More Praise in Poetry

It is true. Poetry is difficult to read. I read 100 Great Poems of the Twentieth Century edited by Mark Strand, but in reality I read at least 150 great poems because I reread no less than half of them while getting through the book. This is not because I kept losing my place – I didn’t do that, or if I did it was to lose place ahead, not behind.

I did, however, begin to think that I could write a poem. A really good one, too. Not just because these great poems were so striking, but also because many of them were so short, specific, and concentrated on death, sorrow, harrowing circumstances, and lost loves. It’s really just my cup of tea.

I was determined while reading to find something funny but the best I can admit was once or twice moving from one poem to the next without actually realizing that I had! It would be comical if it wasn’t one war and death scene so closely aligned to the subsequent death and grief poem that they were indistinguishable to me, having never seen war or smelled death myself. I’m not certain that another person, having said experiences would have necessarily transitioned any better, but that may be pride. Therefore I call for more praise, more joy, more laughter, but not to blot out the true. Just to acknowledge that even disappointment can only exist because of hope.

And yet, a poem of deep sorrow and pain may be the better solution. A sustained novel-length work of misery would be overbearing and the need to express it better to be taken than repressed. My introduction to Anthony Hecht, Czeslaw Milosz, Fernando Pessoa, Pablo Neruda, Tadeusz Rozewicz, William Carlos Williams, and heaps of others lets me know where to turn when the chips fall poorly. Now, let’s shake this out with some Shel Silverstein!