Bflag's Pleasures of Criticism

[twelveoone]

a) b/s is not a good way to shorten 'before she' because it's confusing
b) it doesn't resemble a poem until a certain point that I mark, then it breaks off again into a strange realm of non-poetry, technical prose, prose
c) if your point of juxtaposition was clinical listing and then emotional revelation, you failed due to lack of detail about why we should care about the uniqueness of the patient as opposed to every other patient with cancer(which was a criticism I leveled at the author of the child abuse poem who never responded) ------ she at one time danced and was a fun girl... really underwhelming
d) you could shorten your listing then have a really stellar personalized ending, or keep length and add in further juxtapositions among the clinical listing revealing more about why we should care about the patient from your POV

adept indexing for x number of lines
she was this and that, giving us a sentimental education about her character, desires
back to indexing for x number of lines
sentiment
index
final sentiment

fin.

variant take
a) b/s (I read as referring to bullshit (poetry is an associative process))
which should change the view on
b) it doesn't resemble a poem until a certain point that I mark, then it breaks off again into a strange realm of non-poetry, technical prose, prose
and then
c) somewhat
i.e. this is all bullshit she went through

 

[twelveoone]

Forming opinions about poems and attempting to think critically is how you will improve as a poet. Criticism best serves the critic as far as I can tell. The reason we analyze other societies and groups of people is so we can reflect our organization against our neighbors and ultimately learn a great deal about ourselves as people. If criticism actually helps the criticized it's just a fringe benefit. Most people will be angry with you if they don't like your opinion about their effort.

Fuck 'em
Suppose we assign an arbitrary number, just so it looks like scientific shit
criticism helps the critic 90%
criticism helps the criticized 10%
(I'm parodying something else here)

but once again, you and I agree
kudos to butters, tod, mag and you
for what it is worth.

 

[bflagsst]

variant take
a) b/s (I read as referring to bullshit (poetry is an associative process))
which should change the view on
b) it doesn't resemble a poem until a certain point that I mark, then it breaks off again into a strange realm of non-poetry, technical prose, prose
and then
c) somewhat
i.e. this is all bullshit she went through

I don't think Trix is interested in changing anything about her poem but some phrasing and trimming some fat. I'm not her editor.

When I say, "xyz lines aren't poetic lines" I really mean it categorically. I once played a game where you're given a set of words and your task is to create logical sentences out of the words. I had a handful of various depressed, mentally ill patients to entertain. The melancholic and hysteric patients played according to the rules and everyone agreed when someone's sentence didn't quite make sense.

Things went smoothly until the man who often refused his psychotropics had his turn. Whereas everyone paused to think about their next creation and re-arrangement, this guy never paused just kept rearranging, wrote a long list of complete nonsense and asked for each to be tallied in his favor.

The other patients immediately said they didn't think most of his sentences were correct, he ranted, postured then challenged them and myself to explain why each one didn't follow grammar rules, cuz they made perfect sense to him and how absurd it was we were telling him these creative sentences didn't follow the rules of English grammar. Anyway, we never played that game again.

 

[twelveoone]

I don't think Trix is interested in changing anything about her poem but some phrasing and trimming some fat. I'm not her editor.

When I say, "xyz lines aren't poetic lines" I really mean it categorically. I once played a game where you're given a set of words and your task is to create logical sentences out of the words. I had a handful of various depressed, mentally ill patients to entertain. The melancholic and hysteric patients played according to the rules and everyone agreed when someone's sentence didn't quite make sense.

Things went smoothly until the man who often refused his psychotropics had his turn. Whereas everyone paused to think about their next creation and re-arrangement, this guy never paused just kept rearranging, wrote a long list of complete nonsense and asked for each to be tallied in his favor.

The other patients immediately said they didn't think most of his sentences were correct, he ranted, postured then challenged them and myself to explain why each one didn't follow grammar rules, cuz they made perfect sense to him and how absurd it was we were telling him these creative sentences didn't follow the rules of English grammar. Anyway, we never played that game again.

poetry is alot like that rd laing

 

[Magnetron]

Thank you for going this in depth magnetron your thoughts are interesting and I know how time consuming this stuff can be.

It can be exhausting.

My approach to understanding a "layered poem" that is not naturaly unfolding for me is little different from my own process of dream interpretation. I treat the poem as a dream I had. I work with the information I am given.

Novels and novels made into movies can be likewise "reverse engineered" to witness a psychological event occuring within the author's mind - the "inspiration". The scope of such creativity often provides numerous symbols interacting with other symbols.

In comparison, a poem offers very few clues about the poet's "inspiration" because of it's limited scope.

In the process of interpretation, I unravel in no particular order how elements of a story interact and form the whole. It goes without saying that more information volunteered makes the task easier.

Witholding or simply not being generous with information leads to misinterpretation or your poem being open to interpretation. And you maybe fine with that, but it can be discouraging to readers ..... especially if you are dropping hints that there is more than meets the eye.

 

[twelveoone]

It can be exhausting.



In the process of interpretation, I unravel in no particular order how elements of a story interact and form the whole. It goes without saying that more information volunteered makes the task easier.

Witholding or simply not being generous with information leads to misinterpretation or your poem being open to interpretation. And you maybe fine with that, but it can be discouraging to readers ..... especially if you are dropping hints that there is more than meets the eye.

If the writer is good, or if the thing is real, they are ordered in sequence.

What is missing or unsaid is also in that order.

There are keys.
Key 1 in foehn's poem is up a few posts.

All poems by the nature of being poems leave the door open to variance of interpretation.

foehn is a good writer, AND this came off as very real.

we've had a discussion about readers before, it's a bell curve, isn't it?

 

[twelveoone]

can you explain a little further? 101? and what's the new way of reading?

Key 2 up further and highly reactive core of things stated three times (mantra)
the elements heading in a lessened direction.
I will PM you further

 

[Tsotha]

Original version:

You and me,
we are like a bonsai tree.
A pretty seed meant for great things
planted in a pot too small.
A young trunk made gnarled by force,
sustained by roots grown too big,
too starved, pushing the envelope,
sustaining thin, atrophied limbs,
cut again and again,
never meant to bear fruit.
An experiment,
perfect in its execution,
perhaps good for exposition.


Edited version:

You and me

We are like a bonsai tree.

A pretty seed meant for great things
planted in a pot too small. Gnarled
by force, fed by roots too starved,
sustaining atrophied limbs, cut again
and again, never meant to bear fruit.

.................An experiment, perfect in its execution,
............................good only for exposition.
---------------------------------------------------------------------

I'm assuming the second is the version posted as final edit. The value in this poem is in its pruning, as 1201 mentioned, since the meaning hasn't changed even a smidge from first to last. I have to admit I glossed over most of the comments, but I did see some criticism of the ideas within the poem.

The author began with a complete poem, which I agree was a finished poem, but only accepted suggestions in phrasing; using 'critics' as thesauri and proof readers to her already entrenched idea of the poem. The author didn't quite engage with criticism of the ideas within her poem.

Hence, the unmoved point of retaining too/too where it makes sense in the first version and reads lackadaisical in the last; the loss of sounds, rhymes, best parts of the original poem:

me/tree/seed/things.........thin/limbs

Why is this important? This poet is good at mixing those partial rhymes with prose-ish lines and stanza, so it's disappointing that the mass ensemble pruned that quality.

A hybrid of the first and last version which retains important elements of poetry from the first:

You and me,
we are like a bonsai tree.

A pretty seed meant for great things,
planted in a pot too small,
a young gnarled trunk, sustained
by force of starved roots grown too big,
feeding thin, atrophied limbs,
pruned again and again
never meant to bear fruit;

an experiment in perfection
good only for exposition.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Now for actual criticism of the poem and not of its author or critics' actions.

Bonsai aren't cut, they're pruned. Cutting isn't shaping an idea. Bearing fruit is problematic, it's fine that bonsai don't bear fruit or that most are derived from non-fruit trees, but many bonsai are meant to flower and are quite beautiful as a vessel for focus, meditation that finally comes to fruition.

The first poem was finished and nice and said what you wanted it to say, it just needed "pushing the envelope" removed, since the idea is already encased in 'a pot too small/roots grown too big'.

So, was there value for anyone during the long group analysis? Did anyone learn anything as poets or people? Maybe, because there was some actual criticism of ideas, but the poem ultimately lay static from its release and just atrophied and withered with all the inputs.

You're a good poet of one poem, poet. Don't think I had ill intent or took on a snide tone in this text box as I researched your poem's public history.

Pretty accurate, I think. I stand by my choice with "cut" instead of "pruned" - there is nothing gentle about the way it is kept from growing.

Thank you for the comment.

 

[Magnetron]

If the writer is good, or if the thing is real, they are ordered in sequence.

What is missing or unsaid is also in that order.

There are keys.
Key 1 in foehn's poem is up a few posts.

All poems by the nature of being poems leave the door open to variance of interpretation.

foehn is a good writer, AND this came off as very real.

we've had a discussion about readers before, it's a bell curve, isn't it?

If foehn had introduced Hanna's invitation to the new friend to come see and used the word collectibles prior to the phrase Hanna loves horses that are not horses, the dimensions of this poem would likely be grasped by most everyone in few reads.

I simply refused to read the poem in any fashion other than non-stop from beginning to end without the distractions of my mind dissecting the now infamous phrase for meaning during an unintended pause in the flow, then using any meaning derived and applying it to future passes as a substitute for the wording that was already there.

I wanted the poem to read as a poem that made sense as is, not altered or rewritten in any way by myself. My initial critique was based on the foehn's writing alone, not any impressions or interpretations derived afterward worked into it.

 

[twelveoone]

I simply refused to read the poem in any fashion other than non-stop from beginning to end

I'm sure most everybody did.

without the distractions of my mind dissecting the now infamous phrase for meaning during an unintended pause in the flow,

this is a structural indication, the structure is simple and stands out, to me almost as if it was red lined. I am merely pointing it out. It is an internal structure, not as obvious as end rhyme which is external.

then using any meaning derived and applying it to future passes as a substitute for the wording that was already there.

I think there are some problems with the wording, also, it was ignored by me,

I wanted the poem to read as a poem that made sense as is, not altered or rewritten in any way by myself. My initial critique was based on the foehn's writing alone, not any impressions or interpretations derived afterward worked into it.

you can not do that, hopefully you can with a set of instructions, but in Literature the reader always rewrites. It is an intersection.

For what it is worth, I would have not have written it that way (it would have been too obvious, and missing what may be called a meta poem). It has evidence of being written under duress (not cold), my guess foehn's use of literary tactics here was primarily unconscious, but they are very simple tactics, encasement, repetition, varying of repetition and intertwining.

The other side is redundancy which can either strengthen or backfire.

We all have things we respond to and things that we can not see, i.e. the word "collectables" - I did not even consider, and probably a bad choice. Perhaps he was looking at them...

 

[todski28]

Which one is it?

Only very little percentage of time should be spent on analyzing poor poems. Even in the case of poems by participants of the board--not more than five-seven percentage. In the case of the authors out there--even less. (Perhaps in the given case one could make an exception, since so much attention got already invested).

I just noticed this senna, sorry for the delayed response, in terms of the question I was more curious about your response than diverging the thread. If you feel it worth your time.

The second comment, you say it isn't productive analyzing poor poems.

To assess what is a poor poem you need a base level of understanding and strong opinion on what is and isn't poetry, I operate without this 'base' so it tends to come down to instincts and connectivity. Can I feel a poem and why. Feel being a strange word because it encompasses an abstract concept that is really only measurable to my own thoughts and reactions.

For all I know every poem I read could be junk, but if there is something in the piece that I connect with,either emotionally or intellectually then for me it wasn't a failure. Sometime it takes a long time to find out the why of it but all in all that tends to be the way I have gone about learning and attempting to develop as a writer.

 

[bflagsst]

Yesterday I thought of a team poetry challenge we had in 2010 so I went and found the challenge and the poems to share. There were some really great stanzas written even with all the restrictions and especially because of the peer criticism that had to have happened to go from person to person and present something fairly cohesive. I can't quite remember who participated but I think it was made up of eight of these people: Charley, EPMD, Butters, UYS, Tess, Champagne?, AnnaSwirls?, Tzara, EroticOrogeny?, BronzeAge. I'm posting it here instead of bumping three threads that were mostly chitchat.

Edit: I believe the third stanzas of the second set poems were italicized in the original, which explains the change in voice. It's really interesting that each team chose different perspectives of their own accord. I would even say that the final poem is better than novelty, quality fucking poem.

Theme: Narcissus and Echo, Death and Afterlife.

Objective: Write two, five stanza poems, where each team member is responsible for a stanza.

In the First Poem the A lines should be perfect or true rhyme(ex Death/Breath, Apple/Chapel, Rhyme/Time) So lines 1 and 4 of each stanza will rhyme, lines 2 and 3 are up to you and your team. This is the Narcissus perspective. Write the poem from the point of view of a man who has lost his wife and doesn't believe in the afterlife.

A
x
x
A

The Second Poem relies on the end rhyme you chose for the first poem, though the rhyme shouldn't be true rhyme, but half/slant/imperfect rhyme(ex Death/Deaf, Apple/People, Rhyme/Sign) This is the Echo perspective. Write the poem from the dead wife's perspective. She's with him, he doesn't know she's there.

x
A/
A/
x


The poems will be judged on how well each team conveys a unified work, the quality of the poems, and on how creative each team gets with the Greek or Ovidian myth.

http://rhymezone.com/ May have both types of rhymes you'll need, if you're the sort of poet who doesn't have a wealth of words stored away.

There are rhymes that are questionable like Apple/Grapple, Ear/Hear, Rhyme/Sign, you could make an argument for perfect or imperfect/improper. I'll let stuff like that slide for either poem. It's more important that you know that if the first and fourth lines of your first poem end with 'Apple/Grapple' the second and third lines of your second poem should be half-rhymes of 'Apple/Grapple'. So if you have 'Steeple' and 'People' as half rhymes of 'Apple/Grapple' you can have true rhyme in the second poem, it's up to you. Just think about the myth.

Good Luck. Any questions, just post them in this thread.

Here are two sets of poems, give an opinion on which set you think is better.

Narcissus:

She shared his dreams year after year,
and loved him, even flaws and warts.
She left his side like wind blown straw,
now life is bleak without her there.

He heard the news without a tear,
and did not rage against a God,
nor neighbors nor a passing dog.
Each was spared the brunt of his fear;

All that's left a memory's spear,
a photograph sorrows emit
seeks each nuance and gaze each time
upon the face he holds so dear.

A flower frozen gaunt with fear
deafened by ego, blind to doom
he thirsts what was, to sate his mood
but only tastes the chasm near.

His consciousness will disappear
as life recedes to silent deeps
He comprehends with frightening speed
it is his face he sees so clear.


Echo:

A ghostly witness consciously
ignoring all his vain hubris
while looking over life’s debris
she longs to feel his touch once more.

Shadowed weavers leave off their loom,
and come to give an answer fair,
"Persuade him, you must show you care,
if you would both find joy again."

She whispers words into his dreams
but still he consciously evades her,
a crying heart now grows weaker
an eponym from far away.

He falls then grasps one final breath
She roars, 'Come love, life, come hither!'
His glance ablaze, her hopes on prayer
'Here', he echoes, his arm outstretched.

And finally it ends in death,
for the man whose soul is blinded,
trusting only hubris of mind,
for the unsought, is never found.

------------------------------------------ Second Set

Narcissus:

I longed for Love, a path to Bliss
And she became my sight, my pride;
I'm lonely now, she is no more
Than a fragrance as I reminisce.

If memory should fail and miss
No glass ball will lift the veils,
Instead I'll stare at my own eyes,
Pretend I'm her so we may kiss.

Some loss turns gain. Some terrors, this:
A purified love's memory
Fogged gracefully with age. But death
That's merely Death forms Hell's abyss.

Daffodil drops—flower phone, hear a hiss
No voice, no word, only waves of woe.
Reflect regret, silent stare, she's not there.
Recollect, bounce back, dismay dismiss.

Pussywillow soft! She left me like this?
My Perfection? A subtle hue gone gray.
Now knocked from center, my orbit sways
Alone, a cross without his criss.


Echo:

As I sought you I seek you still
Between purple petal and waterfall mist.
If wish were will then I am wisp,
Shadow of an echo nearly missed.

You kneel and stare in empty pool.
Eyes blank, no glisten; gaze on glass.
I am here, listen—mind our tryst.
Sense me still, see not only self.

The Dead live perfect recall, dream
Without resentment, unrepressed.
Their love lost history—entranced,
Pristine, long free of mystery.

Your Nemesis refuses me,
So bind your words upon my lips,
Speak that I might speak your wish,
Hear me! find me! Come, let us meet.

I had the choice to stay or leave,
I chose to stay as time permits,
Perchance your ear might pass my lips,
And lift your spirits as you grieve.

 

[twelveoone]

For all I know every poem I read could be junk, but if there is something in the piece that I connect with,either emotionally or intellectually then for me it wasn't a failure. Sometime it takes a long time to find out the why of it but all in all that tends to be the way I have gone about learning and attempting to develop as a writer.

Simple tod, every poem not written by Senna Jawa is junk, with maybe three possible exceptions, perhaps one by Greenmountineer with qualifications, one by Angeline probably with qualifications, and maybe one other but I forget which.
(prove me wrong)

But first we have to qualify "junk" does he mean heroin or genitalia, or possibly another meaning of which I am unaware of.

I shot the junk in my junk to give my spunk the needed funk, wow, cool poem.

In ten years, never seen evidence of anything good here by anyone else but SJ from SJ. Yawn.

 

[twelveoone]

Yesterday I thought of a team poetry challenge we had in 2010 so I went and found the challenge and the poems to share. There were some really great stanzas written even with all the restrictions and especially because of the peer criticism that had to have happened to go from person to person and present something fairly cohesive. I can't quite remember who participated but I think it was made up of eight of these people: Charley, EPMD, Butters, UYS, Tess, Champagne?, AnnaSwirls?, Tzara, EroticOrogeny?, BronzeAge. I'm posting it here instead of bumping three threads that were mostly chitchat.

Edit: I believe the third stanzas of the second set poems were italicized in the original, which explains the change in voice. It's really interesting that each team chose different perspectives of their own accord. I would even say that the final poem is better than novelty, quality fucking poem.

Quote:
Originally Posted by bflagsst View Post
Theme: Narcissus and Echo, Death and Afterlife.

Objective: Write two, five stanza poems, where each team member is responsible for a stanza.

In the First Poem the A lines should be perfect or true rhyme(ex Death/Breath, Apple/Chapel, Rhyme/Time) So lines 1 and 4 of each stanza will rhyme, lines 2 and 3 are up to you and your team. This is the Narcissus perspective. Write the poem from the point of view of a man who has lost his wife and doesn't believe in the afterlife.

A
x
x
A

The Second Poem relies on the end rhyme you chose for the first poem, though the rhyme shouldn't be true rhyme, but half/slant/imperfect rhyme(ex Death/Deaf, Apple/People, Rhyme/Sign) This is the Echo perspective. Write the poem from the dead wife's perspective. She's with him, he doesn't know she's there.

x
A/
A/
x


The poems will be judged on how well each team conveys a unified work, the quality of the poems, and on how creative each team gets with the Greek or Ovidian myth.

http://rhymezone.com/ May have both types of rhymes you'll need, if you're the sort of poet who doesn't have a wealth of words stored away.

There are rhymes that are questionable like Apple/Grapple, Ear/Hear, Rhyme/Sign, you could make an argument for perfect or imperfect/improper. I'll let stuff like that slide for either poem. It's more important that you know that if the first and fourth lines of your first poem end with 'Apple/Grapple' the second and third lines of your second poem should be half-rhymes of 'Apple/Grapple'. So if you have 'Steeple' and 'People' as half rhymes of 'Apple/Grapple' you can have true rhyme in the second poem, it's up to you. Just think about the myth.

Good Luck. Any questions, just post them in this thread.
Quote:
Originally Posted by bflagsst View Post
Here are two sets of poems, give an opinion on which set you think is better.

Narcissus:

She shared his dreams year after year,
and loved him, even flaws and warts.
She left his side like wind blown straw,
now life is bleak without her there.

He heard the news without a tear,
and did not rage against a God,
nor neighbors nor a passing dog.
Each was spared the brunt of his fear;

All that's left a memory's spear,
a photograph sorrows emit
seeks each nuance and gaze each time
upon the face he holds so dear.

A flower frozen gaunt with fear
deafened by ego, blind to doom
he thirsts what was, to sate his mood
but only tastes the chasm near.

His consciousness will disappear
as life recedes to silent deeps
He comprehends with frightening speed
it is his face he sees so clear.


Echo:

A ghostly witness consciously
ignoring all his vain hubris
while looking over life’s debris
she longs to feel his touch once more.

Shadowed weavers leave off their loom,
and come to give an answer fair,
"Persuade him, you must show you care,
if you would both find joy again."

She whispers words into his dreams
but still he consciously evades her,
a crying heart now grows weaker
an eponym from far away.

He falls then grasps one final breath
She roars, 'Come love, life, come hither!'
His glance ablaze, her hopes on prayer
'Here', he echoes, his arm outstretched.

And finally it ends in death,
for the man whose soul is blinded,
trusting only hubris of mind,
for the unsought, is never found.

------------------------------------------ Second Set

Narcissus:

I longed for Love, a path to Bliss
And she became my sight, my pride;
I'm lonely now, she is no more
Than a fragrance as I reminisce.

If memory should fail and miss
No glass ball will lift the veils,
Instead I'll stare at my own eyes,
Pretend I'm her so we may kiss.

Some loss turns gain. Some terrors, this:
A purified love's memory
Fogged gracefully with age. But death
That's merely Death forms Hell's abyss.

Daffodil drops—flower phone, hear a hiss
No voice, no word, only waves of woe.
Reflect regret, silent stare, she's not there.
Recollect, bounce back, dismay dismiss.

Pussywillow soft! She left me like this?
My Perfection? A subtle hue gone gray.
Now knocked from center, my orbit sways
Alone, a cross without his criss.


Echo:

As I sought you I seek you still
Between purple petal and waterfall mist.
If wish were will then I am wisp,
Shadow of an echo nearly missed.

You kneel and stare in empty pool.
Eyes blank, no glisten; gaze on glass.
I am here, listen—mind our tryst.
Sense me still, see not only self.

The Dead live perfect recall, dream
Without resentment, unrepressed.
Their love lost history—entranced,
Pristine, long free of mystery.

Your Nemesis refuses me,
So bind your words upon my lips,
Speak that I might speak your wish,
Hear me! find me! Come, let us meet.

I had the choice to stay or leave,
I chose to stay as time permits,
Perchance your ear might pass my lips,
And lift your spirits as you grieve.


rebumped bflagsst, and I'll shut up, your thread. I'm done.

 

[Magnetron]

you can not do that, hopefully you can with a set of instructions, but in Literature the reader always rewrites. It is an intersection.

Given that I didn't fill in any blanks, ended up with very few impressions and was not able to form any interpretations after numerous linear passes, I can in good conscience say there was little if any intersection.

The strongest impression I received was a nebulous thing persisting through time in response to the thundering of the horses outlasting the whinnies.

That was about it.

 

[bflagsst]

Given that I didn't fill in any blanks, ended up with very few impressions and was not able to form any interpretations after numerous linear passes, I can in good conscience say there was little if any intersection.

The strongest impression I received was a nebulous thing persisting through time in response to the thundering of the horses outlasting the whinnies.

That was about it.

The poem can be read fairly straightforward. "We all love something" <--- and 'I' the narrator am going to clue you into this inexplicable thing that surpasses the word(s) "horse/hanna".

Hanna loving horses that aren't horses doesn't seem to refer to the collectibles, since you wouldn't give smart, inquisitive character to a collectible. It seems to be the author winking at his audience, "This isn't really a poem about horses."

The magic word, meaning the word that is more than the description given and can be replaced with another idea. And at a certain point as reader I can't help but swap in and out the idea of the narrator in Hanna's shoes as the one who loves something unabashedly.

"the new friend." likely means successive new friends who enter and then leave Hanna's realm(sure, it's one of the more awkward moments of the poem.) He refers to the past and future in two different sections to make it pretty clear that there are things that change but not all things change.

"Ah" itself is even memorable. The day to day passes, that other thing goes on forever.

What he means by "form" is still really interesting to me. It becomes an outlier on close inspection where it feels natural when read at a distance. That nebulous thing is always present in good poems. Poetry is often attempting to more accurately express something about the human experience that is common, yet doesn't have a satisfactory explanation or a good enough name. I love my daughter and I love a good boxing match...

And the three lines of horse yucca, palmetto imagery might only serve as a pause or meditation during the horse mantra. It can't be stated enough how natural he's using the same words over and over, it's a really rare thing in poetry and is the reason why I lead off with, "Foehn is doing something new here that is special in poetry." whether it's a true statement or not, who knows.

 

[bflagsst]

One of my top-five favorite poems and I have no fucking clue what a gimlet is, or what he means with the gimlet/collar-bone/hare imagery. Just pass over it and feel like, yeah I know what he's talking about, he's a badass.


WOULD I could cast a sail on the water
Where many a king has gone
And many a king’s daughter,
And alight at the comely trees and the lawn,
The playing upon pipes and the dancing, 5
And learn that the best thing is
To change my loves while dancing
And pay but a kiss for a kiss.

I would find by the edge of that water
The collar-bone of a hare 10
Worn thin by the lapping of water,
And pierce it through with a gimlet and stare
At the old bitter world where they marry in churches,
And laugh over the untroubled water
At all who marry in churches, 15
Through the white thin bone of a hare.

 

[Senna Jawa]

[...] I was more curious about your response than diverging the thread. If you feel it worth your time.

I looked at a couple of foehn's poems. He is good. His poem mentioned in this thread was perhaps his lowest point. Thank you, todski, for your kindness.

Best regards,

 

[twelveoone]

I looked at a couple of foehn's poems. He is good. His poem mentioned in this thread was perhaps his lowest point. Thank you, todski, for your kindness.

Best regards,

hmm, Senna and bflagsst in direct opposition - just an observation. Doesn't surprise me.
However bflagsst explains, Jawa makes a value judgement of what was that word again...oh never mind. Don't you have two other threads to attend to?

 

[twelveoone]

"Foehn is doing something new here that is special in poetry." whether it's a true statement or not, who knows.

Yeh, who knows?
ps sorry about that, but I don't think he answered tod's question, a history of that.

 

[bogusagain]

Why does poetry that always get good criticism (not just here), is almost always constructed in language (that sounds, if not actually is) archiac and obscure?

And...

Could this be the reason why there are more poetry practitioners than readers?

 

[Senna Jawa]

Why does poetry that always get good criticism (not just here), is almost always constructed in language (that sounds, if not actually is) archiac and obscure?

Because _almost always_ should be spelled _hardly ever.

 

[bflagsst]

Why does poetry that always get good criticism (not just here), is almost always constructed in language (that sounds, if not actually is) archiac and obscure?

And...

Could this be the reason why there are more poetry practitioners than readers?

Are you including foehns poem? Senna probably doesnt like it because even a child can catch a glimpse behind the curtain. It's an everyman's poem in the truest sense, which includes kids and critics who only take poetry seriously.

Why do physics papers sound obscure to non-physicists?

 

[todski28]

http://www.literotica.com/p/sign-language-1

any thoughts on this would be appreciated

 

[twelveoone]

Why does poetry that always get good criticism (not just here), is almost always constructed in language (that sounds, if not actually is) archiac and obscure?

And...

Could this be the reason why there are more poetry practitioners than readers?

overreliance on defective operating systems across the board*
and to answer bflag
Dick Feynman
*your O-rings froze and cracked