Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts

Sunday, May 06, 2007

POETRY IS, AS . . .

I’m sort of a trained poet.

In 1967 (or so) my teacher, Dan Langton, who always took an anti-heroic attitude about the poetry profession, used to say that he was a poet because, when he graduated from college, he realized it was the only thing he knew how to do.

There’s not much of a career path for poets, at least in the USA.

Dan’s pitch was:


“How much does it take to sustain life these days? Twenty-five dollars a week?” [This was forty years ago.]

“So how many poets in the world make $25/week in royalties for their poetry?

“Zero.”

Working poets require “real” jobs or independent means.

The standard career path is to get an advanced degree, kiss the proper asses to get published in sufficiently stuffy poetry magazines, win some awards, then get a university teaching position. That’s a “successful” poet.

A failed poet was someone who followed this same path but wound up with a high school teaching position.

Then why train poets?

Two reasons:

1) Poetry creation is a major part of some occupations; and

2) Poetizing skills enrich the language and make life more fun.

One of my favorite definitions of “poetry” is “utterances repeated verbatim for pleasure.”

One of the most satisfying events in my life is when someone quotes me. Even better is when I can’t remember having said it, and it sounds really good. Like, did I say that? Good for me!

I woke up smiling this morning thinking about a cheer I created one afternoon years ago. I sat for a few innings with some fans of a softball team I didn’t like very much and they didn’t much like me.

Rolo, a Castro District fashion empire, was kind of snooty, tending toward A-gay. They did, however, have a couple of players that were way cute.


Poor Rolo was getting beaten and they were hanging there heads. They needed some perking.

Their beautiful uniforms (the team was more about fashion than athletics) were white with purple trim, so I made up this cheer:

Purple, purple, white white white,
Rolo, Rolo, fight fight fight!
So simple! I shared it with four or five folks near me, and after just one sotovoce rehearsal, we yelled it clean, first time through.

I can’t remember if Rolo’s play perked, but their ears pricked.

Poetry is an essential ingredient of stand-up comedy, advertising, and speechwriting. Also title and headline writing. I guess we should include song lyrics and rap.

Dan Langton used to say that, if you include song lyrics and advertising jingles, the average American knows thousands of lines of poetry by heart.

This is a utilitarian view. Some poets pursue purely personal goals, such as, “To be lucid at the moment of ecstasy.”

I say, “Where’s the beef?”

Yesterday with my old friend Paul, when I expressed pessimism about the future of the human race and the decline of my own culture, he quoted one of my familiar lines: “I’m glad I’m old and I’m going to die soon.”

Great!


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Wednesday, February 07, 2007

RAIN TODAY

Katie Melua - I Think It's Going to Rain Today, Randy Newman


If it weren’t for sadness, we’d miss out on the sweetest music.

Writing students are cautioned to take care regarding “pathetic fallacy.”

Ascribing human feelings to non-animal entities (angry sky), is dangerous because it gets the hierarchy wrong.

The pathetic fallacy puts humans above the rest, so human emotions flow down to the inanimate world. The actual flow is in the opposite direction. We are imbued with attributes of the inanimate world, not vice versa.

This truth is addressed in our still-being-compiled Catechism of Minerality. I could give you a citation, but I have no staff today.

Our local mini-drought is ending. A much predicted storm is even now licking the coast. Pud and his crack crew have already departed for their secret meadow, where they plan to dance naked and read Theodore Roethke.

This is Roethke’s most famous poem. Mr Roethke did a lot of naked dancing out of doors. (I would deem this a “really good poem.”)


The Waking

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.


Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.

Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me, so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.
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Sunday, February 04, 2007

A MAGIC LANTERN

Eliot’s the Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock is about a guy wondering if maybe he should have made a pass at a particular girl when he had the chance.



What if he had made the pass and she had replied, “That is not what I meant at all.” Eliot tries to measure if it would have been worth it anyway.




An emotional spike in the poem comes when the speaker grows frustrated and says:

It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while…


That was in 1919. These days we actually have magic lanterns that actually can throw the nerves in patterns on a (computer) screen.




Whether this technology can answer Prufrock’s question is still kind of doubtful.


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