The Crappy Poet

I'm a twenty-something edging past newlywed and new dog owner. I run, write, I work. What else is there besides the struggle to overcome all of that and make something of myself...

1.20.2006

What's in a name?

So, the all important question: Why am I the crappy poet? In my experience, both in college and out, I have never met a poet, in person, whom I thought was good. I have read a lot of poets I thought were crap. And although I have read not as many books that were crap, I know there are a lot out there. But it seems like crappy poetry is in proliferation. If someone writes a crap book, at least they can still say they wrote a book. A book is an accomplishment, no doubt. But it seems a lot of people feel like they can sit down and pump out poetry and it's pure gold. Well, sure, if you poop golden turds. Because good poetry is about as rare. Just because you write about something common in short phrases with adjectives that have nothing to do with your subject, and pause awkwardly in random spots doesn't mean you are a good poet. I know people who think that as long as it doesn't make sense it's great poetry. I had a friend once that thought she was a great poet, and I never understood any of her stuff until I found out she was cheating on her husband. Then it all became really clear: she wasn't as good (or ambiguous) of a poet as she thought. Her poetry really did make sense and it was all very clear. And very bad. I am very tired of poetry being reserved for either the very pretentious, or the very emotional. You don't have to wear black or speak Russian to enjoy it. You just need to not have quite enough time for a short story, and more time than for the back of a shampoo bottle.

Read my crappy poetry here. I have been published in some local journals, but none so fancy as to have items online.

1 Comments:

Blogger wrinkled weasel said...

the melon ball thing. I wanted to like it, i really did.

But I agree with you. everybody thinks they can write poetry. I thought I could write a book... now I am not so sure.

I like John Clare, a mostly forgotten British poet of the romantic period, who was highly sexed and keen on wildlife.

8:27 AM  

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