on poetry
Here is a poem of mine entitled: Of Women and Water. I've avoided posting it for a while simply because I don't trust myself to poetry anymore. In my current poetry-writing I'm akin to that proverbial girl who doesn't know who she is any longer by virtue of serial co-dependent relationships.
I used to love sonnets. Almost only sonnets. And Shakespeare the best. Though John Donne exceeded perhaps even Shakespeare in my estimation. Meter and rhyme and structural order were the only acceptable forms in my opinion. You should have seen the grief I gave my poetry writing workshop in college! I could not stand free-form, stream-of-consciousness poetry. It seemed lazy and rebellious to me. Especially all the
weird
----------------------------[ ]
s p a c ing and
goofy! misplaced...//...punctuation (?).
But one day I discovered T.S. Eliot and Seamus Heaney. Then Wendell Berry and Robert Frost. Eliot in particular convinced me that a more free-form poetry could be extremely well-thought-out, complex, and beautiful. So I loosened up, got with the times, and began trying my hand at some different forms. In particular I wanted to follow Eliot's lead and, while leaving a type of rhythmic meter and occasional rhyme, force imagery to do the intellectual work-load for the poem. This poem of mine is probably a result of my experimentation during this phase.
I suppose my reticence to share my own poetry is due to the fact that I'm not nearly convinced enough of my style as a worthy or legitimate one. I feel unsure of myself, like a newborn deer attempting its first stand. And though experiment is fun and there are supposedly no "rules" in poetry, I know that I used to have a lot more fun writing poetry when I knew the rules of the adopted form. Then you could abide in or break form with ease, aware of the intended effect. The challenge was to fit your vision into a microscopic little verbal world. What fun! And, man, I used to write poetry all the time. I don't write poetry any more. Too unsure? Too busy with life? Probably some of both. At any rate, I'm sharing this for what it's worth. And hoping that one day, as I continue to experiment with many adopted styles and forms, I might find my own peculiar, natural voice. Then maybe I would enjoy writing poetry enough to do more of it again...I know it would make my wife happy to receive a verse or two once in a while!
I used to love sonnets. Almost only sonnets. And Shakespeare the best. Though John Donne exceeded perhaps even Shakespeare in my estimation. Meter and rhyme and structural order were the only acceptable forms in my opinion. You should have seen the grief I gave my poetry writing workshop in college! I could not stand free-form, stream-of-consciousness poetry. It seemed lazy and rebellious to me. Especially all the
weird
----------------------------[ ]
s p a c ing and
goofy! misplaced...//...punctuation (?).
But one day I discovered T.S. Eliot and Seamus Heaney. Then Wendell Berry and Robert Frost. Eliot in particular convinced me that a more free-form poetry could be extremely well-thought-out, complex, and beautiful. So I loosened up, got with the times, and began trying my hand at some different forms. In particular I wanted to follow Eliot's lead and, while leaving a type of rhythmic meter and occasional rhyme, force imagery to do the intellectual work-load for the poem. This poem of mine is probably a result of my experimentation during this phase.
I suppose my reticence to share my own poetry is due to the fact that I'm not nearly convinced enough of my style as a worthy or legitimate one. I feel unsure of myself, like a newborn deer attempting its first stand. And though experiment is fun and there are supposedly no "rules" in poetry, I know that I used to have a lot more fun writing poetry when I knew the rules of the adopted form. Then you could abide in or break form with ease, aware of the intended effect. The challenge was to fit your vision into a microscopic little verbal world. What fun! And, man, I used to write poetry all the time. I don't write poetry any more. Too unsure? Too busy with life? Probably some of both. At any rate, I'm sharing this for what it's worth. And hoping that one day, as I continue to experiment with many adopted styles and forms, I might find my own peculiar, natural voice. Then maybe I would enjoy writing poetry enough to do more of it again...I know it would make my wife happy to receive a verse or two once in a while!
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