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aristotimos is studying poetry at WWU, and wrote an interesting essay this evening titled The Secret Art of Interpreting a Poem Correctly. It's worth checking out, and got me thinking about my relationship (or lack thereof) with poetry.
When I was in 7th grade, I tried to write some poetry. It rhymed. It conveyed deep thoughts. It was even... poetic!
But though I tried to write it, the truth was, I was doing it for the acclaim it was getting me (or not getting me) from teachers/family members/peers. I wasn't attempting to write it for the sake of the experience. And when I didn't get the acclaim, I stopped writing it. Because writing it wasn't a satisfying experience.
I've also never developed a taste for reading most poetry. I don't have the patience for it. I find it difficult enough at times to relate to other people's emotions on an interpersonal level. Trying to wade through purposely obfuscated language in order to "feel" something makes me feel like my time is being wasted. Just TELL me what it is you're trying to convey already! Sheesh!
Usually I don't feel much of anything when I read poetry, unless you count frustration, or boredom. My eyes glaze over. My analytical mind keeps going, "Where's the meat?" Sometimes, titles, footnotes and annotations to poems are more informative than the poem itself.
I guess it's why I prefer prose. It's the way I'm wired. I prefer words that convey information over words that convey emotion.
There is, however, one kind of poetry that I do adore, and write often: Haiku.
Because, for me, writing haiku isn't about emotion. Haiku is about precision, and technique. How skillfully can you shrink an idea, an image, an experience into as few words as possible, and still be clear? Clarity of word choice is the key. Poetic language is to be avoided. Get your message across, quickly, and calmly. It suits my minimalist tastes.
I usually write traditional 5-7-5 syllable haiku. In fact, there's a whole slew of them on my LJ User Profile, dating back several years. I add a new one, reflecting current events in my life, from time to time.
Here's my latest:
For me, haiku is the perfect poetry. It's perfect for short attention spans. Here's the words, here's the information, maybe even an emotional charge attached to it, BAM! All done.
I can focus longer on words than just a microsecond, even read whole books -- but only if the writer is not making me work for it. Most poetry makes me work, for very little payoff. This, more than anything else, explains my lack of interest in most poetry.
=========
*OK, I admit it, that's not the ONLY reason I broke up with him... but it is central to the whole reason why I got tired of sleeping with him - poor hygiene, lack of overall cleanliness, and a constant case of crabs drove me up the wall. And I got fed up with cleaning up his candy bar wrappers after him.
aristotimos is studying poetry at WWU, and wrote an interesting essay this evening titled The Secret Art of Interpreting a Poem Correctly. It's worth checking out, and got me thinking about my relationship (or lack thereof) with poetry.When I was in 7th grade, I tried to write some poetry. It rhymed. It conveyed deep thoughts. It was even... poetic!
But though I tried to write it, the truth was, I was doing it for the acclaim it was getting me (or not getting me) from teachers/family members/peers. I wasn't attempting to write it for the sake of the experience. And when I didn't get the acclaim, I stopped writing it. Because writing it wasn't a satisfying experience.
I've also never developed a taste for reading most poetry. I don't have the patience for it. I find it difficult enough at times to relate to other people's emotions on an interpersonal level. Trying to wade through purposely obfuscated language in order to "feel" something makes me feel like my time is being wasted. Just TELL me what it is you're trying to convey already! Sheesh!
Usually I don't feel much of anything when I read poetry, unless you count frustration, or boredom. My eyes glaze over. My analytical mind keeps going, "Where's the meat?" Sometimes, titles, footnotes and annotations to poems are more informative than the poem itself.
I guess it's why I prefer prose. It's the way I'm wired. I prefer words that convey information over words that convey emotion.
There is, however, one kind of poetry that I do adore, and write often: Haiku.
Because, for me, writing haiku isn't about emotion. Haiku is about precision, and technique. How skillfully can you shrink an idea, an image, an experience into as few words as possible, and still be clear? Clarity of word choice is the key. Poetic language is to be avoided. Get your message across, quickly, and calmly. It suits my minimalist tastes.
I usually write traditional 5-7-5 syllable haiku. In fact, there's a whole slew of them on my LJ User Profile, dating back several years. I add a new one, reflecting current events in my life, from time to time.
Here's my latest:
I broke up with himYes, there is a wry humour to it. It's not devoid of emotion. But the emotion is short, punchy, and secondary to the relevant information: This is what I did, and here's why.*
when I grew tired of buying
so much lice shampoo.
For me, haiku is the perfect poetry. It's perfect for short attention spans. Here's the words, here's the information, maybe even an emotional charge attached to it, BAM! All done.
I can focus longer on words than just a microsecond, even read whole books -- but only if the writer is not making me work for it. Most poetry makes me work, for very little payoff. This, more than anything else, explains my lack of interest in most poetry.
=========
*OK, I admit it, that's not the ONLY reason I broke up with him... but it is central to the whole reason why I got tired of sleeping with him - poor hygiene, lack of overall cleanliness, and a constant case of crabs drove me up the wall. And I got fed up with cleaning up his candy bar wrappers after him.
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From:
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i LOVE haikus for the exact same reason.
you can, with a bit of skill, get a bit of humor, a touch of beauty, a glimmer of what lies in your heart, but just enough and only with just the right words.
ps. that may not be the only reason you broke up with him, but it is a good thing to factor in.
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Let's just say that it was the last staw.
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The trick is to pick them out from the froofy stuff.
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Google cache until the site comes back.
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re: A Dragon Birthday Poem (written for my 17th)
Wow, that goes waaaaay back. When did you first know you were a dragon?
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I'm in no position to make judgement whether or not there is indeed a divine or magic objectively "out there," skeptic that I am, but it is clear that the experience was real to you. And what's striking to me is that your experience on Jan. 22, 1994 is so similar to others who have had encounters with the divine before. Saul on the road to Damascus immediately comes to mind. So does Gautama under the tree. Experiences like yours are often are the founding sparks of philosophies and religions.
People also experience things like guardian angels, or ghosts of dead relatives protecting them in dark times.
Which suggests to me, either there *is* something divine, or there is something in the human mind that is able to have these experiences. It seems a fundamental part of the human experience, either way.
I don't pretend to know which, only that it is... and that it matters.
Sure, I could think of a thousand alternate fantasy and sci-fi explanations. Maybe, like Neil Gaiman postulates in American Gods, the act of worshipping a deity calls that deity into existence -- that your praying to Thideras actually called Thideras into existence. Maybe the being that (knowingly) smiled and said everything was going to be ok was something else, but answered to Thideras because that's how you saw him. Maybe it was something else looking out for you. Maybe it was you speaking back through time in order to get your through a breakdown. Maybe it was your ancestors taking on that identity, the continuum of life force that runs through time, of which you are a part of. Who knows?
I discount three explanations out of hand: that you were having a schizophrenic or disassociative personality experience (mostly because it happened only once), that you are intentionally lying (I don't think you are, though I wonder about Saul sometimes), or that you are being self-deceptive, trying to fit your experience into a framework that you undersood (possible, but not really relevant).
Whatever the objective truth is, the meaning the experience of encountering Thideras and the philosophy of draconity brings to your life, and how it shapes the way you conduct your day to day activities, those are what strikes me as most important.
Thanks for sharing your beliefs with me.
-Hagrid
P.S. -- Does the name "Ylsator" mean anthing to you?
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I really like this one! Wry and sad always work well together.
---------------------------
Here are some I came up with tonight. I'm addicted and once started, find it difficult to stop:
I was stunned tonight
By a new spring in my step
After so much pain
Tomorrow... testing
"Cognitive" testing, no less
Will my step still "spring?"
I don't eat too much
But still my fleshy expanse
Embraces the world
I could keep going
By writing these things all night
But my flesh wants food
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17. White-Rock Shallows by Wang Wei
White-Rock Shallows open and clear,
green reeds past prime for harvest:
families come down east and west,
rinse thin silk, radiant in moonlight.
You might Google Billy Collins and Ted Kooser. They are both down to earth, tuned into what is going on around them and sometimes even funny.
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I do have a special fondness for Ronald Johnson, not just because he founded my motorcycle club, but because he writes wildly explicit poems about fucking all night long in an orchard and watching the sun come up (http://that-dang-otter.livejournal.com/145535.html) which Berkeley intellectuals spend lots of time dissecting but probably never "get". Poetry is more fun when it speaks to you directly, while bypassing the unenlightened. ;-)
I was horrified to discover that I'm moving to a town whose name is "haiku" spelled backwards.