I have recently started dabbling in poetry. I have found it to be quite therapeutic for me. I asked a fellow hubber who has some professional training in the area of poetry to critique my work and to give me an honest review.
She has done so. In a nutshell she says my poems have honesty and passion but lack imagery. I can accept that. I am not a polished poet by any stretch of the imagination. I asked for her help and she has responded.
She suggested I begin to read some poetry. I began to do so this morning. I have read several. Frost, Hemmingway, along with many others. Here is what I have gained from them. I am not a poet.
I do not understand most of what I have read. Usually I am left with the filling of wtf. I have no idea what this poet is talking about much less understand what he or she is trying to convey.
So I guess I will continue to dabble for my own therapeutic benefit but give up one becoming the next Robert Frost.
Hi Samboiam
I may have just the thing for you - a really good student presentation on Robert Frost 'A silken tent' - it is on powerpoint, will it email do you think ?
Otherwise I could make a hub of it I guess ?
You might want to check my only hub so far - new poem - to see if you think I qualify to help
I would love to see such a hub, or power point....as long as the student's cool with that!
Seriously, it sounds like it would make a great topic!
*runs off to read your poem*
Poetry has to be read slowly. Many people unused to reading it, approach it like they might an article or a book. But that's not how it works. To read poetry, you have to re-learn how to read.
Read it once through, just so you get a really muddy idea of where it goes.
Then read it again. Slower. Maybe hit each line twice, but keep going to the end again.
THEN, go back and start with the first line and start trying to unpack it. Watch what it is saying instead of "reading it." You have so "see" and "hear." Think about the verb choices, what they are doing. Look at the words and think if they have more than one meaning. Try to see/hear/feel each line as an independent unit within the verse.
You have to take time with it. That's the key. That's why a book of poetry is always so thin. It's not thin because it's a fast read, it's just that 100 pages of poetry will take as much time to get through as 500 pages of prose if you are enjoying it properly.
Just my take. Hopefully it helps.
You are right I do just read through it without really taking time to connect with the poet. I can see that. I will slow my little but down.
Thank you.
It's my opinion that a good poet brings you on a journey. Makes you feel what they are feeling with concrete vs. abstract.
Abstract is a general idea.. Like... "I'm so sad, or I'm heartbroken and alone, he betrayed me..blah blah "
rather than describing what happens to you when your heartbroken. What does your gut feel like? Where does your mind wonder to? What happens to world around you? What has led you to feel this way?
Leading the reader into an important moment, or a truth shared is TO ME, what poetry is all about. Concrete images paint across my mind when I read good poetry, and it sorta stuns me for awhile if it's a really good piece. I have to sit down and really think about what it meant to the author, and what it meant to me.
That is just the most perfect advice! I read poems once fast, getting a grasp of the imagery and the "feeling" and then I read slowly, if I like the poem, savoring the word choices and phrasing and timing and rhythm and soul that the poet pours into it. When I had the good fortune to be mentored by several wonderful poets I learned to edit and be succinct. I also learned that no one probably has a "talent" for writing poetry - just like most other things in life one has to spend the time, pay the dues, and work at it. It may well be that poets suffer most from fears of inadequacy - I know each time I write a poem after I think it is finished I put it aside for awhile, sometimes a long time, before I do the final edit, before I even consider publishing. If you love poetry and want to write it, don't give up, just keep reading and writing and paying attention to the world. It is very rewarding, emotionally and spiritually (if not monetarily!)
I absolutely agree with you and shades, I couldn't have said it better.
oh, and don't forget to read everything Pablo Neruda, e.e.cummings, Emily Dickinson, Arthur Rimbaud (- She was very much half-dressed
And big indiscreet trees
Threw out their leaves against the pane
Cunningly, and close, quite close.)
Lew Welch, Ginsberg, Keroac, Ferlingetti,Gary Snyder, Philip Whalen, Jack Spicer, Joanne Kyger
Many prose writers are really poets - Dylan Thomas, Proust, Annie Dillard
man, the list is so long! I like to read poets nobody has ever heard of - poetry, I feel, is not about fame - it is about the common experience of life! a celebration! I adore it.
OH! and don't forget that ever song lyricist is a poet - and some of the poetry of rock and roll is eternal!
I agree BUT quality prose needs to be read just as carefully to fully appreciate it.
Yes, there are definitely prose writers out there who are really poets that write to the end of every line.
There are many types of poetry
and some do have a little meter.
Others Rhyme
all the time
Some ryhme every second
or line fourth or third.
Okay maybe its a little contrived
but I hope you don't think it absurd.
Sing me a song
of this great time
a story told in lyrics
is a poem of mine.
So sing me a song
Yes please do.
I like poetry and
the music makes it true.
Iambic pentamber has ten divides
but a sonnet i wont write thats for sure
I'll leave it to some other great poets
like ones that go by the last name Shakespeare.
Poetry paints beautiful pictures in words.
The sky's sunburn at dusk
comes after the days pale
and awaits the moon to give
contrast to the shadow's moment.
Great emotion and inner sense can be portrayed.
I grip my hand and hold my fist and shake it
as I celebrate my first moment of success.
My anguish is still held as I am haunted by the past.
Many poets speak metaphorically.
Silence begets misdeeds.
I never thought I would see a tides change
yet it happens at the moon's wish.
A pool brings change but the
sea quietly destroys little ecosystems.
Poetry is about painting with words.
There is a type to please all
give it a try...you must
You will have a ball.
brings a black
You forgot -
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Some poems ryhme
Others don't.
That is correct. Poetry is a creation not a mechanism.
Cheers,
Ben
Of course - but the making of it is to do with conventions - or mechanisms
I thought the poem in your only hub was quite good.
I especially like the pic of the girl in the beauty mask
I think the key is to not attempt to affect a certain style or tone, but just to speak from the very center of yourself. One of the hardest things to do is to get out of the way of our purest thoughts--which seem always to be contaminated by the desire to sound a certain way, impress others, etc.
I try to close my eyes, drop all plans, and let the thoughts dictate the poem. It's like dipping a cup in a raging river. You pick it up, all wet and breathing hard, then share THAT. Write it down like a madman describing a monster!
You can go back and bevel the edges later, changing words, rephrasing, etc., but when you have a good triggering thought, you need to capture it in its rawest form. If you have a questionable thought, speak it LOUD. Don't be guilty of two things. ;-)
There's much more integrity in trying to run too fast and falling than there is in a controlled and contrived walk.
Good luck with it.
I'm sorry, you took it that way Sam. That is not at all what I meant, and thanx for not naming me in this forum... Though I've done it for you now. Never quit writing! Never give up learning! Asking others for help is a good way to get some feedback, but you should take everything people say to you with a grain of salt! I didn't know at all that my response was something you'd take to heart quite so literally and you inspired my last hub. Yep, that one was written just for you! What do i know anyway? I have a degree, yes but everyone's take on poetry is different. Some people hate how complicated my poetry is for example and I've read "great" poets whose work I haven't cared for as well. Keep writing and hubbing cause I've enjoyed reading your work and do NOT want to see you throw in the towel.
I did not take anything personal. I appreciate your input, I truly do. Your last hub has helped me tremendously. So please do not think I am angry or discouraged because I am not. I don't always understand a lot of the poems I read and sometimes that can be frustrating.
Gotcha! Send your stuff to me anytime and I'll gladly help you with it. Also any poem you can't quite make out. Happy to help when I can!
Oh, Sambo! Never judge yourself based on another's work! Each writer has their own talent, their own special way of writing and conveying their thoughts and emotions. You're not the only one who has walked away from reading great literature scratching his head. You're a talented writer and you live in a different day and age than those guys. Look at Shakespeare...many readers wouldn't understand what he's written unless the have the Notes as companions. I believe there's even a For Dummies book for understanding the old English and verse.
Keep writing. In your own style. Poetry is written from within you. That's all the rules you have to have.
Now, get your pen and paper out (or keyboard) and write to your hearts content.
" Look at Shakespeare...many readers wouldn't understand what he's written unless the have the Notes as companions. I believe there's even a For Dummies book for understanding the old English and verse."
Shakespeare did not write in Old English.
"Poetry is written from within you. That's all the rules you have to have. "
I don't necessarily agree.
Poetry definitely seems personal. I can understand intellectually that someone is expressing something in art and poetry but I always end up thinking, "?? Would you just come out and SAY it already?!" I'm just not an artistic soul...
shadesbreath, wonderful explanation and advice! (I think - like I said, I don't read poetry but it might work if do it like that.)
Some great advice there! I did my Masters in english literature and though we were 'taught' all the right ways of reading poetry, sometimes the most moving poems for me were those most simply written! Above all, it was always the force of the emotion behind them that captured me....
I guess, what I'm trying to say is, more important than 'syntax' is the truth of the feelings behind your poem....so write from your heart and hopefully your words will carry their own power.
And to quote, Frost:
"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I- I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. "
It's not easy taking the less traveled path, yes, but you can make a difference!
That's my favorite poem of all time, Myownworld. That is such a deep and incredible one. I also really like Ozymandias. That one is just fun to think into its layers and layers, and about history and time and language. Great stuff.
oh yes, 'those passions read...which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, the hand that mocked them and the heart that fed...'
One could just lose one self in beautiful poetry.....
This is totally what I was trying to convey to you Sambo! Emotion! Images! Make me feel it through you!
Thank you all for your response it has been very helpful.
Any suggestions on who to read that may help me develop as a poet.
I find Ralph Waldo Emerson's poetry to be beautiful and very straightforward, personally. I've also never had much trouble reading Poe's poetry (which is full of lush imagery and dark passions!) Pablo Neruda is simply amazing and also (IMO) fairly easy to read.
Like other people have said, poetry is like nothing else...Keep reading, and you'll find the poetry that inspires you
Here is a poem by Pablo Neruda. It is sinply amazing.
‘Carnal apple, Woman filled, burning moon,’
Carnal apple, Woman filled, burning moon,
dark smell of seaweed, crush of mud and light,
what secret knowledge is clasped between your pillars?
What primal night does Man touch with his senses?
Ay, Love is a journey through waters and stars,
through suffocating air, sharp tempests of grain:
Love is a war of lightning,
and two bodies ruined by a single sweetness.
Kiss by kiss I cover your tiny infinity,
your margins, your rivers, your diminutive villages,
and a genital fire, transformed by delight,
slips through the narrow channels of blood
to precipitate a nocturnal carnation,
to be, and be nothing but light in the dark.
Oh...*quiver and sigh* What beautiful words...He was SUCH a master. Here's another of his for you:
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
http://www.famouspoetsandpoems.com/poet … ilverstein
this is where I started.
Justine thanks for the link. I loved it.
Here is one of Shel Silverstein's poems
Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
His underwear is hanging on the lamp.
His raincoat is there in the overstuffed chair,
And the chair is becoming quite mucky and damp.
His workbook is wedged in the window,
His sweater's been thrown on the floor.
His scarf and one ski are beneath the TV,
And his pants have been carelessly hung on the door.
His books are all jammed in the closet,
His vest has been left in the hall.
A lizard named Ed is asleep in his bed,
And his smelly old sock has been stuck to the wall.
Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
Donald or Robert or Willie or--
Huh? You say it's mine? Oh, dear,
I knew it looked familiar!
Now that is great poetry. I'm luv'n it.
me, no professional, but a lyricist and would love to add what help I could if you wish. Say the word and what you would like me to read
kimberly
anytime
One of the greatest compilations of poetry I have read is "The Outlaw Bible of American Poetry", without fail I always lose myself in it. I always find inspiration from it. One of my favorites:
Poem To The Freaks
Jack Micheline
To live as I have done is surely absurd
In cheap hotels and furnished rooms
To walk up side streets and down back alleys
Talking to oneself
And screaming to the sky obscenities
That the arts is a rotten business indeed
That mediocrity and the rage of fashion rules
My poems and paintings piled on the floor
To be one with himself
A Saint
A Prince
To persevere
Through storms and hardons
Through dusk and dawns
To kick death in the ass
To be passed over like a bad penny
A midget
An Ant
A roach
A freak
A Hot Piece
An Outlaw
Raise your cup and drink my friend
Drink for those who walk alone in the night
To the crippled and the blind
To the lost and the damned
To the lone bird flying in the sky
Drink to wonder
Drink to me
Drink to pussy and dreams
Drink to madness and all the stars
I hear the birds singing
Leonard Cohen
Rabindranath Tagore
Christina Georgina Rossetti
Excellent choices, mega! I love Neruda as well...Oh Ode to a Lemon and 100 Love Sonnets! Ahh...
Frost, Shelley, Emerson, Rossetti, Neruda and Rumi.....all in one thread!
This HAS to be heaven.....
Suzanne takes you down to her place near the river
You can hear the boats go by
You can spend the night beside her
And you know that she's half crazy
But that's why you want to be there
And she feeds you tea and oranges
That come all the way from China
And just when you mean to tell her
That you have no love to give her
Then she gets you on her wavelength
And she lets the river answer
That you've always been her lover
And you want to travel with her
And you want to travel blind
And you know that she will trust you
For you've touched her perfect body with your mind.
And Jesus was a sailor
When he walked upon the water
And he spent a long time watching
From his lonely wooden tower
And when he knew for certain
Only drowning men could see him
He said "All men will be sailors then
Until the sea shall free them"
But he himself was broken
Long before the sky would open
Forsaken, almost human
He sank beneath your wisdom like a stone
And you want to travel with him
And you want to travel blind
And you think maybe you'll trust him
For he's touched your perfect body with his mind.
Now Suzanne takes your hand
And she leads you to the river
She is wearing rags and feathers
From Salvation Army counters
And the sun pours down like honey
On our lady of the harbour
And she shows you where to look
Among the garbage and the flowers
There are heroes in the seaweed
There are children in the morning
They are leaning out for love
And they will lean that way forever
While Suzanne holds the mirror
And you want to travel with her
And you want to travel blind
And you know that you can trust her
For she's touched your perfect body with her mind.
the greatest Canadian poet/song writer of all time...
Leonard Cohen
http://www.leonardcohen.com/bio.html
thanks for that... bookmarked it; will read in a quiet moment later.
Also, Sam...I read your poems and commented.... you're very talented, no need to worry!
"...And you want to travel with him
And you want to travel blind
And you think maybe you'll trust him
For he's touched your perfect body with his mind..."
Loved every word of it!
I am slapping myself silly -
what about John Lennon?
speaking words of wisdom
let it be!
They sentenced me to twenty years of boredom
For trying to change the system from within
I'm coming now I'm coming to reward them
First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin
I'm guided by a signal in the heavens
I'm guided by this birthmark on my skin
I'm guided by the beauty of our weapons
First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin
I'd really like to live beside you, baby
I love your body and your spirit and your clothes
But you see that line there moving through the station
I told you I told you I told you I was one of those
You loved me as a loser but now your worried that I just might win
You know the way to stop me but you don't have the discipline
How many nights I prayed for this: to let my work begin
First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin
I don't like your fashion business, mister
I don't like these drugs that keep you thin
I don't like what happened to your sister
First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin (chorus)
And I thank you for those items that you sent me
The monkey and the plywood violin
I practiced every night and now I'm ready
First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin
Remember me, I used to live for music
Remember me, I brought your groceries in
It's Father's Day and everybody's wounded
First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin
Wilfred Owen is another of my absolute favorites. For those of you who have opinions on the war, he's got one that will ground you in today, bounce you into World War I, and then throw you back to Rome... all on the same promise that has been being made from then to now. (Also, if you want to see what precise use of verbs looks like... this dude has skillz!)
DULCE ET DECORUM EST
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.
8 October 1917 - March, 1918
Note on the title: DULCE ET DECORUM EST - the first words of a Latin saying (taken from an ode by Horace). The words were widely understood and often quoted at the start of the First World War. They mean "It is sweet and right." The full saying ends the poem: Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori - it is sweet and right to die for your country. In other words, it is a wonderful and great honour to fight and die for your country. [Copied from http://www.warpoetry.co.uk/owen1.html]
A very powerful poem...and one that makes wonderful use of the kind of imagery sambo was mentioning earlier in the thread. Thank you for sharing!
In Guernica the dead children were layed out in order on the sidewalk
In their white starched dresses
In their pitiful white dresses
On their foreheads and breasts the little round holes where death came in as thunder while they were playing their important summer games
Do not weep for them, Madre
They are gone forever, the little ones
Straight to heaven to the saints
And God will fill the bullet holes with candy
Thanks Greek for those wonderful poems. And Shades, I'm going to add that to one of my soldier hubs... would fit in perfectly! thank you..
Wish I could stay reading all day.... so leaving with this line from Tennyson I love:
"And I would that my tongue could utter....the thoughts that arise in me..."
This thread has been a wonderful diversion from what I'm supposed to be doing for a little while. I hope to come back later and find even more wonderful poetry here!
Thank you, sambo, for inviting us to share poetry today!
Poetry has its' own unique style...some fits you and your thinking...Some don't. Just like any other thing that is out there. Good fortune finding your own style and what fits in your taste. Enjoy the journey...there are all kinds of writers with all kinds of poems! Best of fortune writing your kind of poems and/or reaing poetry!
I don't understand poetry, most of the time. I have tried reading slowly and have repeated lines multiple times because I don't understand them, only to determine I don't understand poetry! But, how come I can write it?
that is actually called embracing and being in touch with your inner creativity. Embrace that, sounds pretty cool and very original no doubt
kimberly
I love to write poetry & I have published only one. To me, poetry isn't to be critiqued, it comes from somewhere inside of us & really no one can critique that part of us, kwim?
My college professors would beg to differ, lol
My college professors did differ so I wrote what "they" wanted. Now I write what I want
Sounds good to me! I'll check your hubs later sweetheart!
Every advice on here is correct in my opinion - each in its own way.
The business of the mechanics is about the meaning - if you just write a string of stuff in a different way to 'normal' text then it is something but not within the definition of poetry.
The mechanics are there to use and intentionally not use, if some words are rhymed and others not this is calling attention to them in different ways - for instance.
None of the rules are essential but they add dsignificantly deeper meaning to the words. It is a good idea to know the basic rules to be able to see what the writer is saying.
sambo,
Each poet is trying to convey a message. One of the points of poetry is to make it mean something to you personally. Interpret it how you want to. What it means to you, may be completely different from what the poet was saying or what it meant to someone else.
There's no reason to give up on it. Just practice, keep reading as much as you can. If something doesn't make sense to you, move on until you find something that does. Make a connection with a poem and go from there.
You stated that it was therapeutic to you to write poetry, so don't stop!!! Even if you just want to put your poems in a shoebox so people can't critisize, don't stop. Anything that is worth anything to you will be worth something to someone else.
yo Samboiam'
can't figure what sounds good to rhyme with rhyme
damn.
*urgh*
xo
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