Thursday, March 27, 2008
Why there's no one true form of poetry (and why there shouldn't be)
Posted by Robert

Stumbled upon "Japanese Poetry Persists in Korea, Despite Disapproval," by Choe Sang-Hun from The New York Times, and found myself going back over that dangerous territory of what the purpose of poetry might be, could be and should be.

In this case, the poetic forms used by Korean poets can actually cause public shame and disapproval. Imagine getting dissed at a writers conference because you write triolets or kyrielles--not because they're bad poems, but because they're poetic forms with French origins. Such actions take poetry out of the realm of "just words" and makes it a very human activity.

Poetry is always important, but it reaches a new level when poets feel they have to hide their tanka and haiku out of fear and/or shame.

So read the article and think about it; talk about it with your friends; and keep it in mind throughout National Poetry Month (April here in the States).

 


Commentary | Poetic Forms | Poetry News | Poets
3/27/2008 3:40:59 PM (Eastern Daylight Time, UTC-04:00)  #  Comments [6] 
3/31/2008 8:17:53 AM (Eastern Daylight Time, UTC-04:00)
Actually, I can imagine being outcast for writing french forms--remember freedom fries?
3/31/2008 8:44:58 AM (Eastern Daylight Time, UTC-04:00)
You know, I started thinking about Freedom Fries after typing this up. Sheesh!
4/1/2008 5:17:52 PM (Eastern Daylight Time, UTC-04:00)
A crazy quilt I hope to make
With pieces from the past
I pick them up each one by one
Beginning at the last
Remembering I feel each piece
Its texture and its depth
The colors speak out vibrantly
They echo in my breast
The pain I feel remembering
The grief and sadness bleed
For each piece has its own account
Remaining in the stead
Each part has a larger breadth
If all the story told
But all I have are memories
Of peace lived in the cold
For peaces always are short lived
Interrupted by the strife
We all impose on global scenes
Within our short lived life
Now I pick them up a piece
And place them in my heart
Built I try a living peace
I try to do my part
The quilt I make a token of
The pieces now unfurled
A world at peace; a world at large
Peace blanket for the world
4/1/2008 6:48:00 PM (Eastern Daylight Time, UTC-04:00)
April 1st

The first rays of sunlight startle the impulse
To live free of the tribe
To be part of oneself not one of the family

When could there be a better time to break free
The air is so soft
The buds about to break forth and
all around lie new beginnings

Look at these hands
They are mine and these limbs
Belong to me
I have never been before this moment

Nothing owns me
I am one with the universe
I am part of the future
I am complete
4/2/2008 2:18:10 AM (Eastern Daylight Time, UTC-04:00)
Devastation

You were my heart, my breath
and then you died.
I wanted to die too,
to be with you.
But I didn’t.
I went on. Life went on,
Still, I knew I would never
forget my greatest loss.
Today, I triumphed.
So eager to share it with you,
I drove as fast as I could,
down the street toward your house.
And then, I remembered.
In that one despairing moment,
I felt anguish even greater than losing you.
It was the moment I first realized
I had allowed myself to forget my greatest loss.
That moment was the greatest sorrow
I have ever known.

4/2/2008 8:20:56 PM (Eastern Daylight Time, UTC-04:00)
2)
Jordan (the dog)

I sniff pee, so what’s wrong with that?
I sniff it, and then I pee on top of it.
Makes sense to me.
I know what you don’t know:
That Molly was here.
Maybe she’ll be back and she’ll
Know that I said hello.

anne

Name
E-mail
Home page

Comment (HTML not allowed)  

Enter the code shown (prevents robots):