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A DELICATE MATTER OF POETRY AND SEX
I declare this land safe for sonnets and odes! The lamentation of poetry’s death is depressing and never-ending, but we should qualify: Poetry isn’t really dead. People sill read poetry. Contemporary...
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WHY HAS THE PUBLIC TURNED ITS BACK ON POETRY?
Why has the public turned its back on poetry? That’s easy to answer. We no longer know whether poetry is fiction or non-fiction. Bird-watching involves watching birds. Novels are elaborate stories....
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IS AND ISN’T (NEW SCARRIET POEM)
This poem is and isn’t Like one who isn’t present. Like a love that is and isn’t, But is passionate and pleasant, Like a sky that holds the light, But darkens slowly into night For the sake of a...
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MICHAEL ROBBINS HAS A CRUSH ON ANGE MLINKO, OR WHY THE CRITIC SHOULD NEVER...
Ange Mlinko: The Critic Should Never Have A Muse Michael Robbins has disappointed us in his attempt to make a Scarriet-like, sweeping definition of poetry: “Where Competency Ends, Poetry Begins.”...
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KISS ME ON MY FOOT–NEW SCARRIET POEM
Kiss me on my foot, I’ve walked so many miles. Kiss me on my lips. I’ve forced so many smiles. Kiss me on my belly. I have no baby there. I want to be yours like in a poem by Shelley. I want to care....
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WHERE? –A NEW SCARRIET POEM
No one is going to lie to me. Everyone lies to you. All of my poems are perfect. None of your poems are perfect. I will not grow old and die. You will grow old and die. Nature will not be indifferent...
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INSIDIOUS MODERNISM
The Armory Show: 100 years ago, Modern Art came to America The government of Letters has its lobbyists and wealthy influence, too. They say politics is show business for ugly people—we don’t know if...
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DOLPHY—NEW SCARRIET POEM
That you want to spend the day in Dolphy With your head covered up so that no one can see, And Dolphy, too, doesn’t mind. Dolphy, too, wants everyone blind. Dolphy’s hills are warm and blue and kind....
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THE ART ACADEMY GAME
Academies once cultivated talent discovered in the few for the good of society—apprentices, born in poverty or not—started with talent. Today, academies serve the opposite purpose—anyone willing to go...
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DO NOT READ THIS TO THE END—NEW SCARRIET POEM
Do not read this to the end, Glance fondly at what I send, As if it were a picture in a book, Or a polite, goodbye look. You hate descriptions to go on; With a frown you say, “It doesn’t matter, it’s...
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HOW TO TELL THE FAKE POEMS FROM THE REAL ONES
Let the goddamn workshop begin! (We love ya, Ron, but you’re a faker.) How does one tell the fake poems from the real ones? It’s really quite simple. Poetry is that which contains its own stamp of...
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UGLY BIRDS: THE FAILURE OF MODERN POETRY AND THE SUCCESS OF THE NOVEL
Modernism is no longer “modern.” Duchamp was born in the 19th century and the Mona Lisa moustache artist is several generations closer in time to Byron than he is to us. But the legacy of modernism,...
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NEW SCARRIET POEM: INSPIRED BY ANGE MLINKO, MICHAEL ROBBINS, AND EDMUND BURKE
On Wit and Judgment Resemblance is the heart of wit. Once in a while I am guilty of it— I’ve made bad puns in my time, Jokes, metaphors—instead of rhyme, For no, it isn’t simile— Metaphor isn’t...
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POETIC IN ALL ITS PARTS
Do we care if a lapwing is killed in a poem? We made the assertion in a previous Scarriet post that poetry, unlike prose, has, or should have, an immediate pay-off for the reader. Poetry should show...
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NEW SCARRIET POEM
All readers are gullible, All conversationalists are bullies, All athletes boring, Movie buffs are all pretentious, The responsible all preoccupied, All artists distracted, All writers sentimental,...
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“AND THIS IS PRECISELY THE FACT”
The pretend genius: lived off his parents, peddled literary truisms Ezra Pound (d. 1972) is often quoted making clever remarks on how prose and poetry should not be distinguished from each other if...
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THE CYPRESS AND THE WILLOW
The cypress, that funereal tree, Inspires the saddest poetry. Even the willow does not belong To its sad song. I once saw a willow tree Hiding a book of poetry, Stooping down as if to know How verses...
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THE INSANE SCHOOL OF POETRY
Is poetry sane or insane? O DNA! O lights and washes! O John Ashbery! mountain air to miasma of swamp, different! and the same! Unless I say otherwise. We could write drivel like this all day, but for...
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FOR EVERY ONE WHO HURRIES
For every one who hurries, There’s a million who are still, Resting, without worries, By a valley, or a hill. For every one who hurries, There’s a million sleeping by, Beneath clouds slowly moving In...
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BEFORE I GO TO INDIA
Before I go to India, Before I go to France, I wonder can I ask you if you and I can dance, If maybe I can ask you to kiss me on the face, Even though I haven’t been to any place. Before I go to...
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