Read my poetry. Tell me how it makes you feel. If you think it’s bloody nonsense, say so.
Well, i read this at least 6 times. I..um…don’t get it, but then, maybe that’s the point? Seems to be disconnected images or thoughts or maybe it’s me not seeing it?
I don’t always write stuff that makes sense. Sometimes I would rather write something that makes an impression. In the case of this poem, you could look at it as expressing ‘the truth of the moment’, rather the way an e e cummings poem does, or you can look at it like little grenades of memory triggered by an experience right now, or you can look at it as a collection of disconnected images. All that, and probably more, is valid.
It’s good to know you persevered through six readings. Thank you.
Ya, I found myself trying to get deep into what you were trying to say by experiencing your memory grenades. Cool. I get it now.
Voice, mood, atmospherics, emotional depth, and the odd and beautiful pairings of Anglo-Saxon words, old words like Seamus Heaney would use, not an overly Latinate vocabulary (circumstance being an exception), that’s why I read you, not for the logic of it.
I’ll bank ‘the odd and beautiful pairings of Anglo-Saxon words’. Thank you.
i’m convinced that some poetry is only understand by a few people. Or isn’t that what most people say about poetry? I guess i’m like most people in that way then. Nonsense is not a word I would use to describe this poem. But riveting is.
I know nothing about poetry, Steve. I follow an Irish poet’s blog who writes stuff in jingly lines with a rhyme at each end, and they make sense, sort of. He calls his material “the kind of poetry people like to read”. How would I know? I’m not most people, I’m only me. I’m glad you drop in here.
I’m surprised to hear you say that Marie. I think you know plenty about poetry or maybe it’s the case of the more you know the more you realize how much you don’t know?
Kinda like Socrates on his deathbed.
ha – i like how you give him personality… first day of fall… brutal in a way
He certainly has something, whether personality or not. I recall digging in a garden while he hopped round my feet…
It’s no “The Tay Bridge Disaster” that’s for sure
Indeed not, nevertheless I have words
To write about bloody-throated birds,
And many another thing that I would say,
Which I write down for you, without dismay!
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