishayden Post Number: 877 Registered: 03-2004 Rating: N/A |
A woman: It is out. | ||
| Crystal "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: Crystal Post Number: 169 Registered: 01-2004 Rating: N/A |
Sorry Cynique - I still don't get it. nature's first green is gold - what is that? Again, I'm with Carey, if I have to spend a lot of time trying to figure it out - forget it. | ||
| A_womon "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: A_womon Post Number: 1181 Registered: 05-2004 Rating: N/A |
That's a Robert Frost poem I learned and "got" when I was in the 5th grade. We had to learn it and write a report on what it meant. hahaha | ||
| Carey "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: Carey Post Number: 372 Registered: 05-2004 Rating: N/A |
Hello Okay, I guess Y'all just going to leave us hangin' huh? Brake it down for us. | ||
| Cynique "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: Cynique Post Number: 1888 Registered: 01-2004 Rating: N/A |
Gee whiz, you guys! To me, it seemed very obvious that this poem was comparing the evolution of life to the changing of the seasons and the duration of a day. Golden leaves and flowering plants and dawn all disappear just like the garden of Eden did when Paradise was lost; "nothing gold can stay." Frost really kinda summed up the Bible in a few choice words. I would even think that since the earth goes through a re-birth every year and every sun rise brings a new day, a hint of hope lingers in this poem. I think this verse is a lovely use of language to convey an idea. (Incidentally, I've never read this poem before a-womon posted it, but it immediately spoke to me! Whether my interpretation is what the poet intended is secondary to the fact the poem inspired me to imagine what the poet meant.) | ||
| A_womon "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: A_womon Post Number: 1184 Registered: 05-2004 Rating: N/A |
Ok Carey, my interpretation: first green is gold= new birth is precious and to be treasured-like gold ...hardest hue to hold-nature's first green changes with the seasons therefore it's hard to hold onto as green leaves give way to the colors of autumn or the green grass later turns brown, the first green being hard to hold can also be compared to youth giving way to adulthood and adulthood giving way to old age... her early leaf's a flower but only so an hour beauty is fleeting it doesn't last forever so leaf subsides to leaf---one leaf dies another takes it's place so eden sank to greif--eden once the most beautiful peaceful place on earth, though it was created to be that way forever man could not hold on to it, and was cast out- and so it greives.. so dawn goes down to day --the beauty of dawn only lasts for a few moments before it becomes the day nothing gold can stay--nothing stays fresh and new | ||
| A_womon "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: A_womon Post Number: 1185 Registered: 05-2004 Rating: N/A |
yes cynique, if I had seen your post before, I wouldn't have struggled through my interpretation of the poem--sometimes the meaning you have in your heart and head, does not easily translate to paper. Yours was good! | ||
| Crystal "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: Crystal Post Number: 170 Registered: 01-2004 Rating: N/A |
Wow, you guys are deep. Thanks. “comparing the evolution of life to the changing of the seasons and the duration of a day”. And “first green is gold= new birth is precious and to be treasured-like gold”. I may have gotten that if I studied it some more but maybe not. Cynique: I think you said it all with: “I've never read this poem before a-womon posted it, but it immediately spoke to me!” See, poems just don’t “speak” to me. Oh well. You probably understand Shakespeare too. | ||
| Chrishayden "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: Chrishayden Post Number: 884 Registered: 03-2004 Rating: N/A |
All: Not to change the subject, but do you think it is important for poets to read--esp other writer's poetry? I do because I view a written poem as analogous to a written score or sheet music by a musician--much poetyr has not been recorded and this is the only way to experience it. | ||
| Cynique "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: Cynique Post Number: 1894 Registered: 01-2004 Rating: N/A |
I actually prefer to read poetry to myself, so I can absorb it at my own pace and contemplate its meaning. Of course, I guess all of this spoken word riffing comes off better when spoken. | ||
| Cynique "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: Cynique Post Number: 1895 Registered: 01-2004 Rating: N/A |
a-womon, I think our interpretations of Frost's poem were pretty much in concert. The gist of the poem simply seems to be that "time brings change." Crystal, Shakespeare is a challenge to me, but I generally like and understand his works - once I get into them. |
