- Profession :
- industrial design
- Education :
- Pratt Institute Industrial design
2/6/2015 9:18:00 AM
Latest 5 Poems of Jan Sand
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(6/21/2013 8:03:00 PM)
There is no doubt that poetry is a medium for feeling but if it were that simple the stuff you would see on the inside of the door on a public booth in a men's or women's public lavatory would qualify as poetry. Not to say that some of that stuff is not poetry but the bulk of it is simple emotion without skill. Good poetry requires skill with language, with the various tools of poetry, with deep understanding of people, history, current understanding of the many aspects of the world. We all have lacks in these huge areas but we do the best we can. Even with all these considerations, many experienced poets fail. There is a special magic in choosing the right word, the right metaphor, the right way of assembling all these various skills to get a poem that surprises even the author. I do not say this to discourage anybody, merely point out something worthwhile is not necessarily easy. But, occasionally, surprisingly, it is.
(6/13/2013 9:55:00 AM)
Have you ever seen a lady with fried chicken in her hair?
Or slept with thirty seagulls in very deep despair?
Have you witnessed glowing sunsets while hanging by your teeth
From a thirty meter tree with hungry roaches underneath?
Have you thrilled to singing waffles doused in motor oil
While demented chimpanzees wrapped your feet in metal foil?
Have you soared above the Andes supported by umbrellas
Lifted to the zenith by four thousand farting fellahs?
Or wandered on the shores
Of the far away Azores
While your ears were gently trembled
By the most persistent snores
Of a somnolent tarantula
In stylish striped plus fours?
If so, there is little I can add to your life.
You had better leave me now and go back to your wife.
(6/12/2013 10:51:00 PM)
There is no doubt poetry is of words, their sounds, their meanings, the feelings they evoke, and the memories they drag from all other possibilities, and they can be marshaled into special lines, decorated with rhymes and metaphors, alliteration to call back and forth amongst their companions like songs arising from marching troops.but once assembled into whatever form they may assume, regular or ragged, if they do not live like Frankenstein's monster out of some mysterious electricity of the universe, they are merely words and nothing more, and certainly not poetry.