Paper Mache Pizza
I really liked Maverick's idea of combining the first lines from 10 random poems and making a new poem out of it. You can do that in the comments with your own poetry if you want, I'd love to read it. Here's how I did it: I put maybe 30 on my desktop, deleted their filenames, and then rearranged them, and then clicked on 10 randomly. That prevented me from choosing "the best" or "the most poetic."
well, it was winter
My grandmother went insane as her husband was dying--
Dressed in drapes and denim
Il y avait, une fois, une belle jonquille
I read somewhere that the world is nothing
When men upon the stormy sea
he came over but laughed
again again a gain. can one gain a cross across the grain? no.
Horseshoes thrown are sometimes kept in a sack.
Electronegativity
well, it was winter
My grandmother went insane as her husband was dying--
Dressed in drapes and denim
Il y avait, une fois, une belle jonquille
I read somewhere that the world is nothing
When men upon the stormy sea
he came over but laughed
again again a gain. can one gain a cross across the grain? no.
Horseshoes thrown are sometimes kept in a sack.
Electronegativity
4 Comments:
Nice! Isn't it fun?
^ No, it's really not. It merely proves that poems are a puroposeless amalgamation of randomly seclected words and phrases that your audience's brain morphs however the heck they like into something with meaning. It proves that there's little or no work on the part of the poet for this brand of poetry and you get the same pointless result whether your fret and edit for hours over a stanza of if you spend 5 minutes pulling out mitchmatched prose and hitting the enter key a few times.
^ooh,
not so. :)
in response to anonymous...
"I don't agree with a number of contemporary critics who see poems merely as verbal constructions, as what simply activates and multiplies the relations that exist between words. I think, and in fact I have always thought, that poetry is an experienece of what goes beyond words: call it the fleeting perception, then the more active remembrance, of a state of indifferentiaiton, of unity-that state that characterizes reality at the level that our language cannot reach, despite its definitions, its designations, and its descriptions. This unity deserves to be perceived by us, to be kept in mind, because in it the part becomes the whole, conciousness is no longer kept separate from it, and as a consequence, death ceases to be; it becomes simple metamorphosis, and so our anguish is quieted, and the soul and body are at peace with one another." -Yves Bonnefoy
Bonnefoy, like many other poets, was someone who had something to say, to get out, and it is their poetry that gives us the most unfaltering glimpses into their lives, their experiences, and really the history of humanity. To turn your nose up at that proves that you truly have no appreciation for the circumstances and emotions under which artists create.
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