Modern American Poetry

[Countess]

Inspiration comes in spurts. This is still a work-in-progress (I'm revising it).


Background: Those of you who know me know I worship at the feet of Shakespeare, Byron, Marlowe, Cooleridge, Wilde :nod: - and I HATE everything "Modern American" :mad: with a rare exception or two (Plath and Elliot - but they were smart and moved to England).

So, in response to being force-fed this crap b/c they're going to probably test me on it I'm writing a poem where I can exorcise my hatred and IT MAKES ME HAPPY, okay?

MODERN AMERICAN POETRY

Naked Poetasters
Streaming verse of “ideas”
Couched in pop politics and religion
Of the current age.

The preeminent aristocrats
Pontificate supreme fiction philosophy
Their withered straws of novelty
- Wilted and impotent -
Lying on the butcher’s reading table.

But what about the stark imagist?
Dressed in clown clothes and a pot hat
Ringing UPC labels through
The commercial product mood.

“A Red Wheelbarrow, one White Horse
And Trees in the Garden.
That will be two Pulitzer Prizes
And acknowledgement from Harvard,
Please.”

A costly Wasteland you say ? Indeed.
But we do take credit, check or money
order made out to our finest institutions.

Oh, I see.
Your poetry’'s simple and plain you say?
A droll realist like E Hemingway?

Don’t worry, that’s perfectly okay
A phony friendship or two will do,
With Gertrude Stein or Mr. McGoo!

We do very good business here, you see.
At Walmart’s Renaissance School of Three!
The Lost Generation’s on sale in France
In William Faulkner’s underpants!
(Were they never lost?)

[PrinceMyshkin]

Yes, this, for instance, is perfectly AWFUL!!



Little Cosmic Dust Poem

Out of the debris of dying stars,
this rain of particles
that waters the waste with brightness;
the sea-wave of atoms hurrying home,
collapse of the giant
unstable guest who cannot stay;
the sun's heart reddens and expands,
his mighty aspiration is lasting,
as the shell of his substance
one day will be white with frost.
In the radiant field of Orion
great hordes of stars are forming,
just as we see every night,
fiery and faithful to the end.
Out of the cold and fleeing dust
that is never and always,
the silence and waste to come --
this arm, this hand,
my voice, your face, this love. John Haines, The Poetry of Science

[Countess]

Yes, this, for instance, is perfectly AWFUL!!



Though I detect a strong note of tongue-in-cheek humor there, I have to say I hated it. When I read "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day" or "She walks in beauty like the Night" that poem - well - it blows massive chunks of ill-digested substance, much like the cosmic dust it discusses.

[kiz_paws]

Hmmm, your sentiments have been echoed in the halls of yesterday -- namely, a certain Franklin P. Adam (a crusty, cantankerous fellow). He really disliked (politely saying, mind you) "modern" poetry, though he lived 1881-1960. Well, to not bore you (or others reading this), may I provide you with a link to a site that has a few of his 'cut-down' poems, I think you will enjoy this, Countess:

TASTE OF F.P. ADAM (http://www.mgilleland.com/fpamodp.htm)

[AuntShecky]

I detect some wit in this poem. It was fun to read.
Do you mean "modern" in the title, or "contemporary"?
By Wilde I assume you mean Oscar and not Cornell.
(If you're as old as I am you'll get that joke.)

[PrinceMyshkin]

Though I detect a strong note of tongue-in-cheek humor there, I have to say I hated it. When I read "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day" or "She walks in beauty like the Night" that poem - well - it blows massive chunks of ill-digested substance, much like the cosmic dust it discusses.


Shall I compare thee to an illiterate clod?
Thou art more witty than the average broad.
You speak American by day,
At night, who knows what you might say.
And though you sport with us from time
To time, your temper's prone to decline;
You live at the quaint eastern edge of the land
Whence travel a little further east is banned.
But thy hard-earned Floridean tan won't fade
Or not at least till you get [deleted];
Nor shall your taste for verse improve
Until you get back in the groove!
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

[Countess]

PRINCE, that's absolute genius. I am now officially your devoted fan. Teach me, oh funny one (funny in a good way), thy most silly ways.

[Countess]

I detect some wit in this poem. .)

Yes, and that is the spirit in which it was written - to descend into absurdity, to have fun with
the subject and style while simultaneously making a point. It's not that Modern American Lit
is the downfall of Western civilization (well, at least not yet).

Part II will be a bit more serious. Have the vision but not the method/approach yet.

PS: Supreme Fiction = Wallace Stevens
Red Wheelbarrow - WC Williams
White Horse / Trees = DH Lawrence (although other poems of his are quite good, like the bourgeoise poem).
E Hemingway = Ugh.
Faulkner = Eh...
Stein = Eeek!
Pound = Wasteland

PS: There's a guy at Walmart who wears these insane hats, and yes, he wore a flower pot
topper on his head the other day. Last night it was a pig. He's quite a character - a modern day
Don Quixote in a convenience store...



By Wilde I assume you mean Oscar and not Cornell.
(If you're as old as I am you'll get that joke.)

The only thing worse than being Oscar Wilde, is not being Oscar Wilde.

Wilde = Reigning master of the literary universe, under the tutalage of Shakey and his lover, Lord Byron.

Shakey was a little funny too, according to some reports. Yes, I do read scandalous material about my favorite authors. Just call me The Sun reporter for literary history.

Can you tell its 6:30 in the morning?

[PrinceMyshkin]

PRINCE, that's absolute genius. I am now officially your devoted fan. Teach me, oh funny one (funny in a good way), thy most silly ways.

No sweat, pet. All you have to do is learn to say tecki-tecki-no tecki suleram ana atta nipongo hana shi massaker ana siserama ana pili ana pom-pom, which I learned from my high-school Latin teacher, and you'll be there!

[Countess]

Hmmm, your sentiments have been echoed in the halls of yesterday -- namely, a certain Franklin P. Adam (a crusty, cantankerous fellow). He really disliked (politely saying, mind you) "modern" poetry, though he lived 1881-1960. Well, to not bore you (or others reading this), may I provide you with a link to a site that has a few of his 'cut-down' poems, I think you will enjoy this, Countess:

TASTE OF F.P. ADAM (http://www.mgilleland.com/fpamodp.htm)


KIZ, I LOVE this guy. Thank-you! Thank-you! I laughed my arse off. :lol:

[PrinceMyshkin]

The most reactionary folk
Are sometimes treated as a joke!
They proudly drive their Stanley Steamers
Sneering at the folk in Beamers

But Vanity Vanity, sayeth the preacher
There is no new thing under the sun
And so like a crotchety Sunday-school teacher
The reactionary has her sour fun!

[kiz_paws]

KIZ, I LOVE this guy. Thank-you! Thank-you! I laughed my arse off. :lol:

My pleasure. I just KNEW that you'd really enjoy it... :lol:

[Countess]

The most reactionary folk
Are sometimes treated as a joke!
They proudly drive their Stanley Steamers
Sneering at the folk in Beamers

But Vanity Vanity, sayeth the preacher
There is no new thing under the sun
And so like a crotchety Sunday-school teacher
The reactionary has her sour fun!

Tis true, Prince. I am a crotchety curmudgeon - life's too short to not
recognize your poetential! :lol: