OT: What happened to poetry?

cowtime · Post by **cowtime** » Mon Oct 14, 2002 9:02 pm

OK, I've read through all this and I must say that I too love poetry and now submit one of my favorite examples of lofty verse-
(If you're old enough to remember these you'll "get it".
The Old Backhouse

When memory keeps me company
and moves to smiles or tears,
A weather-beaten object looms
through the mist of years.
Behind the house and barn it stood,
a hundred yards or more,
And hurrying feet a path had made,
straight to its swinging door.

It's architecture was a form
of simple classic art,
But in the tragedy of life
it played a leading part.
And oft the passing traveler
drove slow, and heaved a sigh,
To see the modest hired girl
slip out with glances shy.

We had our posey garden
that the women loved so well,
I loved it,too, but better still
I loved the stronger smell
That filled the evening breezes
so full of homely cheer,
And told the night-o'er taken tramp
that human life was near.

On lazy August afternoons,
it made a little bower,
Delightful, where my grandsire sat
and whiled away an hour.
For there the morning-glory
it's very eaves entwined,
And berry bushes reddened
in the steaming soil behind.

All day fat spiders spun their webs
to catch the buzzing flies
That flitted to and from the house,
where Ma was baking pies.
And once a swarm of hornets bold,
had built a palace there,
And stung my unsuspecting aunt-
I must not tell you where.

Then Father took a flaming pole-
that was a happy day-
He nearly burned the building up,
but the hornets left to stay.
When summer blooms began to fade
and winter to carouse
We banked the little building with
a heap of hemlock boughs.

But when the crust was on the snow
and the sullen skies were gray,
In sooth the building was no place
where one would wish to stay.
We did our duties promptly,
there one purpose swayed the mind;
We tarried not, nor lingered long
on what we left behind.

The torture of that icy seat
would make a Spartan sob,
For needs must scrape the goose flesh
with a lacerating cob,
That from a frost-encrusted nail,
was suspended by a string-
My Father was a frugal man
and wasted not a thing.

When grandpa had to "go out back"
and make his morning call,
We'd bundle up the dear old man
with a muffler and a shawl,
I knew the hole on which he sat-
'twas padded all around,
And once I dared to sit there-
'twas all too wide I found.

My loins were all too little,
and I jackknifed there to stay,
They had to come and cut me out,
or I'd have passed away.
Then Father said ambition
was a thing that boys should shun,
And I must use the children's hole,
'till childhood days were done.

And still I marvel at the craft
that cut those holes so true.
The baby hole, and the slender hole
that fitted Sister Sue.
That dear old country landmark;
I've tramped around a bit,
And in the lap of luxury
my lot has been to sit,

But ere I die I'll eat the fruit
of trees I've robbed of yore,
Then seek the shanty where my name
is carved upon the door.
I ween the old familiar smell
will sooth my jaded soul,
I'm now a man but none the less,
I'll try the children's hole.

- James Whitcomb Riley

scottielvr · Post by **scottielvr** » Mon Oct 14, 2002 11:16 pm

On 2002-10-14 22:41, TelegramSam wrote:
WOWEE I HAVE 500 POSTS NOW!
does that make me a loser?

Well, no; it makes you a *lamer.*

{working to build own total with inconspicuous use of fluff)

_________________
The man that hath no music in himself,
Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons....The motions of his spirit are dull as night.... Let no such man be trusted.
The Merchant of Venice

[ This Message was edited by: scottielvr on 2002-10-15 01:17 ]

Dewhistle · Post by **Dewhistle** » Mon Oct 14, 2002 11:59 pm

Yet another closet poet steps forward. Poetry remains and grows. I consider Eric Idle a poet, for example. A rather naughty poet, but what a way with words! I have always preferred rhythmic meter and clever rhyme in a poem. That said, nothing galls me more than muffed meter and forced rhyme. And the poems written these days do seem to have that tendency. I have melded my poetry with my cynicism, I am afraid... it happened in a Writing Poetry class in college. A ridiculous concept, having rules for poetry writing. Some of those I learned were: no cliches, no adjectives, no need to rhyme, and if you rhyme, do not use incorrect language to get that rhyme (even if it's an early form of the language, after all, we don't talk that way now). I do hate it when people rearrange their natural sounding sentence to get a rhyme... the Supremes' songs are full of mistakes like that and it drives me nuts. But another musical group that has some sharp poetry is Rush. Very intelligent lyrics, it's a pleasure to sing along with them in the car.

My favorite poet is an old one, like most folks. And he had something to say about the changes going on around him.

William Wordsworth - The world is too much with us
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon,
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers,
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. —Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.

and I, new poet, have a less lyrical and more cynical voice, though I try for lyrical when I can work it...

Reflections Upon Her Senior AP English Teacher (as the poet's 30th b-day fast approaches)

I thank you.

I thank you for setting me upon the right path.

I thank you for the good grades I got because of you.

I thank you for inspiring my muse...

You great cow.

If you had not loved so much Piet "Wallpaper" Mondrian,
Pablo "Two Butts" Picasso,
Charlotte "Heathcliff!" Bronte...

Think of the time I should have wasted studying them.

If you had not been so determined for your
Advanced Placement Course to look good

How could I ever have made straight A's with the effort I put in?

If you had not taken a dislike to me the moment I entered high school
(Impressionable kid that I was, sheltered and inexperienced)
I might have thought you were as wonderful as you thought you were.

Might have seen you as a non-conformist, which drew me
Might have deemed you capable of original thought, which inspired me
Might have been fooled into thinking you were the future me,

Which sickens me.

That was written from the heart. If you all knew her the way that I knew her, you wouldn't be so sweet.

edited for fun
_________________
"But business is business and business must grow
Regardless of crummies in tummies, you know."

[ This Message was edited by: Dewhistle on 2002-10-15 02:01 ]

jim stone · Post by **jim stone** » Tue Oct 15, 2002 12:17 am

No one, not even the rain,
has such small hands.

e.e. cummings

Dewhistle · Post by **Dewhistle** » Tue Oct 15, 2002 12:59 am

THAT's who wrote that! Thank you! I've been tossing that one around for awhile...

Does anyone know anything about a poem called "You, Darkness" or something that starts that way?

Walden · Post by **Walden** » Tue Oct 15, 2002 1:08 am

My mother used to read me poetry when I was a child:

I'm hiding, I'm hiding and no one knows where,
For all they can see are my toes and my hair.

And in the spirit of the direction this conversation has turned, I'd like to quote Milton:

Well mightst thou scorn thy Readers to allure
With tinkling Rhime, of thy own sense secure;
While the Town-Bayes writes all the while and spells,
And like a Pack-horse tires without his Bells:
Their Fancies like our Bushy-points appear,
The Poets tag them, we for fashion wear.
I too transported by the Mode offend,
And while I meant to Praise thee must Commend.
Thy Verse created like thy Theme sublime,
In Number, Weight, and Measure, needs not Rhime.

energy · Post by **energy** » Tue Oct 15, 2002 1:09 am

On 2002-10-14 22:38, Chuck_Clark wrote:

They're still fine words, perhaps even inspirational if that's your take on the matter. Yet - and I ask this not to be difficult but in an honest effort to know - do they continue to constitute a poem? If not, why not, for all I added was a single comma and a single colon, and all I took away was a few carriage returns. I submit that the exact form I used above could appear in a sermon or eulogy with no one claiming it to be poetry.

Well, let me first say that this is an interesting conversation and I wish I'd been around from the start of it, but I've hardly been logging in the past few days.

Now I'll give my thoughts on what Chuck says above. I'm no poet, but it seems to me that by removing the puncuation, you have made a major change to the poem; the puncuation and the use of line breaks is an important tool that has a great deal of effect on the way the words sound. If you remove them, the poem won't come across in the way meant by the author. I'm not saying this very well...but perhaps you get my gist? To try to say it more succinctly: The original line breaks and punctuation of the poem is are intrinsic parts of the poem that cannot be removed with distirting what the poet intended to say. They are essential; as much a part of the poem as the words themselves. Seems so to me, but I dunno...like I said, I'm no poet.

And then my opinion on the original "What happened to poetry?" question.

Well, personally I think the cause of the devaluing of the arts is the almost complete undermining of truth in our culture. Without truth, nothing is true(obviously) and therefore nothing has meaning. Therefore, the arts no longer have meaning. Anything that is written, or painted, or whatever is really only a bunch of gibberish that we want to percieve meaning in. So therefore, the arts are meaningless wastes of time. Please note, I'm not saying that this is the truth(!) and that I endorse this viewpoint, but that many are of this worldview.

Now, since there's no meaning or truth in life, we have no responsibilities to anyone; therefore we just do whatever is easiest(read: watch TV in a passive manner). To try to achive greater levels of expressiveness, beauty(there is no such thing from this viewpoint) and creativity is useless and a waste of time, because(I'm think I'm starting to sound like a broken record) those things don't really exist. Once again, please note that I am not trying to propogate this worldview, but am simply saying that I believe that the idea of truthlessness(is that true?) is the downfall of the arts.

_________________
True Believer
Nate

[ This Message was edited by: energy on 2002-10-15 03:15 ]

[ This Message was edited by: energy on 2002-10-17 01:49 ]

energy · Post by **energy** » Tue Oct 15, 2002 1:21 am

double post

[ This Message was edited by: energy on 2002-10-17 01:53 ]

Mack.Hoover · Post by **Mack.Hoover** » Tue Oct 15, 2002 9:24 am

James Whitcomb Riley
And I have a common "cherished" memory!
How this relates to whistles? Whistling was a reflex of the first contact with a frosty seat.

COME AND GET IT
My mother used to call and call;
You could hear her for a mile.
Sometimes for supper, but mostly for my crimes.
"I'd'a been here sooner, but...
I didn't hear you call the first four times."

Michael Sullivan · Post by **Michael Sullivan** » Tue Oct 15, 2002 9:31 am

I was thinking of posting my own little theory but energy beat me to it. I think that's exactly right: no truth, no mind, no will, no art. No poetry.

Wombat · Post by **Wombat** » Tue Oct 15, 2002 10:37 am

On 2002-10-15 11:31, Michael Sullivan wrote:
I was thinking of posting my own little theory but energy beat me to it. I think that's exactly right: no truth, no mind, no will, no art. No poetry.

I'm not sure, but this complaint looks very much like the one I made a couple of days ago about the influence of cardboard-cutout postmodernism on the humanities. I'd prefer to put the point in terms of a disrespect for tradition and a contempt for discipline. I don't, of course, reject the idea that traditions must evolve to renew themselves nor the idea that new disciplines can and do emerge which provide creative possibilities every bit as rich as older disciplines. But if this isn't what you mean by truth, I'm a bit unsure what you do mean. Are contemporary artists and poets lying?

LeeMarsh · Post by **LeeMarsh** » Tue Oct 15, 2002 11:24 am

I too wish, I'd been in on this discussion earlier. I want to add a little from what I've seen of late.

Most of my poets are trying to touch the heart of a matter, either ideoligical, emotional, political, social. They then try to put those things succinctly into words that touch the heart of others. They may use spacing, rhyme, meter, punctuation, alliteration, similie, metafor, or any number of techniques. But the purpose is to express a vision, that in some way or shape touches the inner man, his feelings, his asperations, his ideals, his dreams, his fears.

Poetry is not instructions on how to put the your kids bicycle together on christmas eve. Poetry, is the laugh we have when someone tells us of the frustration, anticipation, and joy of the act, condensed in a few words and lines.

Poetry read more than once, adds meaning with each reading, even if the meaning is a simple chuckle.

Poetry is very much alive and well. Its just that we don't see it as much. 19th century poets, wrote poetry books, because it was the only way to get their word out, and possibly make a living of it. Now much of the same talent goes elsewere, especially lyrics. Why make hundreds on a poem, when one can make thousands on a lyric? And look at what happened to lyrics, I see it in my 60's forward.

"Hello, darkness my old friend ... Listen to the sounds of silence".
"How many road must a man walk down, before you call him a man ... the answer is blowing in the wind."
"Blossom send some sunshine down my way lately I've been lonsome"
Tiger, Tiger burning bright ...

"Where have all the ..." poets " gone, long time passing?", maybe they started writing lyrics for rock bands, and folk bands, and blue grass bands, blues bands, and Irish bands, and punk bands, and rap bands. Records, tapes, CD, and the like have given the poet an outlet that puts his word and message to music. Music that varies so widely, that any form, from the Wreck of the Edmond Fitzgerald to Knights in White Satin to the Gangster's Paradise, poetry has fueled popular music genres for more than half a century. If it rhymes and has meter, some one will put a tune to it. Maybe thats why 'poetry' books have so little rhyme and rythm because, other wise they'd be song books.

There is still a lot of raw art in the word of modern poets. If you aren't seeing the poetry, then maybe you are missing some of the heart of what is going on around you, perhaps there are struggles you've become numb to. I don't agree with much that I find in punk rock, but the hard poetry of anger, betrayal, disillusionment, and dis-order is fluent in its underground publications.

I don't know who the Ferlingettis, Cohens, and Dylans of the 90's and new millienium will be. This is partly because when my life was searching for meaning Lawrence, Leonard, Bob, and others were there for me. Their vision cleared the way for the little peace I have come to find in each day.

Many poets are born of adversity, if you go to places of adversity, listen and I think you'll find them. Listen for the voice of Northern Ireland, Chile, Bosnia, South-East Asia. Or simply spend a little time in the urban wastes of your own country. Poets are there, publishing on walls of subway stations, bomb pocked apartment walls, on simple monuments for the fallen, the shelters, the refugee camps. When much needs said and few words can be found, the poet is there. The poet's work may not need to be the next best seller, it's alive in the times and places that needs the poet.

In my view, poetry is alive, in our prosperous society, in our songs, our jingles, our sound bytes. It is also in the shadows of daily life here and elsewhere, poets words flow from the heart of those trying to make a sort of sense to this world.

With all that said, the tune may connects when the poet fails, the tune still needs nurturing so ...

Enjoy Your Music, Lee Marsh 

[ This Message was edited by: LeeMarsh on 2002-10-15 13:52 ]

serpent · Post by **serpent** » Tue Oct 15, 2002 11:50 am

On 2002-10-13 12:58, Anna Martinez wrote:
Poetry mutated, look at RAP!

Rap:
(short bass run, any music)
Ah caint sing
(ka-sweeka-sweeka-sweeka)
Ain' got no talent
(short bass run, any music)
Ah kin talk in time to th' musik
An' say dirty words
Yo.

(C) 2002 by Bill Whedon
All rights reserved

CopKillerKiller

You rappin' on th' cops
Ya wanna kill 'em if yuh kan
Blamin' all you troubles
On th' dude you call "tha man"

Responsibility is somethin
You don' wanna hack
Wanna hang out with you homies
Sell a little kid some crack

You smokin' crack an' shootin' up
An' sharin needles too
You spreadin AIDS aroun'
Dat whut you home-boy do

You betta watch you back son
'Cause we right there on you tail
Gonna grab you sorry rapper ass
An' lock you up in jail

(C) 2002 by Bill Whedon
All rights reserved

susnfx · Post by **susnfx** » Tue Oct 15, 2002 12:09 pm

I have a great book of the history of English poetry with verses from as early as the 1500s (maybe even earlier). Every time I get angry about the vulgarity in our culture today, I think of the lines in one of the olde, olde poems that read,
"The deer starteth,
the buck farteth..."
Crap, even then....
Nevertheless, I am appalled at the dumbing down of America (other countries I wouldn't know about) especially in our language. Every time I pass a billboard or see a tv commercial with printed words that say "Your welcome to join us" or some such thing, I cringe. Having worked for an advertising agency years ago I know how many people had to see and approve that billboard before it was actually put up: the copywriter, the artist, the proofer, the printer...all of whom missed the error. AAGGGHHHH! And we expect people with this type of education/learning to write and/or appreciate poetry? Right.
Susan
(Very interesting thread)

mamakash · Post by **mamakash** » Tue Oct 15, 2002 1:20 pm

I wouldn't despare the loss of poetry(or classical music, for example) if there were true artistic expression(or attempts at expression) in the modern medias. But how often can we go to a movie, or hear a piece of music, and say "That was the best thing I have ever seen" or "that is the most creative thing I have ever heard"? More publishers, more music producers, more channels, more studios . . . and very few people are willing to take a risk or challenge the public's perseption. A movie's success is usually based on it's *first* week in the theaters. And usually the movie that takes home the prize is the loudest, biggest, and most expensive to produce. Sitting in Jurassic Park two was the most painful experience I have yet to have. I had to block my ears with my fingers because of the noise level!
I came out of it with nothing learned and the memory of a lot of special effects that didn't really interest me.

Nothing to watch on TV anymore, I end up flipping through stations and landing on "The Batchlor", transfixed by the ungodly horror of it. It's like watching a train wreck. I'm not sure it people choose to watch it or are like me and simply keep watching because it is the most perverted thing on TV.

We cut back the cable(because the price went up). The only thing I miss is South Park, other than that I never really enjoyed the other stations.

You have to dig a little deeper to find the good stuff in media. It's out there, even if it's not prime time or top fourty.

My mother and I endulge in Jane Austin films and many of the A and E series. And speaking of Jane Austin, that was the time when everyone in the middle class read books and poetry, danced, and partook in some form of art.
Times have changed.