(And Gregory thought
he was late. Heh.)
I feel the need to share (with my interlocutor's permission) part of a recent conversation about a poetry book containing lots of magical realism, with a pofriend who was sorely in need of caffeine:
Me:
Quote:
|
I've been trying to get into this book, but I'm not in the right mind-frame this week to enjoy poems about, for example, a girl born with antlers (thus killing her mother in the process of being born), or a more metaphorically horny Little Red Riding Hood going into the woods to seek the wolf. Meh. It's probably fabulous, but I can't give it a fair hearing this week. I'll try again later.
|
Pofriend:
Quote:
LOL. I can see not being in the mood for that.
Sometimes I hear about what's going on with ISIS and Boko Haram and I think of all these clueless poets burbling on obliquely about this and that and think what a huge waste of time it all is. Then I read a review of some new poetry collection by some refugee who "bears witness" and uses "powerfully direct language" and I don't want to read that either.
COFFEE COFFEE COFFEE
|
I regard this as a timely reminder that poetry is a big tent, with room for lots of different subjects and lots of different approaches...not all of which will appeal to all the readers all the time. This will remain true no matter how many grand pronouncements of "Poetry is X" and "Poetry should do Y" I utter.
Although maybe I just need to drink more coffee.
Linear Mode
