When a young lady named Leigh
Said, “I want to be on page 3!”,
Her friend, the Right Reverend John
Said, “page 3 has long gone,
But there’s a photographer whose known to me”.
When A Young Lady Named Leigh
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Tag Archives: blogging
Can Books on Poetic Craft Turn you into a Poet?
A couple of days back, I fell into conversation with a jazz musician. We talked about jazz, his teaching of music and the jazz performance I had recently attended at my local pub. On me mentioning that I am a poet, my companion said that he had recently been given a copy of Stephen Fry’s “The Ode Less Travelled: Unlocking the Poet Within, https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B003V4AT1C/, and that he had just started to compose poetry.
I have not read Fry’s “The Ode Less Travelled”, consequently I’m unable to comment on the book. I did, however say to my companion that whilst books on poetic craft may, in some instances, be helpful, its crucial to read as much poetry (of all kinds) as possible to enable the development of one’s own unique style. Such reading will bring one into contact with poetry which is not to your taste, however this is, nonetheless useful in honing the poets ability to compose verse.
I am not dismissing works on poetic craft. Indeed I have on my shelves “The Poet’s Voice and Craft”, which consists of a series of lectures by famous poets explaining how they go about writing poetry, and other aspects of poetic craft, (https://www.carcanet.co.uk/cgi-bin/indexer?product=9781857540208). Whilst I’d have no hesitation in recommending this book, in my opinion reading Keats, Housman, Blake, Larkin, Auden and a myriad other poets will prove of more benefit than pouring over numerous tomes on poetic craft.
Of course there is a danger that by reading other poets, we come to replicate them. One must always be wary of falling into the trap of (either consciously or unconsciously) trying to outWordsworth Wordsworth, or outBlake Blake, but by reading other poets and absorbing the poetic tradition, one learns, over time to develop one’s own unique voice.
I have been told that a number of my poems remind readers of Emily Dickinson, Larkin and a number of other poets. I have never (consciously) attempted to write in the style of any poet, but take such comments as compliments. We build on the poetic tradition. We can, of course augment it but, ultimately we are all part of the great cultural heritage that has gone before.
As ever, your comments are most welcome.
Kevin
I Think On Feet
I think on feet
I wish to meet.
And on girls who lose
Stiletto shoes,
Or maybe,
Keep them on for me.
I think on the dance of feet
Beneath the sheet,
And on scattered clothes,
And a rose, that was once a rose.
Yet not all girls lose, their precious shoes.
Lust
Lust
Makes the strong
Weak with desire,
But passion’s song
Must
End in dust.
A Police Constable Whose Name Is Ling
A police constable whose name is Ling
Tried to catch me in a sting,
With a young lady named Louise
And a large hunk of cheese,
It was such a close run thing!
How Sweet And Sad Was The Bird I Heard
How sweet and sad was the bird
I heard
As I stood at my open window.
When I go
To the pub to meet my friends,
We will pretend
That there is no end,
Or at least hide for a while
In the smile
Produced by drink,
Which makes men think
That all,
This will last.
But, I shall recollect the bird’s call,
As I stood at my open window
And know
That all
That sings, must pass.
Eternity
Some find
In the arms
Of that ancient profession
A kind
Of passing peace.
But a girl’s charms
Fade, and many a confession
Is made
By those who still believe, to the priest.
Though, in modernity, eternity
Is feared, by those who think
On dust
And such
As a never ending drink
From the waters of Lethe
Where men find
Peace
From the world’s call,
And all
Thought
Is reduced to nought,
In Hades where there
Is no hot
Fire, and desire
Is forgot
In an eternal, dreamless dream,
And Satan’s grin, is never seen.
For the song
When A Young Lady Who Was Extremely Plastered
When a young lady who was extremely plastered
Said, “I have this blogging game mastered!”,
I said, “those shoes on your head,
And you being in the wrong bed,
Show that you are well and truly plastered!”.
Editors “hate rhyming poetry”
“Editors hate rhyming poetry. Or do they? Rhyme has become something of a sore subject in the world of contemporary poetry, but to many poetry editors, there’s good reason for the shift. A number of writers who work in rhyme have yet to distinguish between the nursery rhymes of childhood and more adult types of verse. Recollections of the fun, frilly words that cheered and delighted us as children may be the reason editors tend to avoid rhyming poems”. (See https://writersrelief.com/2010/07/12/rhyming-poetry-dos-donts-and-definitions/).
The above is an interesting article. Whilst I agree that some modern rhyming poetry is child-like in nature, I have also seen free verse poetry of which the same could be said. Also, it should be pointed out that there is nothing wrong with child-like rhyming poetry, indeed both Edward Lear and Louis Carroll wrote some wonderful poems aimed at children, which are very much enjoyed by youngsters and adults alike to this day.
Much of my own work (for example that contained in my “Selected Poems”, https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07WW8WXPP/) rhymes.
I have, however, always been of the view that just as one should not put a size 10 foot into a size 9 shoe, (as to do so risks mangling the foot), that to compel a rhyme where no rhyme should properly be is to mangle poetry.
You can find an example of my own rhyming poetry, a poem entitled “Raining” below. As always I would be interested in the views of my readers on this post and the above linked to article.
Raining:
I awoke to the rain
Drumming on my window pane.
Opening my lattice, I let it in:
The purifying water that washes away sin.
The hypnotic sound
Of rain falling all around.
All my life, I have listened to the rain.
The same drumming
Of water coming
From the sky
Falling on you and I.
The rain has no end;
But you and I, my friend,
May listen for a while,
Smile,
Then pass on by.
I Know A Beautiful Young Dancer
I know a beautiful young dancer
And many men want to romance her.
If they have lots of money,
She calls them “darling”, and “sweet honey”.
And she owns a dog named Chancer!
K Morris - Poet 