Poetry
As I am a sensitive and aesthetically-oriented flower of a man, I have a liking for poetry.
There is usually a slim - or fat- volume of verse by my bedside, as I find it easier to digest a poem of two as night-time reading, than a few pages of a novel. I'm not fussy about what I read, so long as it's good, but don't ask me to define what I mean by "good". Homer, Hiawatha, Ars Amoris and Simon Armitage; it's all worth reading. I suppose that in total we have half a shelf of poetry, mainly anthologies, dotted around the house.
However, I've not really written any poetry since I was a tormented late adolescent. I've composed poetry alright, but only when in that state of semi-consciousness when drifting into sleep. And as expected, I can never remember any of it in the morning, so nothing gets committed to paper. Or screen. Perhaps it's because I'm not tormented enough these days, although the last few months have been emotionally draining, so I may be getting into the right state of mind. Or perhaps, just a right state.
I can invent doggerel easily enough, spout rhyming couplets to amuse Moonface, but that's white rap, not poetry. And in terms of prose, this blog is the most I've written for thirty years, except for business purposes.
But now, I've been set a challenge.
Another person I know well has started to write poetry in their blog. One of our closer friends is already a published poet(ess) and I think quite highly of what she writes. It's not great, but it's good. And the new blogger's not bad, either. Short poems, almost songs without music; with short lines and verses but conceptually complete. There's an element of the haiku in their spare nature.
Something strikes me: both women (of not dissimilar ages) are childless, married to separated men several years older than themselves who already have near-adult children, both are highly intelligent, both have (had) self-image problems, and both were brought up by their grandmothers rather than their mothers.
Go figure.
:-] ???
There is usually a slim - or fat- volume of verse by my bedside, as I find it easier to digest a poem of two as night-time reading, than a few pages of a novel. I'm not fussy about what I read, so long as it's good, but don't ask me to define what I mean by "good". Homer, Hiawatha, Ars Amoris and Simon Armitage; it's all worth reading. I suppose that in total we have half a shelf of poetry, mainly anthologies, dotted around the house.
However, I've not really written any poetry since I was a tormented late adolescent. I've composed poetry alright, but only when in that state of semi-consciousness when drifting into sleep. And as expected, I can never remember any of it in the morning, so nothing gets committed to paper. Or screen. Perhaps it's because I'm not tormented enough these days, although the last few months have been emotionally draining, so I may be getting into the right state of mind. Or perhaps, just a right state.
I can invent doggerel easily enough, spout rhyming couplets to amuse Moonface, but that's white rap, not poetry. And in terms of prose, this blog is the most I've written for thirty years, except for business purposes.
But now, I've been set a challenge.
Another person I know well has started to write poetry in their blog. One of our closer friends is already a published poet(ess) and I think quite highly of what she writes. It's not great, but it's good. And the new blogger's not bad, either. Short poems, almost songs without music; with short lines and verses but conceptually complete. There's an element of the haiku in their spare nature.
Something strikes me: both women (of not dissimilar ages) are childless, married to separated men several years older than themselves who already have near-adult children, both are highly intelligent, both have (had) self-image problems, and both were brought up by their grandmothers rather than their mothers.
Go figure.
:-] ???
posted by Moses at
9:54 pm
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