George Bilgere writes uncannily good poems. A respectable modern, he does not stoop to verse. He belongs to the Billy Collins school. Lines of verse exist because of rhythm. Lines of prose poetry are shadows of the verse sun. There is nothing wrong with a good Billy Collins poem, or a good George Bilgere poem.
I believe the way to write one is the following:
Observe, do not judge. Yet judge, still, by the juxtaposition of your observations.
Observe the behavior of people you know. Parents, neighbors, children.
Compare times or places.
Establish names, things or phrases in the beginning of your poem and return to them.
This is pretty much it. The skill is keeping “observation” and “judgment” in your mind separate as you craft a poem which judges—without seeming judgmental.
George is a published poet. Recently, he will occasionally plant a poem on Facebook. How to present your poetry? Online readers can outnumber book readers—and be more attentive to your poems, as well.
Without further ado, here is George:
We spend our lives trying to figure out our parents. And so, this new poem.
Quite Satisfactory
My father was a meat and potatoes guy.
Bacon and eggs. Meat and potatoes.
Such was the rhythm of his days.
The reliable foundation. And if
he went out to a nice restaurant
he was a meat and potatoes guy.
Better meat, better potatoes. But
meat and potatoes. Not once
did he travel outside the country.
Paris, Rome, Madrid remained
unvisited by him. St. Louis, Missouri
was quite satisfactory, thank you.
He wore a dark suit and tie, a pair
of black wingtips to work every day.
He came home, read the paper, ate
his meat and potatoes.
At a certain point he realized
he’d had enough meat and potatoes.
And so, with the help of Jim Beam,
he launched himself far beyond
Paris, Rome, Madrid, and I hope
death for him is a kind of St. Louis.
Solid. Reliable. Quite satisfactory.