Poetics and Poetry Discussion

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  • Adam M. Snow (5/16/2014 4:25:00 PM) Post reply | Read 3 replies

    Come again, You little Nature's Kin
    Written by Adam M. Snow

    Sinful and violet beneath the trees,
    roses blooming upon the Spring.
    They know the truth that lies the bees,
    oh little ones who buzz and sing.
    Why are you gone?Why are you gone?
    Your buzzing decrease upon my lawn.

    Are you fleeing, leaving my garden?
    Upon my roses still sweet nectar,
    for you to take if I must pardon
    the intrusion little collector.
    Come again, come again
    - you little Nature's kin

    Take upon you my sweet nectar,
    there are many and there are many.
    Take all you want, little collector,
    there are many beyond plenty.
    Take all you want little bee, little bee
    - to your hive upon my tree.

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  • Jefferson Carter (5/16/2014 3:01:00 PM) Post reply

    Lowell's " Life Studies" is a great book, a real revolutionary shift in emphasis and style. " Lord Weary" is well-written but reactionary and " The Dolphin" is wildly uneven. " Studies" will stand as Lowell's great work despite your penchant for museum-like odors. Dense?That's something like the word I wanted when describing your poems' diction, well, not dense so much as clotted and ungainly.

  • Bull Hawking (5/16/2014 12:00:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    Posted as a reply:

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    • Bull Hawking (5/16/2014 12:56:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

      For a Lamb I saw on the slant hill a putrid lamb, Propped with daisies. The sleep looked deep, The face nudged in the green pillow But the guts were out for crows to eat. Where's the lamb?w ... more

  • Jefferson Carter (5/15/2014 11:30:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    Lamont, did you check out my interview on youtube? You might find it intriguing and, perhaps, informative. At least, you'll have a better sense of the person you've been arguing with for 10 years! Google youtube, then search Jefferson Carter poet.

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    • Lamont Palmer (5/16/2014 8:10:00 PM) Post reply

      Enjoyed it JC. While your poems sound just as prosey when you 'recite' them, I think liked them more, hearing them outloud. That clip sort of reminds me of C-Span's 'BookTV' when author's read snippet ... more

  • ..... Dog God 8hate (5/15/2014 8:44:00 PM) Post reply | Read 6 replies



    New York's finest:
    this constitutional down
    Broadway ...
    principal road
    in standard, but ...
    in my time (quick-time)
    SO slow! It's FAST! ! !

    It's something:
    Forbidden -
    pigeons gulping
    mainstream " disgorge?"

    Hidden from coolies
    that feed
    with fingers -
    bowls of soup
    without the scoop:
    the die-it of
    baneful assumption

    to clean cuisine, culinary
    criterion for they
    scrupulous ...

    the restaurant's
    outside to inside,
    wallet n' keys relinquished,
    leaving unwieldy house (for good!)
    purge at/out the door,
    merge with the meal ...



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    • Alexander Rizzo (5/16/2014 1:20:00 PM) Post reply

      never thought i'd agree with the mischief makers here, but they're right. much of the poem is nonsense. nothing personal of course

    • Frank Ovid (5/15/2014 9:07:00 PM) Post reply

      Friggin' genius. You're pretty brave putting this out there with D*ckhead hanging around, but I can see why. Ya got confidence in your stuff, and it shows. The poem is kind of angry, which is unusual ... more

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  • Dan Reynolds (5/15/2014 3:36:00 PM) Post reply

    I think the continuance of ignoring may be preferential to the continuance of foremic flatulence...?
    Please refrain from posting poems for supposed-derision, without the author's consent.
    You have my consent to post any of mine.
    Feel free to promote my massive ego and/or rip me a new arsehole for being shyte.

  • Jefferson Carter (5/15/2014 12:33:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    Lamont, I too like Lowell's poetry. yes, he and Creeley are very different, one going for plain diction and expressive line breaks to create his effects, the other employing " fancy" diction, bold figures of speech, and deliberate form (couplets, at least in his poem you posted) :

    " ...swan-white
    power launches keep breasting the sulphurous wave"


    " The elect...come here bright as dimes..."


    " ..some range of delectable mountains,
    distant hills powdered blue as a girl’s eyelid."

    The more I think about our preferences, the more I'm convinced we differ only in our appreciation for florid diction; we both value form that enhances expressiveness and
    figures of speech that really do kick poetic ass. When I criticize your poems, it's usually what I see as clotted, graceless diction and malformed figures of speech. BUT I
    do understand what you're aiming for.

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    • Lamont Palmer (5/15/2014 8:04:00 PM) Post reply

      Aiming for, and achieving in most cases, I might add. At least in the eyes of some. And thats all we can ask for as poets. Yes, that is the foundation of our stylistic disagreements; no different ... more

  • Dan Reynolds (5/14/2014 5:50:00 PM) Post reply

    To be honest, now, I'm almost past caring
    but I won't give up.....

  • James Timothy Jarrett (5/14/2014 7:49:00 AM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

    This dying

    I saw her again, there at the hospital
    Her hair had begun to silver in early autumn
    She was no longer the child
    That I had tried to protect, but a grown woman
    She was now a matriarch
    And she had developed steel in her soul
    The years of neglect had been a fire
    That forged her an inner strength
    Burned the Iron until it became hardened
    Even better than it would have been
    We talked in the hushed waiting room
    All echoes of happiness muffled by the sadness
    That clung to the walls like padding
    We walked the sterile halls
    Scrubbed clean of tears and smiled sad smiles at each other
    It was her first death as the matriarch
    And she was in charge of this thing, this dying
    She was the one who had the strength
    To keep everyone else together
    Keep them functioning, even if robotic
    They did whatever task she gave them
    Feeling as if they had accomplished something
    And forgetting for a moment
    I was proud when I saw her, even through the sadness
    Although it was no work of mine
    I felt that I had let her down
    As I couldn't protect her from the unspeakable things
    That visited her daily and worse, nightly
    She had been so young and vulnerable, but no more
    She was strong and stable,
    The rock that the rest of the family could anchor to
    As they were buffeted in a hopeless ocean
    Yes, she was now the matriarch and she was in charge of this thing,
    This dying

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    • Jefferson Carter (5/15/2014 6:31:00 PM) Post reply

      Jamesbo, there are some nice lines here and some interesting " feelings, " but a lot of dead wood, words that simply explain without generating music or interest: " Even better than it ... more

    • Peter Stavropoulos (5/14/2014 5:58:00 PM) Post reply

      Powerful poem, James. The line " I felt I had let her down" particularly resonated with me. Peter.

  • Lamont Palmer (5/14/2014 12:44:00 AM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

    Its nice to be talked about even when I'm not around, despite the comments being stupid and baseless. But its PH, so its to be expected. Thought I'd post a poem by a poet who is the antithesis of Creeley, in my opinion. Two Roberts, yes, but so different. -LP

    July in Washington

    By Robert Lowell 1917–1977 Robert Lowell

    The stiff spokes of this wheel?
    touch the sore spots of the earth.??

    On the Potomac, swan-white?
    power launches keep breasting the sulphurous wave.??

    Otters slide and dive and slick back their hair, ?
    raccoons clean their meat in the creek.??

    On the circles, green statues ride like South American?
    liberators above the breeding vegetation—??

    prongs and spearheads of some equatorial?
    backland that will inherit the globe.??

    The elect, the elected... they come here bright as dimes, ?
    and die dishevelled and soft.??

    We cannot name their names, or number their dates—?
    circle on circle, like rings on a tree—??

    but we wish the river had another shore, ?
    some further range of delectable mountains, ??

    distant hills powdered blue as a girl’s eyelid.?
    It seems the least little shove would land us there, ??

    that only the slightest repugnance of our bodies?
    we no longer control could drag us back.

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    • Lamont Palmer (5/14/2014 12:48:00 AM) Post reply

      Ignore the weird question marks, don't know why they appeared. -LP

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