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Posted: |
Jan 3, 2018 - 9:06 PM
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By: |
joan hue
(Member)
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PIGEON PLACE
Homer, they name this
pigeon who nightly roosts,
trusting claws circling the
neck of the patio spotlight.
Round him gather
the family,
bathed in his light,
tameness and cooing.
Darkness hides his droppings,
barnacles on the
wood pile, now mounding
higher like a hive.
The dad wants to snatch him,
take it elsewhere,
stop the excrement.
But mom and children
deed Homer this light,
their intuitive recognition
of their own ability to
defile personal nests;
and the familial forgiveness
forever necessary for
a place called home.
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Bruce, I don’t see anyone on this thread trying to deeply analyze another person’s poem.
I just like to smile at humorous poems. I enjoy looking at interesting word choices and images,
and FEELING a poem as well as at times thinking about the ideas I "think" the poem conveys.
Don’t be angry that we are not doing an analytical analysis.
I was kidding Joan.
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a wretched hive of illiteracy and ignominy.
did someone call?!
Yesh. Please tell Ms. Joan Hue that i am as serious about
Poetry as Andy Kaufman was about wrestling.
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Joanie, in the thread where he said it was ok to insult him i jokingly called him a bastard and he never batted an eyelid, so i think you're ok, its official, el bruco can take a joke and is half decent at mock indignation.
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Ah ha - joanie, you see, mock indignation works because its funny when someone gets the hump or is pretending to be frustrated by others - but isnt really upset at all. If you signpost it with a comedy smiley - it weakens it.
Thats like saying "Ive had it with you lot!" and storming out but stopping to say "nah i havent really"
you kill the potential before you follow it through.
Its funnier with a certain amount of doubt. Which is what Bruce does. You re never quite sure...did he mean..? But hes ok. His bluntless could offend some but hes an alright chap.
The internet is a minefield of subtle but treacherous ambiguity. 
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Mr. Marshall's star shines brighter
when he works as a writer
of news, reviews, and interviews
Alas, He's no poet
and he knows it
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I am really depressed over the lack of critical praise for my totally original and brilliant poem GROWL.
I guess it is beyond the comprehension of modern audiences.
My time will come!
Btw "my totally original,," poem is a blatant riff on "Howl" by Alan Ginsburg.*
Seek it out you uncultured slobs!
Brm
*and a l'il bit o' " American Pie"
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Posted: |
Jan 4, 2018 - 11:25 PM
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By: |
DOGBELLE
(Member)
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the beard again
time to move on.
into the wind, I travel.
I'm an elder of a man.
the wind sneaks through the full Grey beard.
Does it chill the old etched?
the night has come to gather its full.
I, I, I am strong, I am strong. My mind rages.
into the wind, I walk.
now to the wind I mumble then stumble.
before my eyes I see hope.
a house of God?
the doors will not open.
tap, tap I hear.
tap, tap it's time to move.
a burst of warmth falls on my Grey beard.
in to the wind again?
it's time to move, tap, tap
darkness seems the only thing an elder of man can recall.
into the wind. yes into the wind I must go.
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Epistle to Joan
Do not let rejection
Lead to your dejection
Nothing is more useless
To the average citizen
Than baseless, clueless poetry criticism
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“Your poem is very good and heart-breaking. However, we will not be publishing it because YOUR LANGUAGE CALLS TOO MUCH ATTENTION TO ITSELF.”
That's the sort of thing they always say nowadays about classical era actors. You'll hear, 'Oh, the Richard Burtons and Laurence Oliviers and Brandos are all very great, and hey, I would never try to take anything from them - they've earned it, but they'll never be as good as Spencer Tracy and Robert Duvall, and Dustin Hoffman, because those guys did such great acting without drawing attention to themselves ... ' etc., etc.. You can't see the processes at work, they're so real, etc., etc..
But in fact there are many styles of acting, for different projects etc., and the moronic assumption that naturalistic is all that's worth doing is terribly unimaginative and soul-destroying.
So with poetry. Some is clever wordplay, some reflects great paradoxes, some is meant to say, 'I am poetry', others not. Some is in the kitchen sink, some is halfway to the gods.
So what you have there, is probably some narrow-minded insecure judge, who needs to reassure us all he's modern and progressive, and doesn't know the difference between corny and emotional, sentimentality and passion, and so writes off all formalised beauty.
Welcome to postmodernism. Or to what people misinterpret as postmodernism.
Reassure yourself that the bluffers who talk thus are often people who cannot reach great heights of formal beauty in their own writing, and will pull everyone else down to their level. 'I can't do this thing that you can, so I'll declare it worthless so that you stop doing it and I become the pinnacle.'
Mind you, I haven't seen the poem ....
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I like it, Huey, that you got two different styles of response from el bruco and william - both pertinent. Kind of fitting given the poems have been different too.
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