Poetry?...meh..

[Bella Fortuna]

Just a typical day...

[rachelbean]

How can somebody say they don't like poetry all together? I mean...it's words. It would probably make the most sense to say you don't like MOST poetry. There has to be some out there you've yet to discover, unless you just don't like words.

[Azathoth]

I don't go for serious poetry. I find most of it pretentious twaddle. Nonsense, however, is great

Granny

Through every nook and every cranny
The wind blew in on poor old Granny
Around her knees, into each ear
(And up nose as well, I fear)

All through the night the wind grew worse
It nearly made the vicar curse
The top had fallen off the steeple
Just missing him (and other people)

It blew on man, it blew on beast
It blew on nun, it blew on priest
It blew the wig off Auntie Fanny-
But most of all, it blew on Granny!

Spike Milligan


Cold are the Crabs

Cold are the crabs that crawl on yonder hills,
Colder the cucumbers that grow beneath,
And colder still the brazen chops that wreathe
The tedious gloom of philosophic pills!
For when the tardy film of nectar fills
The simple bowls of demons and of men,
There lurks the feeble mouse, the homely hen,
And there the porcupine with all her quills.
Yet much remains - to weave a solemn strain
That lingering sadly - slowly dies away,
Daily departing with departing day
A pea-green gamut on a distant plain
When wily walrusses in congresses meet -
Such such is life -

Edward Lear


Fit the Eighth (Hunting of the Snark )

The Vanishing

They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care;
They pursued it with forks and hope;
They threatened its life with a railway-share;
They charmed it with smiles and soap.
They shuddered to think that the chase might fail,
And the Beaver, excited at last,
Went bounding along on the tip of its tail,
For the daylight was nearly past.

"There is Thingumbob shouting!" the Bellman said.
"He is shouting like mad, only hark!
He is waving his hands, he is wagging his head,
He has certainly found a Snark!"

They gazed in delight, while the Butcher exclaimed
"He was always a desperate wag!"
They beheld him--their Baker--their hero unnamed--
On the top of a neighbouring crag,

Erect and sublime, for one moment of time,
In the next, that wild figure they saw
(As if stung by a spasm) plunge into a chasm,
While they waited and listened in awe.

"It's a Snark!" was the sound that first came to their ears,
And seemed almost too good to be true.
Then followed a torrent of laughter and cheers:
Then the ominous words "It's a Boo--"

Then, silence. Some fancied they heard in the air
A weary and wandering sigh
That sounded like "--jum!" but the others declare
It was only a breeze that went by.

They hunted till darkness came on, but they found
Not a button, or feather, or mark,
By which they could tell that they stood on the ground
Where the Baker had met with the Snark.

In the midst of the word he was trying to say
In the midst of his laughter and glee,
He had softly and suddenly vanished away--
For the Snark was a Boojum, you see.

Lewis Carroll

[Svartalf]

Never got it, and the way it was forced down my throat in school and college essentially destroyed my interest for the form.

I don't know how many hundreds of books I've got, but I have precisely four collections of poetry... including one where the poetry part came completely as an undesired supplement to the collected short stories of the author.

[Svartalf]

How can somebody say they don't like poetry all together? I mean...it's words. It would probably make the most sense to say you don't like MOST poetry. There has to be some out there you've yet to discover, unless you just don't like words.

Oh, well, when you can spend month without picking up a poetry book, one of the few you actually are supposed to like, and the only interest in rhyme and metre you have is when there's music around it and it's a nice song... just do the math.

[Xamonas Chegwé]

Rhyme and Meter are merely stylistic choices - like setting a book in the first or third person. The true beauty of poetry lies in the beauty and originality of the words themselves. In their sounds and textures and in the images they conjure.

Even if a poem rhymes perfectly and is written in pure iambic pentameter, you should never read it aloud like that. If you merge the lines of a poem and rewrite it as an ordinary sentence, using the punctuation of the poem, you will usually find that it makes far more sense and reads pretty much like ordinary prose with just the hint of rhymes catching the ear. Listen to recordings of poetry - even 'serious', old-fashioned poetry - being read aloud and it comes alive.

Personally, although a lot of my favourite poetry is without rhyme and meter, I tend to write my poems in formal styles much of the time - sonnet, ballad, etc. - because I enjoy the challenge of saying what I want to say in such a rigid form without losing either meaning or naturalness. Sometimes I almost succeed! Anyone can ramble on for verse after free verse about anything, fitting it into 14 lines of IP with an ABABCDCDEFEFGG rhyme scheme is a lot harder. It restricts you and forces you to be economical. It's a little like compiling a crossword in a symmetrical grid - harder to do but in the end, more satisfying.

[Tigger]

I've wanted to say this for a while, so I will, and sorry if it upsets anyone. I fucking hate poetry. Except maybe funny stuff like XC puts up, or pithy amusing, non-serious stuff. But, but, I fucking hate Haiku and other pretentious shit.

[Xamonas Chegwé]

I've wanted to say this for a while, so I will, and sorry if it upsets anyone. I fucking hate poetry. Except maybe funny stuff like XC puts up, or pithy amusing, non-serious stuff. But, but, I fucking hate Haiku and other pretentious shit.

Console yourself, Sir
That your hatred is shared, and
Haiku hates you too!

[RuleBritannia]

What about epics like Beowulf, Divine Comedy, Iliad & Odyssey, Paradise Lost , Faust etc?

[Xamonas Chegwé]

What about epics like Beowulf, Divine Comedy, Iliad & Odyssey, Paradise Lost , Faust etc?

What about them? I've never read any of them in its entirety - I've read a bit of Milton but never tackled the whole of PL - although I keep meaning to pick up the Seamus Heaney Beowulf.

Just like any other form of writing: novels, short stories, biography, criticism, histories, travel guides, etc., poetry comes in many different forms. Some appeal to some people more than others and vice versa. There is room for all in the world. None but the biggest poetry snobs expects any one person to enjoy all of it.

[Pappa]

But, but, I fucking hate Haiku and other pretentious shit.

I always found haiku the opposite of pretentious.... that's one of the reasons I like it, because I don't find it to be pretentious verbal wankery. It's a very direct form of poetry.

[Svartalf]

What about epics like Beowulf, Divine Comedy, Iliad & Odyssey, Paradise Lost , Faust etc?

To my shame, I enjoy those better in prose translations... the only version of the Odyssey that made a serious attempt at matching the original's poetic qualities (Leconte de Lisle's French translation) that I tried literally fell from my hands as, in spite of obvious qualities, it still gave me no pleasure in reading... I wish I knew which version my dad declaimed from when I was a tyke.

[Tigger]

What about epics like Beowulf, Divine Comedy, Iliad & Odyssey, Paradise Lost , Faust etc?

Sorry. No. I mean Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

But, but, I fucking hate Haiku and other pretentious shit.

I always found haiku the opposite of pretentious.... that's one of the reasons I like it, because I don't find it to be pretentious verbal wankery. It's a very direct form of poetry.

Sorry too, Pappa. Do you still love me?

[Feck]

Well at least nobody has mentioned Burns

And as for Haiku and sonnets .....i'm not sure that a terrible pun becomes any more worthy if it is constrained by the rules of limerick.

[rachelbean]

But, but, I fucking hate Haiku and other pretentious shit.

I always found haiku the opposite of pretentious.... that's one of the reasons I like it, because I don't find it to be pretentious verbal wankery. It's a very direct form of poetry.

I agree. Then again I love Jack Kerouac which evidently is not too cool these days