I (sometimes) call myself Mr. Pondersome. I'm a rather wordy, weirdy person. I say hullo a lot. I write a lot more. While you're here, why not give some of it a read?

Thursday, 8 October 2015

ON READING POETRY (a.k.a. A Reason for Why It's Not for Everyone)

You can read it from a page,
get the gist,
guess the rest
but that's not proper poetry.

Catch a performance but
you'll need an ear
to get to the essence of poetry.

Middle ground: perform yourself
but is that honestly poetry?

I don't read poems right.
I don't write poems. Really
I've been nodding 
all my life.

At a reading, I don't shut my eyes,
don't connect,
can't switch off to hear
even half the words.
I catch what I can,
join the wow afterwards.

All I hear is a rap,
a rhythm,
lyrics filling melody's absence
with a well-meant melody
of words.

I love those,
I love them,
it's just the form they come in.
Plots may plod along but
at least I feel the breaks,
the pacing, the pay-off.

And so breathless too
or breath-heavy
though that is usually the poet.
He has a sinus problem.
He said.

It could just be the poet's drone
but no. The actors, presenters, performers,
they're too pretty,
I hear their voices too well
for the words to tell
rather than sell themselves.

Perhaps I'm no good at poetry,
all that intention they expect you to find,
I fall asleep if the thoughts get too deep,
snorting awake at a cheap para-rhyme.

I do see humour
far better than beauty.
Cheek is fun.
Keep a tongue in there,
we're golden.

I still go out for poetry,
still stay in, thumb it,
plumbing for perfection,
peering proper but
leaving tired.
Prose, pick me up.

It's not really my nature
to think of nature
like that.

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