I don't understand

[Eugenie]

This statement will perhaps annoy many, but I am just trying to understand.

I like poetry, some is quite outstanding to me, things by Plato, Chesterton, Wordsworth etc.

The thing is , I don't understand it. I mean why write part of a thought or sentence on one line then the rest underneath. What is the purpose. I like consice prose. You just write the thought in one continuous line and finish with a period. I like poetic prose.
I just don't understand poetry, and I am amazed at what some think is good poetry.

So, if someone could help me understand, I would be the most happy of girls.:)

[mono]

Hmmm, I cannot recall once when someone has asked the purpose of writing poetry in this or that form. I suppose one could reply "because that's the way it's always been written," whether in rhyming, rhythmic, or free verse.
Going back years in poetry courses, I think we called it 'prosody' - the study of meters, rhythms, patterns, verses, rhyming, and use of assonance, alliteration, etc. . . . you get the idea. Prosody seems a bit of a useless study - why we write poetry the way we write poetry, but I think it all comes down to aesthetics. How a writer can express something in prose can always have more style and creativity in poetry, in my slightly elite-sounding opinion; the possibilities seem endless in communicating something through abstracts.
In Critique of Judgment, Immanuel Kant's major work upon aesthetics and teleology, he calls literature the supreme art, in a rough and elementary summary, because a writer transmits thoughts into words for others to understand, but even the abstractions of words can remain open for interpretation. Poetry, itself, to me, seems the most creative form of literature and open to the most interpretation. Everything from The Divine Comedy of Dante to William Shakespeare's sonnets, from Rumi's Sufism to Sylvia Plath's intensity, and from John Keats' Romanticism to Billy Collins' Realism - the bee's knees! :D

[JBI]

Because, philosophy is one thing, poetry is another. One cannot capture wilderness within a poem (there was actually a major attempt by many Canadian writers to do this exact thing), but poetry allows one to come far closer than prose, or almost any other medium. That, and because the style is able to stimulate the reader on a level straightforward thought cannot.

I'll take T. S. Eliot as an example, as he is one of the most difficult, yet most rewarding poets, and also because I have been writing an essay on his work for the past 5 days straight.





Lady, whose shrine stands on the promontory,
Pray for all those who are in ships, those
Whose business has to do with fish, and
Those concerned with every lawful traffic
And those who conduct them.

Repeat a prayer also on behalf of
Women who have seen their sons or husbands
Setting forth, and not returning:
Figlia del tuo figlio,
Queen of Heaven.

Also pray for those who were in ships, and
Ended their voyage on the sand, in the sea's lips
Or in the dark throat which will not reject them
Or wherever cannot reach them the sound of the sea bell's
Perpetual angelus.



From The Dry Salvages, section 4 of 5

Here he is able to engage pathetic responses from his reader, yet at the same time discuss deeply philosophical, and theological material. The prayer for those who are in danger, or waiting to see what happens to their loved ones, or are dead acts to probe the reader's emotions, especially given the fact that the poem was written in 1942, while people were setting sale from England to fight in the war. On the other hand though, the religious aspect, and the third verse-paragraph actually discusses the structure of heaven, and mentions heaven, purgatory, hell, and limbo, all in 10 words. This is perhaps the densest poetry ever written, yet because it is written this way, it doesn't become didactic, it becomes poetic, something which has an element of didacticism, yet goes beyond merely preaching. Philosophy can express certain things, but poetry can go to a further level, by means of comparison. Metaphor allows for a closer expression to that which cannot actually be expressed - one is able to get deeper, and the better the poet, the deeper one can get, by poetry. Prose and philosophy cannot do that.

Poetry is actually not too difficult a thing to read once one has gotten used to its way of thinking. I think in the past, most people were attuned to it, but now people are so used to prose and realism, that they can't separate the real from the other real.

[librarius_qui]

This statement will perhaps annoy many, but I am just trying to understand.

I like poetry, some is quite outstanding to me, things by Plato, Chesterton, Wordsworth etc.

The thing is , I don't understand it. I mean why write part of a thought or sentence on one line then the rest underneath. What is the purpose. I like consice prose. You just write the thought in one continuous line and finish with a period. I like poetic prose.
I just don't understand poetry, and I am amazed at what some think is good poetry.

So, if someone could help me understand, I would be the most happy of girls.:)

There's something of religious in poetry ...
Metric was very important before writing.
Tradition made it to be maintained.

This is one thing, only one thing.
I can't recall others, sorry.
If I do, I'll pass by again.

Libri#

[thinkingsam]

Just a quick note while passing. A friend once told me she sometimes found line-breaks in poetry pretentious (in the sense that it is arbitrary and "because other poets do it"), and I think I can understand her. To many people, reading a bunch of words is simply to get information from the bunch of words; their senses are engaged by what the words tell them. These people love to get lost in a beautiful scene that is created by the words, and words alone.

The thing with poetry is that it uses devices other than words alone to convey meaning. The rhythm and meter can emotion, the line-breaks can assign separate meanings to a given sentence, and so on. This is why some people are madly in love with poetry and some simply don't understand it.

Cheers.

[mystery_spell]

This statement will perhaps annoy many, but I am just trying to understand.

I like poetry, some is quite outstanding to me, things by Plato, Chesterton, Wordsworth etc.

The thing is , I don't understand it. I mean why write part of a thought or sentence on one line then the rest underneath. What is the purpose. I like consice prose. You just write the thought in one continuous line and finish with a period. I like poetic prose.
I just don't understand poetry, and I am amazed at what some think is good poetry.

So, if someone could help me understand, I would be the most happy of girls.:)

What you say is very interesting. You enjoy a specific type of poetry, which is wonderful. I have never encountered someone asking what the purpose of writing poetry in whatever form it is written in is. I would tell you that the reason it is written as it is would be because it is due to the whims of the poet and the feeling behind the poem. You said that you enjoy a certain kind of poetry, but it is the same idea really. The poet just chooses how to structure it, so there isn't always a specific reason or purpose behind organizing it in such a fashion. Poetry is just poetry, sometimes there is no reason "why".

[Chava]

More than anything I find poetry playful. Good poetry has you rolling along, struggling to read faster than your eyes can move. And it hops along, line after elegant line, and it's rythms and textures treat you to a stimulation of your senses, and playfully stimulate your intellect, for the meaning is never so clear as with just text. Certainly my favourite authors might as well be writing poems for the elegance of their sentences, and well considered words.

For those lucky few who really understand how to write poetry, it must be an extraordinary pleasure to make the words and thoughts dance along the paper. It is certainly a pleasure to be twirled along.

[Eugenie]

I thank each and every one of you from the depths of my heart. As I read each of your posts I felt as if a hundred puzzle pieces wafted gently down from a never ending source of words somewhere in heaven. As I picked up a piece here and there I began to see things, rythmn,beautiful shapes; I began to hear melodies strange and wonderful.
The thing was I could take the same shapes and make an infinite amount of word music.
I cannot pretend yet to comprehend the way you do; it is rather like practising a new language, I may have the correct words but do not put them together in the free flowing way the natives do.
I will continue my quest and try to understand, to have the gift of 'hearing' poetry with an ear fresh tuned.
Thankyou.

[librarius_qui]

I thank each and every one of you from the depths of my heart. As I read each of your posts I felt as if a hundred puzzle pieces wafted gently down from a never ending source of words somewhere in heaven. As I picked up a piece here and there I began to see things, rythmn,beautiful shapes; I began to hear melodies strange and wonderful.
The thing was I could take the same shapes and make an infinite amount of word music.
I cannot pretend yet to comprehend the way you do; it is rather like practising a new language, I may have the correct words but do not put them together in the free flowing way the natives do.
I will continue my quest and try to understand, to have the gift of 'hearing' poetry with an ear fresh tuned.
Thankyou.

I've been reading the Odyssey in a very interesting & odd translation to Portuguese, in which the translator made efforts to maintain the metric pattern. Before I found this out, it was a very boring reading, but, after I found that it should be recited, it became one of the most interesting readings I've ever took. Not only for being the Odyssey, but, as well, for being rythmic, therefore, very musical. It's possible even to sing, and sometimes I improvise a melody, to fit the verses. It's very cool, actually! :thumbs_up

So, it's good that you took one more step toward the beautiful world of poetry! :nod:

We're all learning together, on this orbe! :)


Tim

[Eugenie]

That is very interesting. I have a close friend who hails from London. Her mother is Portugese, her father English. I find her speaking Portugese to be music itself, at least how she sounds. That is cool.

So, being a baby in all this, help me out, anyone that has a moment or pities me-

Let's say I write a couple of sentences. To me they wound how I want them to sound, in my language of prose. But could someone with poetry in his or her veins change the sentiment at least to poetry and let me listen. You could as it were be my poetry music teacher. whatever.


She walked quickly past the heavily laden apple trees, their smell heady and delicious, seeing nothing hearing nothing but screams.
The girl's ears hurt from the sensation of drowning, not in water, but in a sea of cruel words.
She had loved him so and thought life would pan out into a vista of happy days and nights filled with conversation from the heart, love warm as a lovely bath.
The nineteen year turned into a small dilapitated looking park, its trees unkempt looking, the grass withered now and brown with the coming of autumn.
Finally she found herself on the beach and her pace slowed more and more until she stood still.
The sea was not happy today and it assaulted the rocks and beach with great force.
Just like his words had been. Cruel, not caring about her being crushed and bruised under their weight.
for an etenity the girl stood , like a delicate stone statue and the world did not mean a thing, neither light nor air nor life itself.
"I am dead though I live" she finally heard somewhere deep inside.
She stood awhile more and then with wooden legs the young woman turned and made her way back the way she had come.
'i wonder if I am alive at all" she wondered and then, looking at her watch she sighed.
"I must hurry, tea is in fifteen minutes."
it was a good tea, she could still taste and was able to talk and smile and noone knew.

She saw him two days later sitting at a little table outside what had been their favorite bistro. He was laughing with the new girl, holding her hand tightly.
With numbness from head to toe the girl passed them by and knew he had not noticed her.
She walked into a restaurant, ordered her meal and then fled into the cool clean bathroom. Tears fell unbidden down her porcelain face and she looked at the tired vacant reflection in the mirror.
So now i know the answer to my childhood question' she said softly. 'The dead really do cry.'

I know that is rather lame I just did it up now, but you get the sentiment.
Can someone help me?
thankyou.

[JBI]

I'll try, though you have no permission, if it is your desire, to submit my work anywhere (and if you had no intention, I apologize, but I just needed to make that clear).



swayed,
with the wind wild of the
apple trees' breeze

but like a jacknife,
the tempest hurled
unfurled, into her back;

words can cut deeper
than blades

and the scars are
all within the bosom,
buried eternally

when the narcissus
ceased to bloom within her
that was the moment
again, that
she
was
she

And again

the scent of the apple blossoms

Notice how I use metaphors and strong contrasting images to create the sensation? This is a particularly bad poem, I think, but I think it embraces the modern fundamentals of poetry, as I see them, with the removal of the classical conventions to an extent, as I really didn't want to waste the time writing trochees.

Unfortunately, I couldn't capture your whole piece, because lyric poetry doesn't really function that way. I am of the mind, that the majority of the time, narrative is better suited for prose, though there are cases, when it gets to the more abstract level, like Dante's Commedia, that poetry is better suited, but for the most part, poetry sits in the present, and lives and dies in one moment. Narration in the sense of prose cannot be maintained well, I would argue, and poetry is more fond of momentary focuses, and abstractions. Even "I Wandered Lonely As a Cloud" by Wordsworth is rooted in the now, in the
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

The poem can dig within, but the digging is always within the poem, and within the poet itself, and rooted to the present, examined in the present. The line between poem and reader, because of this, is able to become far closer than prose allows, but the poem, as a trade off, becomes heavily focused, and somewhat limited in terms of range of events and setting.

[crystalmoonshin]

Even "I Wandered Lonely As a Cloud" by Wordsworth is rooted in the now, in the
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.




I've read this poem while in high school and it totally captivated me. It has become one off my favorite poems because of its musicality.

[Eugenie]

Oh JBI thankyou very very much. The words were indeed most powerful and they caught my imagination wonderfully.
I really was hoping someone, and you did, would give me an example of what I might get if my badly written piece was put into poetry.It helps to see how the poet thinks and how he crafts the words.
Thankyou very much, from my heart. Do you write poetry, you know for profit? Are you published?

[JBI]

I'm a student, and I write essays for grades. Right now I'm thinking of a much larger literary work, which I have been planning for a few years now, but I haven't really started to write it out yet - it's still in my memory and thoughts - and when I do, I have no doubt it will take at least 5 years to finish, and probably be only 150-200 pages.

[Eugenie]

Wonderful. Perhaps it will be your magnum opus? Or opus magnum?

[JBI]

Wonderful. Perhaps it will be your magnum opus? Or opus magnum?

Nah, I see myself as a critic more than an a poet. Perhaps though, it will be published, if it ever gets written.