Life, Modern Art, And Bad Poetry Poem by Seamus O' Brian
Life, Modern Art, And Bad Poetry
I am a reader of bad poetry.
I can't help myself;
I am irresistibly drawn
to those tangled rootlets
of optimistically jangling lines,
those stanzas of unfortunate rhymes
cobbled in there like flour-
dusted bricks in a muffin pan;
to those clumsy metaphors
that stumble over their own
awkward prepositioning
like a convention
of disagreeably intoxicated
Scrabblers in Vegas.
What is my attraction, then,
to these unpolished gems,
to these sow-eared silk poems?
Perhaps it is there, tucked in between
"rose" and "nose"- a little
Sliver of your heart, peaking out.
And just there, I see it now—
A timid glimpse of your very soul
Gingerly, held out, hoping the metaphor
disguises the tremble of your hands
tendering the raw truth of your art.
Perhaps it may be that the tapestry
of my own life is yet
a smudged finger painting,
a painfully childish caricature
of masterworks I have known.
How can I cringe with literary
hypocrisy at the words of another
when my LIFE is so illiterate,
when the precious particles of
the hourglass I have been given
are their own scrambled tangle
of participles dangling,
infinitives and initiatives
interrupted,
awkwardly endless run-on fragments of unfulfilled
potential, and repetitive redundancies
(perhaps expecting a different outcome?)
If even one of my days
had the simplistic grace
of a straightforward rhyme
(Here, please, add 'sublime')
would I not want
to publish that status?
So as I continue to smudge
this wreckage of life across
all widely recognized lines,
I will persist in not cringing
but write glowing reviews
for floundering but ambitious
lyrical works
as I celebrate passionately
the art of bad poetry- -
and the skill of
calamitous living.
'I can't help myself; I am irresistibly drawn to those tangled rootlets of optimistically jangling lines, those stanzas of unfortunate rhymes cobbled in there like flour- dusted bricks in a muffin pan; to those clumsy metaphors that stumble over their own awkward prepositioning like a convention of disagreeably intoxicated Scrabblers in Vegas.' reading with awareness, reaps the freshness of thoughts, reading between lines to heartfelt intentions, harvests the wonder of other hearts and minds and with an appreciate mind, who would not read bad poetry :) wonderful
Thanks for offering reassurce that talent is not everything. Putting heart into it and reaching out are more important. Poetic expression emerges from the whole person, so no wonder you find charm in someone's efforts to tie his or her inner jumble of motives together. Talent is nothing to brag about. It is given to us before we earn it, and it can be a double-edged sword.
Thank you, kind sir. I am honored for your consideration and gracious and so very insightful comments. I must say, I read your work on DNA, and was completely overwhelmed. I have not yet been able to compose a response to such a weighty and profound contemplation that actually does justice to the miracle of the inner secrets of life. Yes, I agree that poetic expression is an emanation of a whole person. The urge to write, the drive to create, even this is something that we cannot take credit for, but something to which we are compelled to submit. Thank you again, and I look forward to reading more of your compelling work.
You made me laugh. In this wonderful poem about bad poetry you say I will persist in not cringing but write glowing reviews for floundering but ambitious lyrical works as I celebrate passionately the art of bad poetry- - As one who has received an especially glowing review from you, I must laugh with you, and at myself. Thanks! =: -) - Rich
Dear sir, you have written nothing that could be mistaken for bad poetry. You have given me moments of fine reflection, and for that you have my gratitude. :)
And I love this poem. So true. I love the well written lines to describe 'bad poetry.' There are pearls everywhere. Love love love love love. ;)
Thank you, Pamela. I believe you have made me blush for some reason. :)
Well said, Neal! Such interesting thoughts. I just love the optimistically jangling lines and clumsy metaphors and the scrambled tangle of your life. This evening my teenage son shared with me a poem he wrote today (on an obligatory walk in the rain for English class...) And I could see the pleasure he had in having created it and was proud to read it to me. A rare special moment. I hope my glowing review spurs him on to great poetry, Three cheers to the art of bad poetry and the skill of calamitous living!
That your son allows you to read his poetry assignment speaks something beautiful about your relationship and his respect for your work. Truly a treasured moment of life. Thanks again, Laurie, for reading and for sharing. I feel so blessed to discover this community of writers and artists. Cheers! Neal
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/5/2024 3:08:50 PM # 1.0.0.1119
This is such an insightful piece. I personally find raw poetry quite endearing, since it's one of the purest forms of expression, and that alone is what we all try to achieve solely by our presence on this website. If we manage to convey our emotions and mental images, then we reached our goal no matter how we phrased it (even though flawless syntax is a gorgeous sight on its own) . You managed to deliver the message in a nicely chiseled form, so it's the best of both worlds here, Cheers to good (and bad too) poetry!