Ok, as you can probably tell from the title, this is a cheat. I'm nowhere near done with it, and doing a new poem a week is pretty danged hard. Which is something I used to do. But nowhere near all of them were ready for publication. Neither is this one. Now, I don't like to be sloppy about my posts - that's what the comments section is for - but this has a line in it that I've liked and been trying to tie into a poem for a while now. I like to think it's evocative. Of course, I like to think that
I'm evocative. But this one, as I'm writing it, I'm kind of thinking about two questions:
1) What price freedom?
2) At the point of our freedom, then what?
Anyway, the title-less, very short, very incomplete part I:
Rent in two by reluctant emancipation As American as Ford's Given all we could piece, Nature, we want more.
For we have been in need, of all sons living freed, and prized in sheols we dug too deep. Knowing nothing but the hope it won't be this time; Immersion in mercy bathed in rouge liquid life.
I'm still trying to digest this poem. But I'm having trouble focusing, because Detroit's up 89-63 to the Heat...EIGHTY NINE - SIXTY THREE!!!!!!!!...so um, I'll go put away the nachos and root beer. I sent Steve home. The down with Detroit party is over. I concede.
ReplyDelete(for now)...
For we have been in need,
ReplyDeleteof all sons living freed,
That line is great. I find that your poetry doesn't ever make sense the first time. I have to go back and invest myself, and then, it unfolds very nicely. I guess you're a "real poet" like my friend Gina. A poet for other poets. Not just a gum wrapper with a deep quote.
When I write, I vacillate between the two, but I generally lean towards creating a flowing, flowery readability. The downside is that I'm rarely concise. And when I DO write a poem that's concise, it never looks right to me, and I feel the need to EXPLAIN it to death. I think concise poetry is respectable. I just need to NOT bite mu nails over whether or not people get it.
thanks adam.
ReplyDeletehow come i didn't see your response earlier, chris?
can't even think now. made me upset talking about 'not gonna be here much longer.'
and adam, i guess i'm kind of a minimalist. although every once in a while i listen to manCHILD from Mars Ill and i just feel sick to my stomach. he can write some nice long ones and tell stories in poetic fashion that i just can't imagine. check 'alpha male'.
ReplyDeletealmost makes me want to barf. *nods in revolt's direction*
AAAAAAAAAAAnd, if i may say this, this is one of those poems that the more i look at, the less i like.
ReplyDeletei want all of my poems - well, at least the ones i think are suitable for publication - to have a timelessness to them, a feel of classic. this one, like i said, is weak and underdone. i kept changing it even as i was printing it. in relatively large ways. and although i like some of the lines, the transitions are in desperation mode and this baby needs to breathe some, explore some life.
maybe i'll work on it some tonight.
I hope you didn't think I meant that in a bad way.
ReplyDeleteI find a lot of poetry that simply isn't for casual at-a-glance reading. In fact, even though he's long-winded, manCHILD is a perfect example. Whenever Dust laces a hot track, I can listen to it and kind of get drawn into the rhyme, but in general, Mars ill isn't something I can just throw on and vibe to. But when I siddown and listen good, <---;0) it's all very dextrous stuff.
it's not black-eyed peas crizzap. word.
ReplyDeletei didn't take it neg. i do want to put my best into my poetry, though. it's about the only thing i feel actually gifted in. of course, dangit, i would get the area where i'm least likely to see a red cent from.
this is my philo. the work should draw you in on first listen/read. but it should have so much to offer (whether in terms of verbage, hooks in rhymes and slant-rhymes, breaks in meter, lack of meter, flow, multiple meanings, depth of feeling, humor, pathos, anger, angst, hope, love, peace, unsettleness) that it should be constantly referred back to, like a resovoir.
that's the dream. crap like this last one just ain't gonna cut it.