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poets_are_stupid
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squint
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Gently the poet
fondles his music and art,
handing things like zippers and place mats
with an awe filled delicacy.
words in the right combination
make him faint
in a dramatic show of color
and sensitivity.
He thinks people should handle him
like unprocessed film,
soft and exposed.
Thinks this world can be beautiful
and sees meaning in echoes.
Doesn't know he's ordinary
but claims to
all the while.
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021024
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werewolf
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a poet makes the extraordinary ordinary, draws attention to a solitude we can all have at anytime but most wisely ignore. a poet is as stupid as anyone who sees the world where it is not, who sees in a thunderstorm or in a fire, under bullets or heavy boredom, an inconsequential happening, a ladybug, an unaturally chipped stone, any of the things we faithfully call chance. They see a pattern displaced, and see themselves in that pattern, and are as stupid as anyone who offers their own body as a sacrifice to protect their destruction, because their own destruction seems their most quintessential creation. It isn't that they are more or less stupid, it's that they attempt to be heard, to leave behind a record of their idiocy, to distill it to a purity undiminished by the idiocy of others, but rather strengthened by it.
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021024
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Jeca
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ironic post, considering every word in here seems to come out as poetry.
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021024
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werewolf
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it was an emotional argument. what else is there but poetry?
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021024
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pralines&cream
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Now this may sound really stupid ... but I think it ::just:: may have been meant to be ironic.
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021024
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pralines&cream
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By the way, squint, you are gradually becoming one of my favorite poets. You are truly cultivating your craft.
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021024
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rollins
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another night for the poets
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021025
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squint
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thankyou
my heart melts...
yeah it was meant to be ironic.
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021029
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ferret
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i suck at poeticism. i can't even spell that right, i guess that makes me really smart.
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030105
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Dafremen
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Guilty as charged.
As dumb as a barge.
How's that?
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030105
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megan
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i like poets. they're fun. prose sucks. it's so ordinary. no flow. no movement. no soul.
see?
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030105
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misstree
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poetry and prose both have the capacity for movement, soul, beauty.
some poetry is flat as a board.
some prose drips with tendrils of imagery, meaning, emotion.
it's all about the bitches and the line breaks.
compare ogden nash and michael gira or henry rollins.
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030106
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celestias shadow
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owch. thank god i don't have any delusions about my own poetry, or i might be insulted.
oh, wait. irony. riiiiight. yay!
[don't sell the bike shop, orville]
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031123
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closet ballerina
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poetry
can be
rivulets of image.thought
drawn
like floss between your teeth
squeaking on the corners of your grey matter
pulling out the bullshit
leaving you
bleeding
and clean
if it's done well.
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031123
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oldephebe
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i second mtree's defense of prose having the capacity to inhabit the poetic. it all depends on the writers gifts and or dedication to his/her craft. Just read f.scott fitzgerald or any one of your favorite writers. More times than not that favorite passage or distinctiveness in an original music has its' locus in a poetic facility, virtuosity sometimes. For the writer who can conjure original metaphorical devices as easily as one assumes the act of breathing..well my inability to finish this thought or sentence probably excludes me from that rarefied strata..that and a plethora of other rhetorical/aesthethetic inadequacies
..but anyway for such a writer the world is her/his.
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031124
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oldephebe
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i'm drenched in delusion w/r/t my poetic voice..i loathe it and yet i think that i'm just on the brink of becoming..not quite there yet but every now and then i see something transcendant being poured from the cauldron..i'm sitting on a rock indolently playing my lyre..almost passively and yet this enrapturing music is pouring out of my hands..almost like a perfect kind of transferance or possession..well maybe the whole lyre thing on a rock is kinda efette..effeminate..fugazi..but this ideal i aspire to..i WANT to be able to write poetry/prose as easily as I conjure melodies and carelessly cast the notes upon the staff.
is it stupid to believe in poetry as the purest aspect of the human voice.. the language of the soul..the soul of poetry inhabits our citadels of civic action. It's voice is evoked in our documents that inaugerated the epoch of american emancipation from britians imperial and despotic clutches. Poetry exists in some of the darkest, the most inately evil utterances. But the argument that transcends the lines of the ledger, the prosaic promenade of dutiful and yet dreary beaurocratese, the catchechisms of corporate, familial and or religious fealty is that charasmatic chord that refuses to be unheard...
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031124
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u24
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poetry is a dance
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031124
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shutter-bug
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You guys have it all wrong. There isn't any irony here. The blath isn't poetry_is_stupid it's poets_are_stupid thus making the usage of poetry completely acceptable and in no way ironic. It's the people that make the poetry who are stupid not the poetry itself.
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031124
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Hillbilly Poet
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oh my jesus, i'm stupid.
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031124
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oldephebe
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Nothing in the realm of aesthetic discourse and or by extension the attributes inferred or attributed to *It's or the practitioner thereof (*an enterprise or act of creation or expression that is usually judged by what are deemd as aesthetic, artstic standards by an informed laity and of course the overly educated and non-talented community of criique* Trying to impose or bracket such a protean and complexly furcated proposition (whether or not it is relevant or inaccurate is of course of subject out of wich endless eddies of conjecture and idiosyncaratic extrapolations are sure to issue out of for eternities upon eternities of self-referential lint extraction from ones belly button) within the inviolable chassis of numeric and or scientific empirisism does not however endow your inequivalent assertion with even the sheen of the sacrosanct or the irefutable. we're talking about poets and poetry. What ever issues out of a poets mouth or pen is commonly equated with the person. This is a general rule or conduct or interpretation. Let us not be absurd and try to articulate and or confuse personal opinion with empiric/logical absolutes. We're all die hard dramatics..okay? Now that is personal opinion perhaps but my guess is that it probably finds a constituet artifact in the realm of empiricism. (Some) poets are by nature more or less predisposed to emotional excess and imbalance on ocassion.
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031124
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oldephebe
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In short i guess i'm saying that it is an intellectual and cognitive/emotional convention to hold a poets words as an equivalent expression, encapsulation of his person or personhood. Whether or not this is usually accurate is another question. Is a person whose poetry linger lasciviously upon the naked verses of prurient interest of wanton desire or appreciation..is that person a hot tomale, or pervert, or tower of rectitude giving voice to her/his usually unexpressed desires? Is it wrong to be a sexual being apart from our other aspects? A poet and or writer usually judges himself not only by his own inner arbiter of his own aesthetic but also by how others receive his painfully, arduously lovingly produced lines.
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031124
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Lemon_Soda
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Poetry is a better use of "words" than any I can fathom. Words don't mean anything. We just think they do. But with poetry, they atleast feel like they mean something.
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031124
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misstree
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words are the only lifelines we have, the only way to reach through this immeasurable distance and touch another being with luminous tendrils, maybe even send a few ripples they have.
"words don't mean anything. we just think they do." darling, how else would anything mean anything? words mean the world to me, or at least my best way of sharing it, with others and meself...
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031124
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sweetheart of the song tra bong
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They have yet to find the lines that explain one-half of what I want to say to you.
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031124
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Inky
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sing it out sister...
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040416
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poet
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i r sttoopid
i just poopid
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040416
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oldephebe
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and so the muse is the midwife to our burning thoughts, buring coals gushing from an open sore...O that we all could find the freedom to find our voices..
but if one is uncapable of defining something that is so abstract, so many things to so many people, according to let's say an arbitrary imposition or demand to gird ones argument or supposition within the peremptory paremetors of someone elses idiosyncratic definition..does that mean that okay..we can say..well he/she didn't meet my test therefore he/she must not have any direct knowledge and or understanding of that "thing"...i don't think so no wait let me be more emphatic and by emphatic, i do not mean peremptory - possesion, inhabitation by the spirit of Art or an aesthetic and even an appreciation thereof even if the tongue is tied down in a lack of verbal acuity in the abstract transcends - transcends pedagological and epistemological (epistemological in the acedemic penchant for rendering everything to the "exacting" dry mouth full of dust detritus of the didactic) expectations of oral regurgitation - there is poetry in all things..from sports to automobile repair to just about anything the created world engages in.
And this is just a general thought here that we are elevated when we find the freedom to speak our minds and govern our own thoughts, our selves accordingly.
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040417
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oldephebe
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ah epistemological in the acedemic experiential derived bias and behavior protocols of parroting the same inculcations and orthodoxies..standing on the shoulders of dead men kind of dogmatic didcatism
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040417
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iNsEcUrE_GoTh_GiRl
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*cries in frustration from not being able to understand oldephebe, but feeling the beauty anyway*
i love you man, you're so cool
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040417
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oldephebe
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right back at ya! iNcAndEsCaNt_GoTh_GiRl *smiles*
hope you don't mind the liberties i took with your name..
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040417
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pipedream awed by oEs vocab
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is 'didactism' a WORD even?
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040418
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oE
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uh..yeah..I came across 108 uses of the word in mostly acedemic journals...
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where are you pd? we miss you jere at blather...
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040701
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here
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at blather
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040701
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stork daddy
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man this one still hurts.
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060620
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Doar
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politicians_are_smart
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060621
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leni
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yes, i am stupid,
for harbouring the world
in my heart though it tortures
and tears.
yes, i am mad,
for i love the beauty
of grass bending in the wind,
of ripples under rain,
of the crunched life, broken bones
and sad red meat of roadkill.
yes, i am insane,
for tenderly vocalising
-but first seeking out to understand, to feel-
others' pain
and their love, their joy, their being.
i agree with all my heart that this is stupid.
the very best stupid to be.
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060621
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poet
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BLAH ERDERDREV BLQAHHHHHHHHHH
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060919
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what's it to you?
who
go
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blather
from
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