Sunday, February 22, 2009

Situation! Location! Temptation!

Since both the colonel and I have posted poetry on here at this point, I figured I'd dip my toes into how I, at least, view poetry.

Poetry is about movement. There is movement from the title to the body, from word to word, line to line, and stanza to stanza. The movement, the path of a poem can dictate its meaning - or if there's any meaning to it at all.

A poem is not and should not be about the author's emotional state - instead, it rests entirely on the emotions evoked in the reader. As a poetry professor of mine once said, poetry today has far too much "I" and not enough art. The ego of the poet can often get in the way, making language in their poems too personal. This is not to say that poetry should not be intimate - and I'm certainly not hating on first-person poetry - but a truly personal poem must be approached with caution.

There are only three more things I have to say at the time (although I'm sure that over the next few days I'll be constantly hitting myself for leaving so much out), and the first is that poetry - and I'm speaking of mine in particular, but I can think of quite a few poets this applies to - has a creatively destructive element. That is to say, the linguistic violence contained within the act that is the poem is also productive. It produces thoughts, emotions, inspiration, and catharsis. As such, poetry is an exploration, both for the poet and the reader. It is about widening the space of the location in which language can perform.

Finally, I'll close with a thought on form from one of my favorite poets, Frank O'Hara. He had this to say: "As for measure and other technical apparatus, that's just common sense: if you're going to buy a pair of pants you want them to be tight enough so everyone will want to go to bed with you."

To be continued.
-the ambassador

Thursday, February 5, 2009

Ship of Fears

America has been set free
She flies
Full mast on the ground
Screaming to the atmosphere
Keep them at bay
Narcissistic bastards they are
Create rules for me
Die for me
I never wanted it
Do not die for me
I would not die for you
How do you think I have grown so old?
There is no heart of gold
Only lust
Take what is yours I will not shelter you

America sails again
Tie us together
With lies and this game
People have fallen for the slogan
What is to this phallic affiliation of hope and pride?

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

One (or Two at a Time)

There is a conundrum
some find facing them
(and I am no stranger
to this specific indecision)
when it comes
to the question:
shall we walk?
shall we drive?

On the one foot,
there is time to let
a topic or theory
or logic or query
really blossom (or evolve,
if your method is such)
and go where it may.

Then, and then again,
on the other, ass,
bubbled intimacy can
lead to spontaneously arousing
verbal double-backing,
and so I tell hands and self:
Pick your Prison.