The Emperor's New Poem
73A Poetry Class Rant
I don't have a fine appreciation of contemporary poetry. Though I find it interesting, it is usually too full of angst, confusion and bitterness for me to find any meaning in it.
  I'm not saying that it is meaningless; just that I don't usually see the meaning.
Eeek! He's naked.
Perhaps it's because I have not experienced enough angst of my own.
My childhood was, in fact, quite secure and stress free.
I sometimes think the poetic artist must have the trauma of repeated psychological blows and come out of a refining metaphysical furnace to have the blade-like keenness of mind to achieve an aggressive and cutting quality of incomprehensibility in poetical form.
I just don't usually want to expend the mental energy required to sort through unconventional usage of metaphor, fragmentation and misplacement and divorce of meaning from normal context. I resent the attempts to confuse me with a stream of consciousness that has no anchor point or perhaps no point of any kind.
What is often even more disconcerting is the ecstatic and worshipful reaction of other people to these kinds of works.
To Be or not
Besides all that, I usually have the impression that most of them are very closely related to the tale of the Emperor's New Clothes.
People tend to hold purportedly finely woven fabrics in awe, fearing that others will view them as inferior and stupid if they admit to seeing nothing in it.
 Not that contemporary poetry is necessarily meant to be understood. On the contrary, I believe that the most of it is deliberately obscure. Perhaps it has meaning for the poet, perhaps not, and perhaps the poet couldn't care less if it communicates to others. The purpose of poetry.. at least some poetry, may be just to Be.
Not this Emperor.
[Now I must insert my obligatory disclaimer here: I am not a student of poetry.
My ignorance of the subject is monumental, and my exposure to the genre is very cursory at best.
I have absolutely no business giving my opinion on a subject in which I am so woefully uninformed.]
In a college poetry class, I had a chance to test my ENC theory. We had studied a long list of traditional and contemporary poets, examining structure, style, content and mood of several individual works.
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The Emperor's New Clothes
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Canvas Print, The Emporer's New Clothes: Federal Theater for Youth - 20 x 30
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Acid Dubs
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The Emperor's New Clothes
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Clever Scoundrels
Near the closing weeks of the class the professor asked us to compose poems of our own which might or might not reflect the style of a particular poet. He would take some of the submitted student poems and print them in a booklet interspersed with some lesser known works of established poets, without including authors' names.
Students would then receive copies of the booklet and be given time to draw conclusions about which poems were student work and which were well known poets.Â
We would be asked to identify, if we could, which poem was by Tennyson, or Dickinson, or cummings, or Plath, or Ginsberg, or a number of other well known literary giants.
 Not being in the habit of writing poetry, I decided I would test my Emperor's New Clothes theory and write something very obscure, meaningless and contradictory. My intention was to put senseless garbage into written form which looked like it might mean something.
Much to my delight, my poem was chosen for the booklet. To my further delight, most class-members pegged it as "not student work" though there seemed to be no consensus on whose it might be.  I felt like the top of my head would pop off if I didn't allow myself to laugh, but I somehow remained calm.
 My theory was proved...., Unless perhaps an evil muse had slipped unbidden into my consciousness.
The Emperor's New Clothes told by Danny Kaye as Hans Christian Anderson.
I can remember composing the poem...while walking across campus repeating lines in my head and changing them , twisting them into unrelated, improbable thoughts and images.
Would any be so childishly bold as to say this was rubbish? Some may have thought it, but none were objective and innocent enough to voice the thought.. If I hadn't been so painfully shy, I probably should have stood up and said,"I think this is a student poem, and as much as I regret insulting a fellow classmate, It is garbage." I'm sure such a statement would have shocked the room. I wish I had done it, even though I later found out the professor thought it was good.... and yes, I still remember it
IMAGO "the poem"
Planes on the landscape reshaped in grey matter
Find a reflection the only thing real
In patterns of pavement concrete and steel.
I see at a glance all the objects cemented
By walls of my world now dissolved to veneer.
How odd that they move,
A tree is a clown with wind-wavy hair
A bee wears a gown and is gone.
Shadows on platters stretch and recline
Stir and stand up on their sides
Run to the jowls of the sun.
The answer is NO, your most logical question. I never experimented with drugs.
I think my favorite lines are the last two, with shadows doing the most improbable things , and running TO the sun, to the JOWLS of the sun, no less, as if the sun even had jowls, and what the heck does that mean anyway?
The Emperor has no clothes.
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hi Rochelle, I truly enjoyed this article. I loved how you tied poetry into "The Emporer's New Clothes" I always loved that book. I think it is funny that you tried that experiment and best yet, that you received those results, I would have probably laughed and had the rest of the class mad at me. :-)
It is a very subjective art form-- but I'm sure some people are just trying to hoodwink us.
Thanks, so much.
@Whikat-- always been a favorite of mine too. I think kids like it because they see things so objectively-- and in this case the kid was the hero.
HA! That is funny. Never heard that before. (BTW... that poem stinks) You are welcome.
To the jowels of the sun correlates to me with the reflection that are the only thing real to them. The jowels of the sun, is what created the whole imagery in the first place. It's very Alice in Wonderlandish, only the sun takes the place of the potions and pills. I didn't think drugs, but perhaps that's because my mind is wacky, yet I've never done any myself. The trees as clowns was sudden, a bit shocking and out of place, to me. The bee in the gown was fitting. It was sort of a distraction; a reality-unreal. Fairytale like. A humorous, pleasant, doubletake, softening a stinging insect; the juxtaposition to the concrete and steel very apropos. And the tricks that steel can play on the eyes when the sun is blaring on them showed throughout. I wouldn't say it was a strong poem, but it had good bones. You must have learned something. Mind you I'm analyzing your poem to torment you more than anything else, but it was inspiring, Emperors New Clothes or not. =D This piece reminds me so much of your Feng Shui one. I love it, I really do. So many people feel this way, you'd be surprised. I don't, but that's okay. Thanks for the wonderful read, Rochelle. A pleasure as always.
oooo, Rochelle. Maybe I shouldn't have seen this, ;). I know this was meant as lightly humorous. That being noted, Um... I agree that there is art and poetry that is indeed "The Emporer's New Clothes." In fact, I use that term myself for sleazy visual artists. lol However, I can asure you that there are those who would be able to tell good stuff from bad (any old students, unless they are so inclined verbally, usually are not good judges--maybe the worst.) Poetry is probably the highest form of verbal expression that exists--that's probably why it isn't for everybody. ie, not everyone is interested in advanced mathematics, either.... Speaking as a poet, work can be (to me) a game, a form, an expression--containing sound, vision, history, portraits, beauty in language, in the visual, emotion...this can go on, :). In short, because I'm good at it, and I love language in this way, it can be anything I want. That's why I enjoy it.
I'm wondering what Teresa will say, if she comes by? :)
Great piece Rochelle! I actually liked your poem as well - lol. What you describe here reminds me a lot of my own reaction of abstract art. I suppose I just don't get a lot of it, and I always wonder if many others don't get it either.
Then along comes the art critic to tell us which pieces are works of art and which pieces are garbage. Of course they must be right because the are the expert - right? ;)
I am gratified that so many of you referenced abstract art-- I think the same principles apply. Picasso pulled it off brilliantly. Is stuff is so "bad" that it is actually good.
 @ Glenn , my son, how did you turn out to be so sensible?
@ Frieda: wow- I so appreciate that you took this much thought and time to make that analysis.
@Lita: same comment as above to you. Some of you are almost giving credence to the unbidden muse theory-- probably a failed muse. Teresa may be speechless this time, but if not she is always kindly.
@ shibas, you are so right, and I still stand (or sit) by my son's excellent review.
Okay, I'm back because I have to say that you did do a good job on your poem, overall, because it's about how you see poetry and the assignment you had to do. So it does make sense, on that level as well. Multi layered. The middle is still sucky; I'm looking at it from an overall standpoint. Sorry, had to bring that up. But that goes back to what you were saying about experiences needed to understand poetry. So if I had no background on this, what would I think? How many layers would I see into it? Hmmmm.
Frieda-- I really don't know. but at the time I think I was trying to make the WHOLR thing sort of 'sticky' with maybe just a slight semblance of credibility.
Please don't make me a poet-- No, I won't go here, I won't, I won't. (though I do ocassionaly try a little rhyming doggeral on subjects like laundry, and shopping.)
=) well, Rochelle, we each have out own niche. Perhaps laundry and shopping poetry is yours? Hidden away in obscure places about the house where no one can stumble upon them, but where you can pull them out and admire your work during a quiet, self fulfilling moment? A smile spread about your face, pride bringing color to your cheeks, as you softly caress your scrap of poetry, finally sighing with satisfaction as you bring it to your neck. And then with a girlish giggle you sneak it back in its hiding place for another time. You hum a little song and there's a spring in your step as you walk away? :)
Frieda... you have no idea of how much that soooo doesn't describe me. But one must write what one knows,
I'm just teasing you know, Rochelle. =) You have to admit, it's a humorous thought. Not to mention, if I may, you did bring it on yourself. (I tend to run wild for other people's imaginations. One of my contributions to life.)Â
Rochelle, great hub. If it does not rhyme I don't understand it. Does that make me an uncouth individual with low intellect?
I love your experiment - poetry in action !
Bob, I really don't know what makes you uncouth (and I AM kidding, because I have no idea who you are.)
I think a little rhyme helps, sometimes. I shouldn't mention it here, but Dr. Suess rocks.
Iphegia-- I'll have to admit it was your household poetry which made me remember this.
Rochelle,
Don't feel bad. I often feel this way about contemporary poetry. It's also quite present in much of the new music as well. I used to be in bands and we'd come up with nonsensical songs to kind of poke fun at modern music. If anyone asked us what the song meant we would say what many musicians currently say: "We want people to derive their own meaning from it." It was fun but we never got too far because of work, school, and family life.
-Debris
Apparently, meaning is everywhere. Thanks for the coment.
Hey Rochelle! I've been by this hub a couple of times, now, and when I saw Lita's comment I knew I would have to join in the fun. And fun it is -- because I suspect (a mere smidgin of a hint of a suspicion) that part of you is thinking "Dang!" (you say dang and golly gee, by the way), "Dang! If it's really THAT easy to write poetry, what's all the fuss about? I kin do that in my sleep!"
I have a pal who does not ascribe any value to the superb craftsmanship of his woodwork -- because he does it for a living. He finds it difficult to see the art in it; the beauty of the wood, sure: he gets that, just as you get the beauty of individual words used correctly. He is able to make seamless joints and stable cabinetry the way you can throw grammatically perfect sentences together, and not regard them as art, but as craft; not as inspiration-driven, but as being correct (so how ELSE would it all go together? you muse, seeing someone use the word "vindication" where she really meant "validation" -- thanks! by the way -- seeing how it all could be a fine piece of homespun furniture, but nothing you'd want to see in the Museum of Modern Art.)
Would I publish your poem? No. Would I have encouraged the young Rochelle to write more? Hell, yes. If I could have gotten my hands on the young Rochelle, I would have told her it was a great joke, good parody, well done: and then I would have explained that the only way to parody any piece is to write another piece that is at least as good as, if not better than, the original.
Parody is a great way to learn. By doing so, you show your innate understanding (even if you are consciously shrieking "No! this can't be all there is! The act of seeing? I just wrote STUFF about what I saw and what I thought about it -- that's all!") of the power of words to construct visual images.
What I love about your writing is the effortless way you TELL us scads of information on a pleasingly wry selection of topics, and in such beautiful prose that it is as seamless as a good cabinet.
But what your poem-parody SHOWS us is that you are able to also construct imagery -- even though it was in a way that seemed simplistic to you at the time.
I once did something very similar (the intention was similar, at least) in school, writing a "mood piece" of prose that was full of dark, complex images (can't remember the details, just that I was giggling as I wrote it, because it was so silly). And yes, the teacher loved it. I wonder what she saw, and what she was trying to encourage in me? I suppose the sentences were all grammatically correct; but further, she must have sensed some imaginative process at work that I was unaware of at the time? Or that there was, at least, potential?
Modern Art, like much recent Free Verse, can leave me cold. As an editor, I've read a lot of meaningless crap. But when I see potential, I like to ask to see more work from that person, to ascertain whether or not there really is something going on -- a confident and competent meshing of words, imagery, sound -- a pleasing complexity that revels in the language and, like a terrier, won't put it down until it's all been shaken properly into place.
And that's my two cents -- and, I hope, no invisible clothing was used in the making of this comment!
Man am I gal that I got here after Teresa did. LOL I can't say a thing now to place foot in mouth. I did enjoy the hub and the wit behind it as well as what your were trying to convey. Pretty cool. I even enjoyed your mumbled rotten poem, I chuckled while reading it. But I must say we all knew what it was about beofre reading it, what would have happened were it otherwise? Teresa is brilliant isn't she?
Thank you Teresa and Ralwus-- Yes, I think you are both brilliant, and after all the work Terasa put into that reply she deserves a longer reply --upon which I am still cogitating. . . it will come.
OK Teresa--- my attempt at response:
Holy Cow! -(since "Dang" has already been used), I am very undeservedly pleased with how much time and space you put into your comment.Â
I am actually somewhat overwhelmed . . . or at least whelmed... by your thoughtful reply. I especially liked -- and understood, I think-- the craftsman analogy.
 I like putting words together in a logical and sometimes useful way. Most of my writing-- at least that which I have actually been paid for, has been more in the genre of human interest newspaper features.Â
It's a craftsman kind of thing, though I have loved having an empathetic copy editor to do the sanding and smoothing.She also taught me that it was good to use a little imagery and imagination in factual features. Information and relative objectivity is often just a way to validate some subjective observations.Â
Ah, the subjective/objective balancing act: Enough hard info to inspire credibility, enough feeling to add humanity. (Oh, the humanity!-- now I am gettin'Â to philly-softical.)
I do not have too much interest in fiction writing, and though I like a little sip of poetry, it is often a bit to rich for my taste.
If I had to  pick a favorite poet I would say Dickinson-- though I only know a bit about her. She led such a sheltered life (so have I, I suppose) but she had such a rich interior life. Again, not as a critic or reviewer, her "Indian Summer" is a favorite of mine. even though I kind of feel it fails at the end, the opening verse captivates me with it's cadence.
Your similar experience of crapwriting that got you teacher's kudos, is very interesting-- this must happen often to teachers who have brilliant and devious students.
I'm afraid I cannot plumb the meaningful depths of all your observations-- but I do truly appreciate every word.
Also, I'm pleased that you also eschew invisible clothing. "Eschew " is a favorite word of mine, so I use it sparingly. My terrier-esqe dog like to chew socks so does not eschew them.
Thanks again. ...this seems so incomplete/ ...
Enough has been said already... that I am here adding to it shows what a nice hub you've created. Mostly you are right on target; however, conciously changing lines "twisting them into unrelated, improbable thoughts and images" might easily have been an instruction from a creative writing teacher. I suspect, had you not done that, your poem would have been terrible. As it is, however, it contains some pretty good "twisted" imagery.
Yes, you may be right, Jeff May. Don't think I ever took a creative writing class. My writing mostly came out of journalism classes -- "just the facts, mam."
Thanks for your comment.
I relate to the remark already stated about much of modern poetry being similar to abstract art. Some poems might truly be brilliant and much is crap. And then we have "experts" telling us which is which.
I also liked some of the imagery in your poem even if it did not hang together as a cohesive piece. Reminded me of some of the Chagall paintings..........cows floating upside down, etc. Ha!
Hmm. Ok-- I think that makes me like Chagall a little better. I think I am too literal to appreciate him properly.
a muse is a muse is a muse, as an artist I like the fragmentation, the
surreal feeling, as a poet, I see it was off the top of your head. And that
is always the best work. Spontaneous, get it down now, before you forget
work.
I'll keep it in mind, but I really think nonsense is my forte.
Well Rochelle, I was here before. I thought it sounded familiar. LOL We think alike I suppose.
I think we do.
So far I think the hardest thing I ever wrote was Flight of the Bumblebee. I think it makes sense, but it sure was something, and I thought about it for days. I do love good poetry though. Cheers and peace, CC
Because things change so fast, the imagination is left to remember. This is especially true of our internal world. Poems are buildings made from the bricks of our emotions.
I enjoyed your article . i too have a problem with poetry that is obscure and abstruse. Galad I discovered your hub!
Thank you all for reading and commenting.
Oh...haha...but the emperor has clothes just not everyone can see them! Ah..I enjoyed you IMAGO "the poem".
My favorite line is the tree is a clown.
We humans are always looking for signs and meaning in the abstract and golly we usually find them!
See here it is eclaire. :)
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Melody Lagrimas says:
6 months ago
Oh, I certainly enjoyed this. I love writing poetry and have a lot published in Helium, triond and AC. But much as I would love to be as deep as those famous poets, I really can't. My sister said once that if she can't understand the piece, then perhaps it's good lol. My poems are usually clear and spontaneous.