I readily admit to having lousy taste in music. Wretched. I like banal pop, lousy country, and just-plain-bad musical theater. But that lack of taste is not generalized to one genre: poetry.
I have excellent taste in poetry. You can tell this immediately because I'll tell you that Shakespeare was a hack with no talent. See. Only someone with excellent taste would be so bold. You are forced to accept every word I say now.
My sister gave me my first book of poems. The love affair was intense. Lately, however, I have realized that few people share my amazing understanding of this art form. So, permit me to educate you. You would be wise to listen to someone with such excellent taste.*
Player Piano
My stick fingers click with a snicker
And, chuckling, they knuckle the keys;
Light footed, my steel feelers flicker
And pluck from these keys melodies.
My paper can caper; abandon
Is broadcast by dint of my din,
And no man or band has a hand in
The tones I turn on from within.
At times I'm a jumble of rumbles,
At others I'm light like the moon,
But never my numb plunker fumbles,
Misstrums me, or tries a new tune. -John Updike-
This is a poem that uses sound to portray its subject. Beautiful, isn't it?! If you read it aloud, you can almost hear the player piano. Here are some further examples by an unknown poet. You should praise it. Because I have excellent taste and say that you should. That's what makes being a critic so fun. People say what you tell them to say.
Driving Home Through The Rain
ping, ping, swish - sprightly
splats, treble on misty bass -
windshield sonata
Untitled
under a bitter sky
in the wildest rain
you reached for me
said you needed me
always
and I sheltered you in love
yet
I wonder
what will become of me
when a prettier umbrella comes along
Another form of poetry involves a description of an intangible - like emotion, music, or time. The following examples are from TS Eliot. You may have heard of him. If not, feel ashamed. Take a minute and really feel it. Then read some TS Eliot so that you never have to admit not knowing who he is to a person of such excellent taste as I.
Be remembered; involved with past and future.
Only through time, time is conquered. – TS Eliot
Words move, music moves
Only in time; but that which is only living
Can only die. Words, after speech, reach
Into the silence. Only by the form, the pattern,
Can words or music reach
The stillness, as a Chinese jar still
Moves perpetually in its stillness. –TS Eliot
That unknown poet above wrote something of similar feeling. Read it now. And praise. Because by now you know the drill. (Are you not impressed by my excellent taste?)
there are no songs for this
no comfort to curl around my ears
and into my blood
no harmonies, no music
to soften this chill
to warm this empty space
this silence
no rhythm to move me
drive me out of this suspension
this waiting
there are no words
to fill my wide and tiny loneliness
I have found
no words
no songs
Please proceed to essay on this topic. Make certain to praise 1) TS Eliot, 2) the unknown poet, and 3) the brilliant critic with excellent taste. (Note: The words 'excellent taste' really should show up no fewer than 1 time per paragraph for full credit.) I feel so much better about myself now that I've educated you all.
In close, Shakespeare is a hack with no real talent. You want talent? Read John Donne. Burn that other crap.
*Please note: Entry in jest. Or is it? Well, those with excellent taste will know.
12 comments:
Ach! More conundrums. Conundrae? Oy.
Presented in impeccable, excellent taste of course.
Right. Somewhat lacking in the Essay department but my only purpose is to acknowledge the noteworthy critical excellent taste. Ergo sub-essay.
Essay? No, no, I think it would be wise if I didn't. My fingers would fall off...
I really hope you weren't being sarcastic, because I think these poems are great. TS Elliot, really like him. So, yeah, excellent taste.
The first poem made me laugh.
For RaJ - and A-. Excellent attempt, but missed the crucial words in one paragraph.
For Katie - they are excellent poems. I'm just no critic :) Good attempt at an essay. You get a B.
A B! Yay! Erm, and... also. Whoa! Green!
i didn't think anyone liked shakespeare. is he even famous? that's crap...
Unknown?!? No way! I had a book that had ALL of these poems in it. I know them so well because I have used each and every one of those poems, at least once, as pickup lines while in college.
I forget the author's name, but I remember recently hearing some rumor about them getting caught up in some sort of new-aged Hitler Youth program. I was as surprised as anyone to hear that. I hope it's not true.
So few comments? I fear for the future of art in this world....
Ok, I'll comment.
The poems were beautiful. The critic is vastly intelligent, although I don't think that Shakespeare was a hack.
I have a thing for poems with messages. So as part of my essay, let me present to you If, by Rudyard Kipling:
If
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master,
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!
Dun just did to get chicks. you couldn't post e.e.'s rpophessagr
Ooh, I love that grasshopper poem.
Oops, sorry, meant to be commenting on Glo's taste, not her commenters'. Right. Excellent taste, Glo, and excellent poems by that "anonymous" (yeah, right) writer. I particularly like the "prettier umbrella" image.
PS - For a great example of poetry that uses sound to its fullest effect, see a little known effort by Tolkien here.
shameless plugging for a little-visited blog - you may check out my "secondary", much-neglected, blog - poeticthings.blogspot.com, and you may then compliment my exquisite taste in poetry and my enormous talent in writing it. (Hint: go to the early parts of the archives, when I actually managed to post good stuff. The recent stuff is less worth reading. I keep meaning to write something worthwhile, and it keeps not happening.)
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