Post-1950 Poetry

I would like to start off by saying that I am majoring in meteorology. That being said, most of the courses I have taken so far have either been in math or science. I’ve taken one English course but I don’t remember reading any poetry, so obviously I don’t have very much experience with the language of poetry. The thing that I’m really struggling with in this class is reading mostly newer poetry that is post 1950. I do enjoy reading older poetry because to me it sounds like what I think poetry is supposed to sound like. That is, it flows nicely (rhythm), rhymes, and the meaning is easier to understand. Before this class I had never really read any newer poetry. After reading some of it, I really don’t like it. I understand that some of it is really complicated, original, and incorporates a lot of different things from the poetry language, but to me it sounds like the authors are just putting a combination of the most random words they can think of down in a way that doesn’t make any sense and calling it poetry. Maybe after reading a lot more of it I’ll begin to see the originality and find it more interesting and clever, but right now I just don’t get it.

My Favorite By Arthur Rimbaud

After reading Arthur Rimbaud's work, I realized that he's probably my favorite poet that we've read thus far. He seems to be big on lies and personification, which are my two favorites in poems. I love when poets are creative in their own way, and I think when using lies and personification, poets get to be especially unique due to the fact that there probably isn't any other person who would come up with that same lie. My favorite poem by Rimbaud was "Dawn". It instantly reminded me of a fairy tale, and was so happy and merry. I immediately painted a picture in my head of the scene that seemed to be extremely pleasant. The ending kind of stunk for me because it appears that it was all a dream, which was a major let down. Rimbaud make it very clear of what is going on in the poem, which I obviously love. I actually enjoyed reading Rimbaud's work, unlike a lot of other poets because of this. For example, I had trouble making out a picture and understanding Stevens' work, except for "Metaphors of A Magnifico". I really liked this one, although I'm pretty sure we read this one in class before.

Personification, a reflection

I was doing my writing for the assignment of the language of poetry and I decided to go with personification. As I was looking it over, I started to realize something. Let me first start by saying I was never really very into personification, so this kind of delayed idea is to be expected. I feel that personification has started to show that it has some valuable insights when it comes to reading poems, not just a few lines, but the poem as a whole. How it all works together and compliments itself and plays off the different parts. So I guess taking a second look at things doesn't hurt every now and again. I think that I might look into poets that used personification heavily in their works, that might help me get on the right track for my research presentation. A look into how other poets personified similar images, and the language they used to do it will without a doubt help to broaden my horizons I feel.

Help with Lies

Here is one of my poems I really struggled with to incorporate the concept of "lies" into.

Any feedback in regards to lies or making it stronger? It's rather long.

The Garden:

A garden seems like nothing lying alone,

Dry tears, for not asking,

Its greenery sprouts everything on the blue earth,

More than a child would wont for his belly,

He has stumbled into the garden,

Yet he feels restless.

In time the garden will die,

Leaving tender soil to absorb the next pollination,

To grow, to gather, anything it may,

Whatever it wants by the help of a farmer,

For he knows weeding the garden does nothing,

Yet to help himself grow.

Each second he wishes to be in this sanctuary,

Worsening as he waits,

Ignoring this garden is like ignoring himself,

He does not want to wait.

He does not want to sleep.

He does not want to eat.

All he can do is sit on a bench aside,

Waiting for the rain to come while wishing to tend and till,

Weeding seems benevolent,

Without seeds to be laid,

There is nothing to be shared.

The Sun's rotation divides itself waiting to set.

The farmer is no good at gardening

And the garden is no good at growing

But they are both here to try

Neither needs to respond when asked for help,

Both tend to each other,

So that they may then tend to themselves.

Thanks for the help!

Random poetry of a sleepy mind

So I was falling asleep reading a random assignment when I decided to do something productive. I wrote a poem, and kept writing until I wasn't sleepy anymore, which is a good thing otherwise I would have gotten nothing done. Anyway, I asked and have decided to post a poem. Everyone has been talking about spoken poetry and until I read this to my friends I didn't realize that, that is what I wrote. Tell me what you guys think about it, and be honest.

That Good love

I want that love
That good love
I wanna hold his hand
And feel peace when I look in his eyes
I want to be loved
By one
Because I’m loved
By all and none
I’m not going to lie
And say that I’m fine
That my heart doesn’t break every time
I see a couple pass me by
I’m fine with this
Just this --
Peace
Of solitude and empty bliss
Because I miss
That -
Need that good love
That real love
The kind of love
Where
I can hold his hand
And feel it
Be wrapped up in it
That simple love
That child-like love
I want to feel respected
Not rejected
Dejected
And unprotected
I want to feel like
I can look into his eyes
And know the world is mine
Because he would be my world
I want that good love
Where I can sit by him
And not have to
Worry about him
Looking at another chick
I need a man who can
Understand my needs
He doesn’t have to see
As I see
But I want him to hear me
Look at me
And make me smile
Without saying a joke
I want to be loved
And filled
Complete and exhausted
I want that good love
Real love
But even though
Its what I want
I can’t seem to reach it
Find it
Though I have sought it
So I just sit here
Stand
Writing at my desk
Standing in the hallway
Thinking
About real love
That-
Good love-
That I dream about so bad.

Lyrics as Poetry.

Since we got off track in class the other day regarding which musical artist’s lyrics we thought were worthy of the page, I thought I’d share some examples of the (rare) lyricist who seems accomplished enough to qualify for this treatment (from bands I listen to, at least). Firstly, Andrew Bird comes to mind. Here’s a snippet from “Tenuousness”:

Tenuous at best was all he had to say
When pressed about the rest of it, the world that is
From proto-Sanskrit Minoans to Porto-centric Lisboans
Greek Cypriots and harbor sorts who hang around in ports a lot
….
Love of hate acts as an axis
First it wanes and then it waxes
So procreate and pay your taxes

Certainly there’s a love of alliteration and poetic embellishment in these lines. It comes out well in the song, too. For the sake of brevity, I offer only a second lyricist, Tom Waits:

Across the stripes of a full moon's head
Through the bars of a Cuban jail
Bloody fingers on a purple knife
A flamingo drinking from a cocktail glass
I'm on the lawn with somebody else's wife
Come admire the view from up on top of the mast
(From “Jockey Full of Bourbon”)

There is a strong mix of slant, end and non rhyme here, and a strong use of enjambment that lends irony and humor to the work. If I had more space I would include John Darnielle (The Mountain Goats) and Kevin Barnes (of Montreal). What songwriters would you read on the page?

Days of my life

As some may have noticed, I am missing the poetry writing class quite often, now I don't mean to be missing it on purpose, but I just feel like I'm being pushed to the limits of my mental beeing, which I believe we can all relate to. Now as for this project comming up I have decided to go along the lines of a ballad writer, I have not chosen who as of yet, but I feel that and haiku forms of poetry will be best for me. Plus the fact that I like those styles of writing the most didn't hurt in my choices any. :-D If anyone has any ideas as to whom I can write about, please dont be shy, just leave me a comment, I'm always glad to hear from people.

Thoughts on my Muse

As I sit at my desk and try to access my muse or do some sort of creative assignment, I sometimes find it difficult to process my thoughts and put them into coherent statements that flow and click. The majority of the time, I eventually find the words I’m looking for and produce what needs to be done. The problem is I tend to do my most creative and easiest thinking at the most inconvenient times. This has happened often and as I get older, I find it happens more frequently. My best thinking tends to be when I’m in solitary with no technology to distract me such as when I’m driving, which is fine because it helps pass the time but it’s impossible to write these ideas down while driving or they leave my brain before I can stop and write them down. My muse also like to come to me at other inconvenient times such as on the softball bench on my off days or during another class when I’m supposed to be paying attention, but instead my mind wonders into a creative state. The most annoying time my “muse” likes to hit me is right before bed. I’ve heard this common among the human race, but once my mind wonders outside of sleep mode, it takes a while to get back and therefore wrecks havoc on the quantity of sleep I can achieve during the night. I sometimes try to prevent the muse hitting me too hard at night, but I find that to be damaging in the long run. I guess the moral of this blog post is to reflect on my tendencies when writing poetry and remind myself that I cannot force the muse and if I would relax, it would be able to flow much easier.

The Moon Rises

Although "The Moon Rises" is an extremely short poem, it is very unique and interesting. The poem first talks about the moon rising and how paths cannot be entered or as Lorca said, "impenetrable". From this example, I first got a sense of darkness and coldness, which is quite obvious due to the fact theat the sun isn't out shinning. As I read more, the peom really seemed cold and secretive-like. How the sea covers our earth like a blanket and the fruit that people is is cold, green (as opposed to orange), which means that it isnt ripe. I get the feeling that Lorca sees nighttime as the world shutting down alomost, as if nothing can continue and prosper because the sun isn't present. This seems to be a negative reflection on nighttime, which I don't really agree with. On the other hand, Lorca made very concrete staements about nighttime and when the moon rises.

Spoken Word Poetry

I am not a big fan of spoken word poetry, I do find it impressive and moving at times but I also find it very cluttered sometimes and easy to lose track of the story. It seems as if the flaws shine through a bit more and the train of thought is a bit tied up. However, it's not what you do but you do it that matters sometimes. I found this TED talk to be inspiring to see how poetry, and spoken word poetry, can have a change on the world. Below is the link to the talk by Sarah Kay, founder of Project V.O.I.C.E., where she gives a speech about her story and how she ended up where she was and where she is going. While I may not be as big a fan of spoken poetry, I do consider it a form of expression and as poetry is an art form spoken word is a form of poetry.

Return of the Muse

The muse has returned....or at least in theory. I find myself home again and words do not deceive me here. Everything is real and I connect to all that surrounds me, clear. I am not lost, only in my mind and I am at peace, for the time.

I have arrived late in the morning and found no glory as the sun rose.
My eyes were shut. I did not enjoy that different hued horizon,
and I frankly didn't care much for it. I wanted to rest and take care of me; call me selfish, I don't care about that either. I'm exhausted and you know what --- I'm going to sleep.

So when I wake up and am well rested, I found that there is just more to be done, decisions to be made. When will I be done?

--when you're dead!

Damn, well that sucks. Because I am not yet ready for that last ride,
that final journey that he
or she
will take me on.
Afraid to die, nah....afraid in the way I will die...uhhh...yeah!

So I sit in this armchair and divine what I should do.
More is left undone, and I sit procrastinating,
waiting,
waiting....
well this isn't helping.

So now what? I guess I'll write a poem, or finish the one I was writing before I talked on the phone. Woah, there we go making plans I'll never really keep unless I force myself. I will force myself, eventually.In reality I'm just going to sit here chuckling.

The muse has hit me and I have written.....something. my mind wanders and I write it all done. But when will these wild thoughts end. Its all about school and what I plan to do, what I know I won't do. How is this at all interesting? Its not but the point is that I get it out.

Onto paper and into art
nowhere is where I began,
but how did I start?

Muse

Lately, I’ve been using my muse more than ever. Just today I got lost in my thoughts and I sought out to tap into myself, so I began just randomly thinking. It became easier once I actually picked up a pen and began writing. It all sounded like a million conversations on a busy street, but in the end I was able to hear a bird chirping in the midst of it. The amazing thing was that a seed had been planted in this garbage of thoughts and actually began growing before I even knew it existed. The main thing is that I actually benefit a lot from tapping into my muse and it helps me a lot. My creative juices have not flown so smoothly in a very long time its quite refreshing. The process is so easy to do and it doesn't require a great deal of time which is also a plus. I think it helps sort out all your thoughts, so that they are manageable and you are able to decipher which direction you want to go.