I tackle poetry -- and get slammed
SLIGHTLY OFF THE MARK
My fiancée is taking a poetry class this year, so I, being a writer, decided to take a crack at writing poetry myself.
Why didn’t someone stop me?
Thank
goodness I’m better at prose. Thank goodness Emily is better at poetry,
or she’d be scoring a big fat goose egg, which rhymes with … I don’t
know, something.
My
understanding has always been that poetry is writing that’s short and
structured and rhymes, while prose just rambles on, the way I do.
However, it turns out that poetry doesn’t always rhyme, and some poems
have gone on to book lengths. There are, in fact, many dozens of types
of poetry, from Haiku to Jintishi. I thought Jintishi was a condition
related to too much drinking, but no.
I
myself have written several: There’s my Summer Sonnet, which managed to
rhyme “sunblock” with “wet sock” (you have to read the whole thing, it
makes sense in context). That was the first part of a trilogy that ended
with “Winter Depression Elegy”. Then there’s my most famous work of
all, “Ode to Odious Odors”, a salute to sweat.
It
was only after I realized poems didn’t have to rhyme that I completed
my ultimate work: “Rhymes With Orange”. I expected to replace Arthur F.
Mapes as Indiana’s poet laureate, but got into trouble when my
application poem rhymed “laureate” with “lariat”. As I hadn’t bothered
with something that actually made logical sense, my choice left the
Indiana Arts Commission hanging.
By
the way, the current Indiana State Poet Laureate is Imma Eaton Krapf; I
used Mapes’ name because he lived here in Noble County. By the end of
this century Noble County will be known as a writer’s paradise, home of
Mapes, Stratton-Porter, Hunter, and Emily Stroud. (Don’t worry Emily; it’s
not necessarily in that order).
As
part of striving toward famous authorhood (You’ve heard of Authorhood;
he stole books from the rich and gave them to the poor), and in an
attempt to be a well-rounded writer, I thought I’d take another stab at
writing poetry, despite the begging and pleading of both colleagues and
fans.
As
it happens, I’ve been discussing with writer friends the issue of which
is better: e-books or good old fashioned paper books. Poetry should
deal with the challenges of life, right? Well, you’re not going to see
me at a poetry slam, screaming about drug abuse while sipping five
dollar coffee, but I know the sick feeling of pulling a paperback out of
the bathtub water. So here, from a writer’s standpoint, is my salute to
modern technology:
I thought that I would never see
a book that didn’t kill a tree.With pages scented paper sweet;
Appetizing termite meat.
No foliage falls for greater cause
then giving pleasure when we pause
to take it easy, and get lost
in stories great, at discount cost.
is good enough excuse to climb
into a room, all air conditioned,
assuming readership position.
to put aside a day, all set
to ignore the crappy cold and snow
for Kipling, King, or maybe Poe.
But oh, the times will change, they say,
if you’ve the means with which to pay,
and wonders come, by hook or crook
electronically – such as e-book.
What a great way to read a story!
Romance, Sci-fi, or something gory.
The e-book holds a million tomes
that otherwise you’d leave at home.
Much less space used! The paper saved!
No more do printing presses slave
to murder trees and spray out ink:
To get a book, just hit a link
On a little screen, electronic
that can bring your reading tonic
and sooth the soul that needs that book
on Kindle, iPad, or the Nook.
It’s so much better, wouldn’t you say?
Your whole library’s there, all day.
No bending covers – doing that
would break an e-reader’s back.
No new book smell. No bookmark need.
No buying something new to read
from that little bookstore down the block;
they’re out of business. Closed and locked.
No comfort in those overflowing
shelves of print, the joy of knowing
no death of any circuitry
nor slowly dying battery
will keep you from enjoying it
in dull lines, or a bathroom visit.
E-books? They’ll come along, apace.
As new things will, they’ll have their place.
If people read, no matter how
it makes this planet great, somehow.
But print will stay, for fools like me,
who know it’s worth replanting trees.
"Later it might be a book, but right now it's the bathroom." |
Admittedly poetry is beyond me.
ReplyDeleteMe too! Writing this was like doing minor surgery on myself.
Delete"place.
ReplyDelete"
"If people read, no matter how
it makes this planet great, somehow." I love that. Poetry is about perception. You nailed it.
Thanks! Give me a year and I may come up with another good one.
DeleteI think Ogden Nash would give this a big thumbs up; not entirely sure about Kilmer though.
ReplyDeleteI think I saw Kilmer's ghost staring at me last night from, ironically, a tree.
DeleteYou're a natural. Loved it.
ReplyDeleteThanks! But I don't know if I'd call myself a natural; I have to work pretty hard at it.
Delete