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A FEW REMARKS ON POETRY, CHRISTIANITY AND NEO-ROMANTICISM— PART ONE
The following essay is offered as nothing more than an intoxicating drink, with a few unique qualities—most of the musings here you’ve probably heard before; sometimes it’s only emphasis that matters....
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THE FEMALE WRITES A POEM
“The hostility to association of fine art with normal processes of living is a pathetic, even a tragic, commentary on life as it is ordinarily lived.” My favorite gender was a queen In light makeup,...
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A FEW REMARKS ON NEO-ROMANTICISM PART 2
When contrast goes, everything goes. Romantic poetry gave way to modernist poetry, but was is it revolution—or evolution? Critics of poetry—the few who are left—don’t care to ask; the question gives...
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RELAX
Why can’t I enjoy this joy? She is my tree, my poem, my ploy In the ground, a certain sound, A pleasant, lucky love I found. But love is never finally enjoyed. You make each other agitated. We did. I...
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GETTING OUT OF HERE
I told her in the language I learned, that cigarettes had stained her hands. The viceroy, we were told, counted each brick during lunch. Where the great oceans strip the slumbering lands Of their...
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EXAMINING PICTURES
To examine the pictures, and decide If her beauty is sufficient to become my bride. This one shows her nose to be a little too large, And in this one her mouth seems a little too small. And this one?...
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THE THING
The thing about life and poetry, is that one Is a horror—if the other one is to be great. Examine these poets whose war their nation won And you’ll find the life the verse can barely indicate....
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HOW I BEAT THE SYSTEM
The system is a set of lures and traps, A maze of partial knowledge and generalized maps. Every issue you are forced to face must be loved—there is more to know, Which usually has more to do with love...
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TO KEEP FROM GETTING HURT
To keep from getting hurt They fled from him, every one. Even the ones he liked, even those he won. They couldn’t look at him, When he came, they held their breath. But finally, when he couldn’t love,...
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POETRY IS A MISUNDERSTANDING
I’m domesticated and heartbroken and I don’t know what to do. I’ve sworn off vices, so I’ll sit down and write another poem to you. The end of love is the ex you ridicule. You hate him so much you...
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YOU ASK MY HEART TO LOVE
You ask my heart to love which is a broken heart. You ask that war end so love may start. You advertise peace with a beautiful whore, But beauty isn’t peace. Beauty started the war. You ask my heart...
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THE 18 WAYS I HATE POETRY
Reviewing the bad poetry of your friends is like being an undertaker. Reviewing good poetry is like being a bad poet. Saying what you like about poetry makes you sound like an ass. Other people hate...
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MY TEACHER, MARILYN MONROE
I sit in the back of the class; I feel strange things As I try my verse. And the more my teacher likes it The more James Jones thinks it’s worse. My teacher, I think, likes James Jones. She stops...
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WAKE UP, POEM
Wake up, poem, get out of bed. Last night you were born, an immaculate love, all inside my head. Go, poem! no more aspiring; The fading surge of romantic night is retiring. By evening light, we...
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ARE YOU TRYING TO MAKE PEOPLE FEEL SORRY FOR YOU?
Are you trying to make people feel sorry for you? Love is better than sympathy. Love is what I tried to do, And in my spectacular failure, I found, As my love spoke, you preferred love not to make a...
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THE CALM
You accept the inferior, Not music which is sunny and kind. To reach you I must dig deeper; Winter is loved by the wintry mind. You’re not curious. Therefore, God Is hidden from you by layers of sod....
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JANUARY INDIAN POETRY
January closes this book—but not forever, just on this series—on Indian Poetry: 84 living poets associated with India, writing in English, chosen by Linda Ashok, and here, for a year, reviewed (very...
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BLUES FOR BILLY COLLINS
Tell me first it’s a poem. Otherwise I won’t know what is hitting my eyes. You are so beautiful and I am a fool to be in love with you is a theme that keeps coming up in songs and poems. There seems...
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MY YES
A woman is the one who says no. Her slightest yes is always to know Her razor existence of no after no. Her slightest yes is always to know Better, better, if she had said no. The woman, dear woman!...
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AND THEN
She told him no. He wasn’t to do that. She made him feel like a rat. The wrath belonged to her. He Was the child, rebuked; she Was the parent; she was in command Of the relationship. She told him When...
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