Yours truly is a very troubled man these days… Reason being I don’t get poetry. Also because my A/L’s are less than two months away, but mostly because I don’t get poetry. 🙂
Let’s sample a few verses and see what they mean to the layman. I dug up a collection of poems recently. This goes out to all the people in the world who feel poetry is retarded. Yes, all four of them!
I picked this fragile sprig of heather
Autumn has died long since remember
Never again shall we see one another
Odor of time sprig of heather
And remember I await our life together
From the title, I gather that it’s something the poet would write to someone he is bidding goodbye to. All’s well upto now. Then we see that he has picked a sprig of heather, which happens to be, fragile! Okay, fine. Some rambling before he gets to the point I guess. Then we see the autumn line. What the hell? Who cares what season it is? Or is it symbolically autumn in his relationship with whoever he’s writing to?, whatever that means. Then, we finally see some sense, in the third line. Only to be shattered again by the last line, which says “await our life together”. Poets are a confused bunch. No wonder the gal’s leaving him.
2) “The Elephant”
As an elephant carries ivory
I bear in my mouth a precious gift
O purple death! … I buy my fame
At the expense of pretty words
Now this thing creates some doubts in the mind of any reader. He carries in his mouth a precious gift, “As an elephant carries ivory”. Does that mean elephants have ivory in their mouths? :s Or just that he’s got something sticking out his mouth like vampire teeth? And then, as if to confirm his retardedation, he goes on about some purple death, which i assume is some form of mutated black death.
3) “Chapeau Tombeau”
He spreads his smut
This little or-
Enough of this
I’ll take a piss
Do I have to point out what lead me to think all poets are just reatards in disguise? Ornithological butt?
4) “How the Bird Singing”
How the bird singing
In the green poplar’s peak of light
up to the gay sun of bright afternoon
splits my soul pleasantly in two-
and what musical blood pours out!
from the unturning zenith
down to the unchanging earth!
Birds singing! How bad could that be eh? So, there’s a poplar, which I’ve gathered is popular with poets. Sneaky. So on this poplar, under a homosexual sun, a bird sits. But alas! This is no ordinary bird! It appears to eat the souls of the living by cutting them in half. But, typical of a poet, he praises the devil-bird’s actions and finds it pleasurable. He likes it when the “musical” blood pours out. Sicko.
Poetry should be treated with the same attitude as animal porn :p , and there should be regular raids on poet gathering places, such as poplars, drainage pipes and around the childrens play area in the park, looking for narcotics. I have no idea how I got through english lit in school…
And now, please don’t flame me if you read, write or like poetry. I was merely speaking in jest. No offense to anyone, except the bastard who wrote of the evil bird. He deserves to be tied to a stake and burned along with the rest of his coven. 🙂