Everything abstract is ultimately part of the concrete. Everythinginanimate finally serves the living. That is why every activity dealing in abstraction stands in ultimate service to a living whole
” Her book is nothing less than a cultural history of American Jewry as refracted through its most celebrated artifact. Fiddler, which debuted in 1964, is placed within its moment. After a couple of decades of postwar assimilation during which Jews, like Catholics, won gradual mainstream acceptance, ethnic identity was beginning to reassert itself. The melting pot was being reimagined as a salad bowl, and the movement that Fiddler helped launch would eventuate, 13 years later, in Roots. Some potential backers worried that the show would prove to be “too Jewish.” Its Jewishness, in fact, turned out to be the key to its success.
But what exactly did that Jewishness consist of? If Fiddler marked the early days of multiculturalism, it also represented the climax of the process by which the Jews of Eastern Europe were rendered safe for their grandchildren, reduced to a set of reassuring stereotypes—poverty and piety, laughter and tears, candlesticks and chicken soup and “warmth”—that preserved them not so much in amber as in schmaltz. The paintings of Chagall, the photographs of Roman Vishniac (redacted to eliminate signs of prosperity or modernity), books like Life Is With People (1952) and, indeed, The World of Sholem Aleichem (1943): for the new suburbanizing Jews, those Unitarians with yarmulkes, such artifacts performed a complicated kind of psychic work. They gave them a past to adore, but also one that they could proudly leave behind”
On the patio stand my bay trees in their pots
An acer red,a lavender for gnats
The spiders weave their webs and so do I
All I write down here may be a lie
The truth’s a mountain. not a democrat
The toad crawls back uneasy, the frog spits
I know I have retained a molten wit
My skin is healthy and it slowly knits
The lord of death, another I defied
On the patio
The darker side is where my patio sits
In the evening, by choice candles lit
Here an air raid shelter war defied
As we fought the Nazis and their spies
Wary of the past, alone I sit
On the patio
Mary was on a step ladder in the bathroom spying on her husband Stan,through a hole in the wall…which he had drilled for spying on women sunbathing nude in their back gardensHe was climbing over the fence with Emile their cat on his shoulder.
I think it’s ridiculous, she muttered .
Surely Emile, a cat, can jump over the fence by himself.But Emile was very limp,she then saw with horror
He can’t be dead,she whispered to herself fearfully.She jumped down off the and hit her head on a tap… a dangerous event for a human with weak retinae or retinas or even deaf ears.
Oh,my!That hurt…I’d better be careful.She flew down stairs and imet Stan in to the kitchen
Emile has got concussion, Stan said happily
Is he not dead,she wondered anxiously.
No, he only fell off Annie’s roof.I am sure he’ll come to.
Good Lord.What made him go up there and more important,how did he manage it manage to climb up?
You’d better ring 999,he informed her graciously yet boldly
If you say so ,my dear.I’d do anything you ask..
Don’t put on that act! he said wantonly
I mean it.
A bit too late now.
What do you mean?
After 40 years with your mind on Wittgenstein,Dirac,Pascal and Kierkegaard,do you think I don’t know you made a mistake marrying me
But whoever I married,I’d have read those same writers…
Umphh,said Stan dolefully.
Just then Dave,the bisexual transvestite paramedic ran in.
Poor Emile,what have you done?
He fell off Annie’s roof, but we have no theory as to how he got there,said Stan.
Well, there’s no need to think of that… deal with reality.That’s my modus operandi!
He gave Emile the kiss of life.
Emile came to…but was not pleased
Why did you waken me up?I was having a lovely dream of walking down a silver path where I saw a big cat with shining fur and tender eyes looking at me.He just began to miaow when some fucking idiot woke me up… was he God?
I can’t say,Emile,dear.But please do not swear.
I’ll do whatever I fucking well feel like,he said.
Good heavens, what has happened.Has he been reading dirty books?
No, he was watching East Enders on TV… they all use the f word constantly.
Well,Emile.God will have to wait… he’ll be glad if you do some kind work here on earth.
Up yours,said Emile.I am sick of living here.I’ve been hoping for years Stan would mate with Annie but he has only managed a deep kiss.
Perhaps it was the kiss of life,said Mary hopefully as it pained her to think Stanno longer desired her.
Well, in a sense,you might have hit the snail on the bed said Stan thoughtfully.I know any further mention of philosophy will drive me mad!
Now,Dave said,shall I make you some tea?
Thank you Stan responded.I am half crazed already.Tea may save my sanity.But for what?
Annie came in
Did you know Emile was in a hot air balloon,she said in tones of wonder.How has he got down so fast?
I fucking well fell out,the cat yawned proudly.Then I had a near death experience until this loon here brought me round.
Emile,I’ve never heard you swear before! she whispered in a strange manner reminiscent of almost silent films starring unnames and forgotten beauties of long ago.
Do you like it,baby? Emile asked.
No I don’t. I’ve never said Fuck in all my life.
Well you have now,the cat informed her with a naughty smile.
I think he’s possessed by demons.We’ll have to have him exorcised.
But I like demons,Emile bawled .I’ve been good all my life and I am bored and depressed.
So you believe swearing will help more than therapy?
Emile got up and lit a cigarette nonchalantly with a certain ,je ne sais pas.
Good grief,he’ll be having sex on the sofa next said Stan.
What a good idea,said Emile, but I want my own room and an en suite..I mean to impress the next girl friend I have.
Dave drank some tea and watched these old folk ponder.
I am wondering where we went wrong,said Mary.All these years we’ve educate you privately and even had you baptised.
Well.I am going to be a Jew,said Emile.
I don’t think a cat can be a Jew… and you never ever had any interest in the spiritual before,why this?
Well,when I was unconscious I realised that God exists….
But why a Jew?
Well,they were the first to see God in a Burning Bush..
And the last too, thought Annie nervously.
Well,said Stan.You want to smoke,swear ,make love and possibly enjoy wine and song.Is that not enough?
Does God smoke and swear?
There was a long silence and Emile answered
Well,you see,Yes he does.
I’m off said Dave.I have to ring the Pope.
Why? asked Emile.I’m not going be a Catholic….
Well,said Dave,he ought to know that God is a cat.
To me this adage implies that someone in pain needs only use more will power to blot out the pain.This is false.If it were true it would be dangerous.Should we banish the pian of a broken leg and continues using it we would do more damage or possibly go unconscious and even die.Will power is affected by fatigue,it is not limitless
When Jesus said,Take up your bed and walk to the paralysed or crippled he said it we believe as the Son of God who could work miracles
Maybe some of the people’s problems were psychosomatic and faith in God might give them confidence to try to walk.These things have occurred under hypnosis.I don’t have any data
But pain is a neccessary warning signal and we cannot turn if off. entirely.People born unable to feel pain don’t live very long
If you suffer chronic pain you do use all your will power to keep going.However it is finite and you pay a heavy price.Like you go shopping get home and can’t walk for 3 hours.
The only sensible saying would be “mind interacting with matter” and even that assumes Descartes division of us into a body and a completely separate mind where we live and take decisions.I expect this is imagined to be in the brain.Since we still don’t know what mind and consciousness are Descartes supposition may have had bad consequences.
If we pay attention to our body in the places which hurt this when kept up for a good while can relax some muscles and tendons.I used to do it for migraine but it would take at least 2 hours lying down and gently focussing on the pain which would gradually ease.Keeping very still stops one vomiting too.Of course you need a quiet place to do this and work is no that place
I have not yet found it helps arthritis but maybe it takes 3 hours or 5 hours and would not someone have written articles about it? Relaxing is usually good but many people are strained at work and struggle to keep going.That’s why A and E is full of drunken people at the weekend… they have be injured in falling or brawling
We educated people may blame these workers but could you spend 50 years in the coal mines [ and bring up 6 children alone] which my grandad did? He didn’t drink much as in those days they were paid starvation wages and Mum had to go to Soup Kitchens sometimes.If he drank he had not much money
You may say if men didn’t get blind drunk then, why do they now? Ask a sociologist.It seems also to be common among middle class youngish people.I feel it’s a release of tension and if you go back to your flat alone on Friday you might be judged a loser.I know of people who go out of London on a train,get home and have no idea about it the next day.So it can be dangerous even if it helps arthritis pain
People who say, mind over matter, also are asserting their superiority to us sufferers who are weak willed morons
I did an IQ test once and I am a moron which seems odd as I used to be a mathematician!Really it shows they are rubbish on the whole Rubbish is the in word now
The other technique which does work is Distraction.Meet friends and talk, write poetry, paint and draw.Get a camera and play with it.Go out and get a whore.I am unsure where you get them from but maybe now we are all whores.
Go to a party and get utterly knackered.But when you go to bed you still feel the pain.So how about all those free books you can get? Anything out of copyright might be available as an e book.I know someone who has read the ancient Greeks this way and also Newton and Hook.He has few friends as most people don’t understand such things but if you do, read all night and then have a nervous breakdown Going mad may stop pain.I can’t say as yet and if I do I probably won’t be able to write an article about it.But on the whole given mental health’s low status in the UK I will not advise anyone to even think about it.How do you go mad? Does anyone know the ideal way? First have loads of money for carers and a nice home with space for them…. and no doubt you will end up seeing a CBT therapist who will train you to believe you are sane and have no pain.That’s a different kind of madness
Can something be too soon a metaphor
The Holocaust, a genocide no more
A word for something evil done by man
A little worse than burning the best pan
Do metaphors make people do bad deeds
When we need new ways and stunning schemes
How about we torch the Union Jack
And throw it at a Constable hay stack
That’s pathetic, we need nuclear bombs
Stored inside the wombs of virgin nuns
When birth arrives a triumph and a roar
The London Hospital shall be no more
No London,no New York,no Leningrad
Just a beetle looking quietly sad
In the Waiting Room the folk look dumb
Like a Van Gogh painted with the thumb
Colours swirl uncanny as I peer
I guess my perfect hate has made more fear
Wondering what the dickens is to come.
I want to get the bus though noone’s home
Only Alfred clawing at my comb
It’s not as if a cat could read King Lear
I dream of Summer donkeys by the pier
In the Waiting Room
Oh, for Istanbul and rounded Dome
No pointed steeple like a finger torn
The floating heavens here enclose the higher
If waiting is a horror, I’m a liar
We are a haul of herrings shipped to shore
In the Waiting Room
On the NHS, we have to wait
Weeks of blood tests,no sign of a date
There are people who’re worse off than us
They almost die just stepping off the bus
Have they kept quiet lips till time’s too short
You know my wife, the man begins to state
Never seen her yet, the doctor bleats
The nurse recalls the scar and the skin loss
The blooming doctor doesn’t give a toss
That’s not true, the doc has just two feet
Two hands, two eyes, one head and folk to meet
He cured the nose, but killed the man in’t verse
Wasted money from the Nation’s purse
Let them test the heart, forestall the hearse.
On the NHS
What can’t be allured must be cured
What can’t be pure must be demure
What can’t be lured must be procured
Whar can’t be immured must be insured
What can’t be endured must be disappeared
What can’t be borrowed must be followed
What can’t be horror may be sorrow
Sodom today and Gomorrah termorrow
Die, et ideo breviter allocking
Killin quod suus 'vicis ut nunc dicimus
Ah, ah non shud et chodchod proposuerunt; sed oh
Opus, quod cuius effrenae libidini, invenient te ard
s ill i mammy tibi cito et moriar
A causa enim conteret: et ligabis
Allocking me sentire ill meks
Nonne mater iure testamentum facere?
Ego autem totum tuom est allooan Pyk
Impensis est weear vulgares AMBULO
Allooan sum, mi humiliavit uxorem
Allocking suus scelus ah scitote intelligentes
Ubi mi daddy quod suus '' 'sit pipe
Ubi est Pater iaccam plena fumigant putas?
Illi volo, mi mam s alloooan
Vos, ed responsis horrent divum er gemitus
Ubi mi cat, et ubi canis mi
Ubi iscatur, rhoncus ea pallio, si frigus?
Factum 'putas veteres pannos et antiqua aduncum per' T vestimento
Eeh, Deus non potest repleti sunt ira?
Deus enim non omnes allooan
Numquam allocks, qui est lapis
Ut 'quare omnes nos homines ut irata
Sed videtur ah've inferos et certus sum
Nil, yooman manebunt.
P
I painted the doorstep black so it wouldn’t need cleaning.. but now the dirt has gone white…. Does dirt turn white with age?
My home is an abstract art work with dust making patterns all over the place.
Uncertain times unsettle human minds
We live without our choices well defined
A fog of grey encompasses our thought
Wonder from what pedlars we have bought
In the mirror seek but cannot find
Like the one eyed man can lead the blind
We can live without complete design
Else we tighten, tense and overwrought
Uncertain times
Trust is lacking, for the lost we pine
Life and death seem not to be aligned
All those little rules our teachers taught
Do not seem to give us peace from excess thought
As through the world we walk as if it’s mined
At certain times
“For firstly, the social instincts lead an animal to take pleasure in the society of his fellows, to feel a certain amount of sympathy with them, and to perform various services for them. … Such actions as the above appear to be the simple result of the greater strength of the social or maternal instincts than that of any other instinct or motive; for they are performed too instantaneously for reflection, or for pleasure or even misery might be felt. In a timid man, on the other hand, the instinct of self-preservation might be so strong, that he would be unable to force himself to run any such risk, perhaps not even for his own child.”
The postman was very late coming that morning.Stan was asleep in his armchair whilst Annie was analysing some data on the political alignments of the over fifties group in Knittingham.Mary was upstairs daydreaming.
Hi. Mary…Annie called.There’s a letter for you from the hospital.
Mary came down, her face a little pale with anxiety.She opened it slowly.Inside it had the following announcement
Your appointment on 5th October at 3 am with Dr Paramour has been cancelled..
We can offer you he following appointment:
5th October 2014 at 3 am in the usual clinic
This will be with Dr Paramour unless he goes on holiday again.He will remove your tumour and your humor as well.
Stan read the letter.
Why have they sent this? he asked bemusedly as he blinked with his nice blue eyes.
Mary phoned the hospital.She spoke to a charming young man.
What does it mean? she enquired.Why give such a silly letter out.
It means nothing,the man said,It’s the computer.
Computers follow programmes.We’ve had this type of stupid letter many times in the last 6 months….it’s using paper and postage apart from the worry.Why can’t someone alter the programme?
I don’t know,the pleasant man replied.I think nobody understands it.
Don’t they realise that keeping patients calm and trusting is part of the healing process?
No,they don’t he answered despondently.We have to answer the phone all day long.So we can hear how upset some people are.
Stan called out,it’s in the government too.They wasted millions on a new system which was scrapped before it was ever used…
Where are all the intelligent people?
That’s what I have been wondering,thought Emile as he hid behind Annie’s new green handbag hoping a field mouse might come by
I am sure if I planned the the computer programmes I could fix this,said Mary.But I will never be given a job now.I don’t think I’d want it now with my eyesight.
Well,Mary,you are still very beautiful,said Stan.I think I want to go to bed with you.
Stan, how can you say it in front of Annie?
Well,she can come as well if she likes,he replied tactfully.
And what about Emile?
Oh, alright then.We’ll all go to bed even he … we need a life changing experience.And I do not mean another daft letter from that blooming hospital,The Royal See
We could paper the walls with them.
I would not enjoy seeing the walls like that,said Annie.
I am just making a point… that they waste so much money…. and time answering the phone to correct their errors………. it’s like Alice in Sunderland.
I never knew she was a Geordy, mioawed Emile…
I just like to think of her that way,answered Stan.
Anyway,upstairs and off with your clothes… we must make love before we die even if it kills us or we have to go to A and E with angina,migraine,a broken rib or other unmentionable discomforts.
And being obedient they all want upstairs,got undressed and fell asleep side by side in Stan’s large soft bed… except for Emile.
I thought they were going to have a love in,he thought.Perhaps when they waken up,who knows?
Maybe the NHS are trying to make people mad so they will pay for private treatment….
Mary was dreaming she was back at Oxford teaching analysis to a group of frightened first year students…what a pity they are so nervous,she thought.They’s do better working in a garden centre or a zoo…
And so would all of us
Stan woke up later than usual owing to the comfort of sleeping in his dear wife’s soft cotton nightgown.He had slept better despite the police calling to question him about a nude woman found wandering in the town centre.
Women have better clothes than men,Emile, he remarked to the cat which was stretched out on the Guardian.I don’t know why I buy that paper.You could sleep on a bath towel or the Sun
After having a shower,Stan dcided to take another look at Mary’s clothes.He found a long denim skirt in indigo which he fancied would match his new T shirt.
Of course I shall only wear while I do the housework he told Emile.After all in Scotland I could wear a kilt.Can you get a denim kilt he wondered.He decided to wear underpants but not to wear Mary’s silk petticoat.She might get angry with him.
There is a certain logic in wearing a denim skirt as it much cooler than trousers and allows easy movement.But of course one must wear decent underpants in case the wind blows under it and reveals all.That’s why women are always buying packs of pants.So Stan was thinking. and he remembered his old espadrilles which would look good.He stood in front of the mirror and imagined he looked quite fetching.
The doorbell rang and on the step was the Vicar of Knittingham South.
Hello,madam, he said.
I’m a man,Stan muttered mournfully.
Yes,dear,of course you are.May I speak to your husband?
I am the husband,Stan screeched.
Oh,I see.You are gay then, I assume.
Stan pointed to his beard and said,I am a man. Didn’t you hear me?
Please forgive me, the Vicar said.Some old ladies get quite hairy and with the skirt I thought it was rude to mention your beard.How do you find the skirt,by the way?
Well, it’s quite nice having air on the legs and it’s definitely cooler than shorts.
But a cotton dress would be even better.Are you married?
Yes,said the Vicar but my wife is very intolerant of anything unusual.She’d be furious if I wore her clothes.
My wife doesn’t know,Stan told him.I bet she’d be angry too because she’d have to iron it again.
Why don’t you wash and iron it before she comes home, the Vicar demanded.
Well, just between the two of us I am afraid of irons, telephones,and making a mistake in a recipe.Also eye tests and blue litmus paper and crisps
I’m afraid of dentists, fogs ,dogs and sausages the Vicar admitted.And doctors and fierce women.
The two men stood pondering.
Come inside, said Stan after a few minutes.Let’s have a coffee.
They sat on the patio drinking their coffee and saw a wren fly past into the weigelia.That’s the first I’ve seen recently.said Stan.
Emile was asleep in a woven wastepaper basket in the kitchen by the door
Anyway, why did you call,Stan asked the Vicar.We never got to that
I can’t remember, the dear old man admitted.I’ll have to come back tonight.
Oh,dear,I think I’d better put some trousers on, Stan whispered.My legs are cold
All I have learned is:
If you are not hoping to make a living from it
and you have a desire to do it but are unsure how
If you have no expectations so you are pleased if anything comes out at all or you may feel depressed when you see what you’ve done but you go on anyway
Then after you have taken a lot of photos you begin to understand what you like.You didn’t know before
[I like to take still life photos of 2 or 3 objects] You may take 300 before you learn what you like
After you happily spend hours drawing the same objects, you realise you like to draw two people ir two jugs or two apples next to each or ,or overlapping but not flowers or landscapes
You write some limericks and then wonder what might be more interesting.Anything you see with an emotional impact can affect you enough so you want to write about it… make a note.I saw a woman who had been deserted and depressed walking in the snow with two huge dogs which pulled her along and she looked happy again
Just write it any old how
If you find a place where someone might read it and not be too critical it helps but I think the big blogging places are not so good for getting much of the right attention – some kind people
might exist but a small place might be better.Or even FB
You might be surprised what comes out when you start.
You don’t know the end when you begin so if you like control it’s harder.
His article about Muslim women was a tactical gambit designed to gain the votes of right wing people and frightened people when he makes his leadership bid
His article was meant to be funny but unless you went to Eton you won’t get it or letterboxes aka better locks on
He wrote this while drunk and regretted it but cannot apologise
He wants to create more trouble in the UK as he thinks we have not got enough yet
He lost self control and wrote it while in a bad temper with his sister in law who is from Afghanistan,as it happens.
He may have a hight IQ but he is basically a bit backward except for dragging women into his cave.They seem to like him
It is a secret code to tell Trump he likes what he is doing.
He is trying to help M & S as they don’t sell Muslim clothes so the Muslims have to change to our clothes.OMG I hope not! Thin leggings and crop tops and choppped locks don’t look so good on most women.On the other hand Marks sell long trenchcoats and long cardigans, also maxi dresses with sleeves so that might help.
Especially if men wore them.Make men cover up.I’d prefer not to see BJ’s face myself.
The man who never listened to the troubles of his wife
fell down the escalator at King's Cross station.
No-one met his eyes,
as he lay sickly on the concrete,
though someone did push his shiny briefcase towards him
as if hoping that was enough.
He phoned his wife but she was out
complaining about him to a neighbour instead
of painting or cooking dinner.
As he lay down there on a level with the feet
of the commuters
he noticed no-one polished their shoes anymore...
well,no-one could polish trainers of course..,
though you can wash them----
he saw the way people leaned forward as if pushing themselves
against a gale.
though it was a still warm day.
It seemed as if they were battling against a huge force,
not relating to the feeling of their weight upon the earth.
It was some spiritual force which was pushing them back
towards the Underground,hot and turgid with sweat and dust.
A sanitised Inferno,where the hell is in the collective mind
.
The force seemed to push them in and they pushed back and did
eventually make it into the street outside and into Westminster,
for we all need our rulers.
He lay there all morning musing, until a tramp came over
and asked him to buy a copy of the Big Issue.
And he stood up and bought it gratefully,
taking strength from the acknowledgement of his humanity.
He phoned the office, went home
and told his wife
he'd like to know how she had spent her morning
how she felt,how he wanted to learn to talk and listen,
and recommends now
that if you can fall off the escalator
without breaking a leg
you might be glad
to see life from the bottom up;
for he'd always looked from the top down
and was above everyone.
These reversals,though fearful,
can give us a new perspective
especially on women who are so often
on the underside of society
He's wondering about changing his life
from up to down..
and down to up.
Mothers always said,it's good to have a change.
I don't think it was their husbands they meant..
though.........who knows?
A game of musical chairs might be good
on the weekend,
if you live near a good escalator.
Escalating... it's not for the beginner
at falling.
IIf you hate yourself, why do you think someone else will like you?
If your life is full and creative, you have no time to spend looking for someone else
I’m all alone and up a tree
Why won’t someone rescue me?
I came up here to see the view
I want you to come up too
I have no ladder nor a rope
I just have a telescope
For you see a spy
Watching ladies as they fry
The sun is hotter,more intense
I tell the ladies :No offence
But if I get more close to one
I am frightened and I run
Yet I long for a soul mate
And to share a box of dates
Call me silly, call me crazed
I am feeling fine yet dazed
After my dad died when I was a little girl my mother was in a bad way with five children to care for and money to earn
I only realised recently, when you lose one parent, you lose another because the mother left behind alone is not the same as she was when she had a loving husband.So when a friend’s husband dies, your friend is not the same person as before.So in a way you suffer two losses
But when we look at Syria, how can we complain?
I had a very interesting experience.I suffered from an illness nobody seemed to understand so it was ” the menopause”, ME, psychological or psychosomatic etc
After about 10 years I had some blood tests.My thryoid was underactive [ 4 years lying on the bed!] Ironically my previous blood tests showed this but the doctor “forgot” to tell me.
What I think is very interesting is after I got treatment I didn’t think I felt any difference but I believed that the Super Fiendish Su Doku puzzles in the newspaper were being deliberately made easier.I went shopping and did other activities presumably meaning I had more energy.I began going to an Art Class……. the world seemed different but it was me who was different.That makes one think.
Following World War II, with the bombing of Japan, the cohesive center disappeared for Americans. People began to move outward from the cities and into newly created suburbs. Women did not wish to return to the world of housekeeping after tasting the freedom of war-time employment. Minorities also felt the impact of a newly found freedom. We split the atom, the center of everything, and in so doing we created chaos. The Contemporary Poets reflect this chaos.
2
It is interesting to note that Modern Poetry laments loss and fragmentation, while Post-Modern Poetry celebrates it. There are notions of whole fragments that don’t link to any conclusion. Anne Lauderbach suggests that as our lives are made up of strings of fragments, so is post-modern poetry. Coherence is the falsehood. If we insist on neatness we will leave out something of significance – too neat is false, you experience nothing. Fragments create variety (Lauderbach).
In interpreting Modern Poetry it is not necessary to understand the poets exact meaning. It is sufficient that the reader take from a poem what they need to take, which may not be what the writer intended. But that is okay because the reader takes the feeling, they get in touch with the emotion. To paraphrase John Ashbery, “You, the reader, add the flowers to the field with your interpretation” (Mitchell). The poet creates an openness, an empty field and the reader connects with the emotion and fills the field with fragments, creating a whole. The Modern Poets are teaching us to see the world in different ways than we are used to. Readers have to learn to dance to the new music.
Finally, modern poetry creates a mythology of human psyche and culture by delving into how language works, as well as exploring subject and content. A poem is not a puzzle to be solved but an experience, an event to take part in. The modern poets created metapoems, which are poems about how poems and language operate. They have no fixed center, it is “a hymn to possibility” as John Ashbery says. The modern poet, Anne Lauderbach says, “Depart from the tune – breaking the form is the form. We explore the world through forms” (Lauderbach). By breaking traditional form and exploring the complexities of language itself, the contemporary poet embarks on an adventure of self-discovery, forging new roads into the inner workings of individuals and their societies.
Works Cited
Brooks, Gwendolyn. “a song in the front yard.” Norton Anthology of American Literature. Sixth Edition, Vol. E. Ed. Nina Baym. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 2003. 2780-2781.
Eliot, T.S. “The Wasteland.” Norton Anthology of Modern Poetry. 2nd Edition, Ed. Ellmann, Richard and O’Clair, Robert. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1998. 491-504. Lauderbach, Anne. Notes from Lauderbach’s lecture at Florida Atlantic University, Boca Raton, Florida, 1/30/01 Mitchell, Susan. 2001. LIT 3021 Modern Poetry. Florida Atlantic University, Boca Raton, Florida. December 2002
Stan woke up later than usual owing to the comfort of sleeping in his dear wife’s soft cotton nightgown.He had slept better despite the police calling to question him about a nude woman found wandering in the town centre.
If you hate yourself, why do you think someone else will like you?
http://karenrager.tripod.com/essays/postmodernpoetry.html
How my heart speaks 