Along for the ride:

Thursday, November 5, 2009

"Not Another Bloody Poem"

Friko, over at Friko's Musings recently wrote a post with the same title as above. Friko's blog is well worth a visit with a varied content of enjoyable posts. In this instance her rant about people who don't enjoy poetry provoked some thoughts/questions of my own.
-Why do we like poetry? I definitely enjoy words. The right word or phrase is satisfying. It feels like an achievement.
I was always susceptible to some poetry; fairly obvious stuff that didn't require digging too deeply to understand meaning; Keats' "Ode to Autumn" is a beautiful example. As I have matured and have more of life's experiences under my belt I enjoy poetry that can stand some interpretation. A poem can reach out to us on a personal level due to subject matter to which we can relate. Find a visceral connection to the anguish or joy expressed and be swept along with the feelings of the writer. The conversation is between the reader and the poem. Not everyone will hear the same intonations and nuances. Some are reflected from ourselves.
There are many bloggers who would tell you that they neither "Get" nor enjoy poetry. These same bloggers will often use a familiar song to showcase and represent their feelings. Is that so different? The words mean as much as the music, in most cases. Visit "The Watercats" to experience a blog that straddles musical and poetic leanings. Most of the contents are original works and the lives you will peek into through the blog are a lot of fun.
If you want an irreverent, rambunctious trip on the poetry bus go to "Totalfeckineejit"
His poetic spirit overflows like milk frothing over the edge and down the sides of an unwatched saucepan.
-Why do we post poetry on our blogs? For me it is the desire to share and so relive the pleasure of something that I found to be unique, clever, useful, moving, etc. Sometimes a thought is expressed that is clarified by someone else's aptly chosen phrase. I nod my head in agreement. I too thought that, I just had not framed the thought in words.
We also sometimes use poetry to garnish our blogs and keep them current and alive on days when we are too short on time and creativity to compose something of our own. It's a way of saying "I'm still here!"
What once would have been a very private diary has evolved into something; still private because it is as anonymous as we choose; yet shared, critiqued, supported and enhanced by the interaction of comments. Those who comment become known to us on our terms, in the world we choose to present.
My world includes poetry.


  1. This is a beautiful post. It is both analytical and poetic in its discussion of why poetry matters to (most of) us, and why it matters in the blogosphere.

  2. Lydia, Thank you. I wish I could write uninterrupted but life/work intervenes incessantly so my thoughts are not as fluid as I would like. A comment over at Friko's parallel post suggests inserting the word prose, instead of poetry. I do agree. I see "what I call poetry" in prose everywhere.

  3. What I love about poetry is how the words "play" with the meaning and the sound. I hear meter in words and phrases even when I write prose. It's quite natural for me to want to turn it all into poetry.

  4. Sometimes, poetry is the only way to articulate our emotional response. How often have we commented on a passage of writing as being poetic? Maybe the writer didn't intend to write a poem, but such was the emotional input, others instantly see poetry before their eyes. Does that make sense?

  5. Mrs English.. you flatter us!.. *we blush...
    As for the poetry, I agree completely with you on the attractions of it and how each poem can be as much about the reader as the author. I'm not well read in the slightest, but when I see somthing I love, I love it. You can't beat a beautiful use of language!

  6. 'couldn't have said it better myself'
    is my answer to you.

    'wish I could have said that' is so often my answer to the poet

    I agree with you about the wonderful world of words which is the gift bestowed on those who know more than one language well. It takes a love of words to be willing to immerse oneself in the writings of a different culture. Saddest of all is for me when even educated people fail to explore the riches of their own language.

  7. Martin, Watercats and Friko; yes, yes and yes.