Postmodern poetics respond to the condition of the world. In an age of instant telecommunications and metropolitan life, the postmodern serial and procedural forms attempt to accommodate the overwhelming diversity of messages and the lapse of a grand order that is replaced by an arbitrary personal order.
I. Language
A. In postmodern poetics, there is a paradigmatic shift from the idea that language is transparent to the disclosure of its physicality, its intimacy, its obdurate persistence, and its paradoxical fragility. (M 43)
B. Reader¡Xpoem:
The reader’s position is contingent upon the poem and the poem¡¦s existence hinges upon the reader and the varieties of knowledge the reader brings to the poem¡KThe adequation of thing and sign has lapsed with the realization of the arbitrary condition of language. (M 43)
II. Self
A. Contemporary poetry:
1. Contemporary poetry positions its perspectives from a persona (who is often autobiographic) within a defined narrative structure. 2. Contemporary poetry avoids self-criticism and establishes itself as a singled unified voice. (M 48)
B. Postmodern poetry:
1. Postmodernist poetics suggests an ongoing reinterpretation of the self in the context of others. It specifically investigates the ethical-or self-critical capacity of language and its relationship to identity. (M 46)2. The critique of the privileged and entitled ¡§I¡¨ is central to postmodern poetics. While not a wholesale endorsement of many theoretic claims to he death of the author or the abandonment of intention, postmodern poetry nonetheless insists on a re-visioning of the authorial voice and its reception. (M 46)
An Italian stanzaic form, used most notably by Dante Alighieri in Commedia (The Divine Comedy), consisting of tercets with interwoven rhymes (ABA BCB DED EFE, and so on). A concluding couplet rhymes with the penultimate line of the last tercet. See Percy Bysshe Shelley’s “Ode to the West Wind,” Derek Walcott’s “The Bounty,” and Omeros, and Jacqueline Osherow’s “Autumn Psalm.”
Too old for cold,I stand, now ,against the hedge, Watching the snowflakes in the glare of neon street lamps. Darkness has come early,and I think of country uplands and huddled sheep. On Salisbury Plain,shepherds watched their flocks Just as in Bethlehem two thousand years before, And then ,exactly when? “Between the wars”,it stopped. Now we know there is no “Between the wars”. And who decided To cull the sheep and shepherds and the space for kindness ? Now that same Plain still exists,but banned And closed to human-kind, For bombs ,not wombs Nor for birth of lamb ,nor gypsy child ,nor Saviour Where would He go today? _
I went up to the blackboard and I wrote there, x,y,z But the lecture room was empty, they were still in bed I was feeling angry, so would you.I guess I had written 20 lectures, I hoped for some success
I tore up all the handouts and threw them on the chairs I rarely lose my temper, but why should they keep theirs? I longed to explain Calculus, but noone ever did Nor why Eve was neatly made, just out of Adam’s rib
I went into the Staff Room,I got myself some tea I think it was the only thing that lecturers got free Except those pens for whiteboards, and paper for our notes Cheapest type of ballpens, sweets for our sore throats.
I got onto my bicycle,I went for a long ride I could have has a wedding dress, if I were a bride I could have had a coat of fur with matching hat and boots But I went down to Foyles again where they might cook some books
Then I was in Dillons and then I went to Heals I have got no furniture but I do know how it feels I went onto the Underground to get to Finbury Park Alas, when I got out again, it seemed to have gone dark
I came back home and drank more tea, the house seemed very quiet I heard Leonard Cohen whistling in the dark
Stan was happy for a few moments when he woke up.Then he realized Emile was not anywhere to be seen.Mary had already gone out as she wanted to catch a very early train to London.She needed to visit the British Library.She urgently wanted to find evidence that Wittgenstein wore a hat in bed. Stan went searching around the house but Emile had vanished.Usually at 8 am he would be dashing about pretending to chase flies and giving a balletic performance worthy of Sadler’s Wells. I wonder who Sadler was, Stan muttered as he filled the kettle with fresh water and put some Earl Grey tea into the teapot. Then, a strange feeling came over him.He looked up and there was Emile crouched on top of the highest cupboard in the kitchen. Emile, he cried, What are you doing up there? I’m training to be a spy, Emile replied nonchalantly. But how could this kitchen be of interest to the Intelligence Services? Well, the cat murmured, I am practicing hiding. You gave me a terrible shock, Stan said.I had this feeling I was being watched.I wondered if it was paranoia.Then I saw your gleaming eyes. So, you need to get some dark glasses, Emile said. No ,I would still feel that horrible feeling.And how were you planning to get down from that high ledge? I’m not sure, the cat meowed faintly Well, the first lesson for a spy or even a detective is, Never go anywhere unless you can make a quick exit, As it is ,I may have to ring 999. Just then the front doorbell rang.There stood a man with a white beard and moustache. Hello ,he said holding out his hand to shake Stan’s. I am called Peter Fried.I have just moved into one of the new flats across the road.I am a psychoanalyst. I have taken on another flat to use as a consulting room and a waiting room A psychoanalyst! Do we need one round here? Well, Good morning, I have just brewed some tea.Would you like to join me? How kind, said Peter. I say, old bean, did you know there’s a cat on top of your cupboard? Yes, that is Emile.Today he has surpassed himself in wickedness.How I will get him down I don’t know. My training analyst used to say, What goes up must eventually come down. That seems a bit weird for an analyst.To what was he referring… something to do with sex I don’t doubt.It’s all sex with you people. Yes, some of us are very peculiar…that’s why we enter the profession. What I meant was, if Emile got up he can get down.How did you get up, Emile? I leaped, answered the tense animal. Can you leap down? I’ve lost my nerve, replied the poor creature softly. Well, as it happens, being a therapist, I always carry few spare nerves with me.I’ll climb up this step ladder and pass you a new nerve. And without waiting, Peter climbed the ladder.He put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a golden thread. Here you are,Emile, Catch this in your claw. Emile caught the golden thread and wrapped it around his neck. Can you leap down now? enquired Stan. Emile leaped down and landed in a bowl of hot water in the sink. It’s a good thing I wasn’t making chips, laughed Stan hysterically Come here, Emile and let me dry you on this old towel.He put Emile in front of the fire and he and Peter drank mugs of Earl Grey tea. I have got a mistress, Stan told Peter. Well, do you want therapy for your conflict? Oh,no.I’m far too old for therapy or indeed for a mistress. She liked helping a man ,making tea, typing notes, calculating averages and calling the ambulance.. you know what I mean.She likes the paramedic, Dave ás well. Is she not married? No , her husband fell into the wheelie bin during the night and alas he was taken away with the rubbish. That is a strange story.Are you certain? No, it could be he grew tired of her and ran away.Then she invented this story, Well , this may be a quiet suburb but I can see there is plenty of material here for me to write my next book: Deceptive appearances and the fascination of apparent dullness. Oh, that sounds very unusual. Well, I’ve never believed in true dullness.There is always a story. See, I’ve just met you a man of 98 yet you have a wife, a mistress and a crazy cat.. and I’ve only been here for one day.Imagine
what else I may discover here. They heard a siren. Oh, no!We’ve not even rung 999 and here is the ambulance…. Mary will be so angry.You see Dave is bisexual My goodness, are you having an affair with him. No way, shouted Stan.My life is tough enough already.He can be bisexual or even trisexual but I’m not interested. What does trisexual mean, enquired Emile. I have no idea but I thought it sounded good, admitted Stan. Peter stood up. I think I’d better go home and start to see my patients. Now Emile, put your nerve somewhere safe.We don’t want you to lose it again. Thank you, darling cried Emile.I think I’ve formed an erotic transference with you already. Peter rushed out. Is it me or is it them?he wondered. I thought it would be quiet here on the edge of Knittingham but I think now wherever you are there will always be something unexpected happening.But I hope Emile will not begin to follow me around.I shall have to buy a lady cat and then Emile might fall in love with her instead.So off Peter went whistling a Bach cello suite and wondering how to cope with life in a suburb.. clearly it was not as dull as he had imagined
I lost my key on Xmas E Ve.Now I’ve found it I am ple Ased to meet you,Are you well? Do you li ke the way I spell Do you li ke the way you smell? I lost my keys in parallel Let me out,I need a we ll
midsummer days evoke the trancelike past where children played in joyous, daisied fields with buttercups so bright the memory lasts a freedom that our conscious growth will steal.
those stones and leaves and many coloured flowers were gathered into images that glow yet later we forget those treasured hours when for a while we lived in life’s deep flow
we did not look and see,but felt at one we lived as did the birds high in the trees now we write , experiencing has gone we cannot live like flowers filled with bright bees
to lose ourselves in nature is a joy which to our adult selves we must restore
Why did Jesus have no shoes? He had sent his soles to be heeled.
Why did Jesus not wear trousers? Jewish tailoring had not got that far 2,000 years ago.
Did Jesus drive a car? Drive a car what?
Did Jesus write letters? They had no Royal Mail then and soon we shan’t either.
Why did Jesus go to a comprehensive school? He wanted to widen his appeal.
Did Jesus iron his clothes? It was before the Iron Age.
Am I sure I’ll go to heaven? Stop going to sex shops and wearing red bras and you should be ok How about this atom bomb here in my pocket? Please, let it drop,I beg you
Why did the Iraq War begin in 2004? Because the Iraq Goverment had made too many Mass Suggestions Because George Bush wanted to play with his toy boys
Why did WW1 start? A wrong turning in a taxi They forgot about aeroplanes
How about WW2? Because Hitler was suicidal Because there were not enough jobs The home fires stopped burning WW1 never ended It does young men good to learn how to behave Because Europe wanted to commit suicide Then Japan did
Why did Edward the 8th abdicate? His mother didn’t like his beloved. Vice versa. He wanted to marry a domino He wanted to commit a terror He was impotent He was impatient None of the above?
Do you like my new coat,Annie asked Mary? Ye Gods, where have you got that from? I got in online in a salea The shoulders are too wide for you so the sleeves cover your hands completely Well, it did say “relaxed fit” and ” dropped shoulders” and I won’t need gloves You look terrible in it.It’s like an oversized tweed balloon and it’s very long I don’t mind long You look as if you are pregnant with triplets Well, since I murdered my husband I’ve had no man in my bed. How about in the shed?< Mind your own business.I am not with child I was just saying how you look that’s all Just saying!Where is your coat from? Marks and Spencers Does it have a touch of wool? No, it said:with wool And was it? Yes, there was a ball of wool in the pocket Are you sure it’s not “faux wool” ? Where’s that from? Faux sheep. What are they? Dogs with acrylic coats Do they alter their genes? No, just their faux jeans What are faux jeans? The opposite of real jeans And how can we tell the difference? You need Faith like when you believe a piece of bread is turned into God. I agree with that So why don’t you go to church? There’s only a faux Church here So it looks like a Church but it is not? Yes, they believe in Quaternity Four persons in one God? Or four gods in one person Or are they demons? Yes, they crossed the Channel in a bath Did the police find them? Not as far as I glow.
After Edna had gone home,her neighbours Mary and Annie had to vacuum the carpet where Edna had knocked over a box of biscuits of a crumbly nature and then trodden on them Edna is hard to relate to,said Annie warmly I wonder if she will get easier as time goes on? You mean you are going to ask her again? I’ve not decided,Mary told her.It is a lot of effort in winter. Suppose she asks us over to her place,Annie wondered We’ll have to see how we feel.I suppose it would be interesting to look at her furniture and see if she has lots of books,Mary said If we go and borrow a book, don’t pencil in your comments down the side of the page As if I would! Mary said indignantly.I only do that to my own Just sayin’ ,Annie replied Did you like her purple coat? I think it doesn’t go with red hair but who cares? I’d wear yellow even if I looked sick That seem stupid,Mary cried anxiously In the dark of winter it means drivers can see you. I suppose so.. yes, quite a wise idea.But one rarely sees a yellow coat in a shop. I think you can get them in shops that sell sailing gear,Annie mumbled Since we are right in the middle of England, there are none here.We’ll have to go to Orford,Mary warned her Where’s that,Annie asked? Not far from Aldeburgh,Mary said knowingly It’s too far to go in a day in winter,Annie decided How many miles is it? About 159.468 each way That is 319.435 miles altogether So if we go at 60 mph it takes 5.3333 hours And at 50 mph it takes 6.4 hours 40 mph would be 8 hours 10 mph would take 32 hours plus a break 2 mph would be 160 hours
Stop, stop!
at 0.5 mph I tbink its 640 hours
Well that is that.We can’t go it would be nearly 24 days nonstop
Just get a black coat and wear a yellow hat
After all that counting, they fell asleep until Emile came home with some mice
Dear PM David Cameron I am a very intelligent and creative woman. Hence I wonder daily why your face has no expression on it;I must confess since the vote on Syria last year you have looked a bit bothered now and then and no doubt Gaza and Israel have entered your gaze as well as all the other Middle Eastern States
.But blankness seems your favourite look.Watch out or an artist may paint a sign on youi
Danger:Please stalk on the grass
Danger:Trespassers will be parsed and printed.
I am writing to complain.There are many magpies,wood pigeons and other such creatures all living for free in the garden here.And think of the ones in the woods.None of them are taxed,yet they get free board and lodging,. And moreover we have hundreds of worms here which could surely be made to work.I know it’s hard to tell them apart but all those civil servants who read Modern Greats at Toxicford must have a few ideas. I think if worms don’t work we should mince them and make meat pies out of them… and wood pigeons… that makes me salivate. Those who won’t work shall be turned into food.The Chinese eat dogs… you catch my drift. Hard solutions for hard times, to warm an old cliche. I do feel that all living creatures should pay rent.Birds who live in a garden with more than one tree must be made to see how unfair this is.I am unsure what language they speak… maybe Hebrew as they were in Eden once. Oh,those lazy days,eating fruit and sunbathing.And sinning without guilt. Did you know Adam and Eve were unmarried,by the way! Well,it’s bad for us to be happy so I’m counting on you to pulverize nature in all manifestations. Why,,worms are a total waste of time.Get rid of them.Send them back where they came from. Even as I write worms may be tunnelling under the British Channel from France.We can’t let them dwell in our soil. And in the Spring you must stop birds migrating here.Why some come from the Congo.Surely that’s not morally justifiable Hoping my ideas will be balm to your ears.And try to get more of an expression on your face.You are like an empty canvas without Jackson Pollock and his tins of Dulux Yours truly Demabella Dodd [ M.A.Oxen]
P.S.What about cats? They sleep 20 hours a day.They could rid us of more vermin.. need I say more?
Shall we go to the Crematorium We’ll nice and warm Do they have a restaurant Will it do us harm? We can’t go shopping in Swansea We’ll save lots of cash Even Cardiff is locked down It’s no place for the rash The Brecon Beacons are over-run Despite the cold and snow I asked my husband to marry me But he said,I don’t know Are we still married when he is gone Where the Light will glow? He can come in my dreams again Kneading the new batch of dough Last night I dreamed of a murder I prefer a kiss. don’t you know? My anger seems to increase these days So I’m teaching my cat how to sew
To get you fit for death they took you in The Rehabilitation of the dead ? They got you up and sent you to a gym
You had a bed, the light was very dim So those new books I brought were never read To get you fit for death they forced you in
You fell onto my lap, it was no sin Your face as black as Satan’s in his bed They pulled you up for torture in a gym
They taunted you like Nazi’s, what’s to win? Tell me what the liars wrote down or said To get you fit for death they forced you in
When Christ was killed, they hung him on a hill If God is tortured, where should man be led? Who imagined dead men in a gym?
When the trouble came the nurses fled You died in A and E , there was no bed To prepare you for you death they asked me in You cried,I want to die, but they just grinned
Rainer Maria Rilke “Why do you want to shut out of your life any uneasiness, any misery, any depression, since after all you don’t know what work these conditions are doing inside you? Why do you want to persecute yourself with the question of where all this is coming from and where it is going? Since you know, after all, that you are in the midst of transitions and you wished for nothing so much as to change. If there is anything unhealthy in your reactions, just bear in mind that sickness is the means by which an organism frees itself from what is alien; so one must simply help it to be sick, to have its whole sickness and to break out with it, since that is the way it gets better.” ― Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet
“I see the disinfectant, where it knocks it out in one minute. And is there a way we can do something like that by injection inside or almost a cleaning?” President Trump, April 23
White clouds bounced like beach balls on the sands Above the ridge of Rivington we saw Here in this green place, noone is damned White clouds bounced like beach balls on the sands Tossed up in the air by unseen hands Free at last away from mills and pans The old stone barn,I felt compelled to draw Through the stile I saw a waterfall White clouds bounced like beach balls on the sands Above the ridge of Rivington and all.
The park sloped to a river behind trees The other side formed a large burial ground Where my father’s body lay, deceased
In the flowered park we sat and grieved We heard the thwack of tennis balls resound The park sloped to a river past the trees
Children can’t imagine mother’s very pleased When her strong support lies underground As my father’s body lay, bereaved
Children torment others , poison bees Sensing sweet fragility inside The grass sloped down to hide behind tall trees
Now my mother lies where I ‘ve dripped tears As if I hope a flowering shrub will shade And father’s body lies with mother’s, pleased
Memories may well alter .don’t deny Our mood affects the colour of the sky The park sloped to a river,grave the trees I once hoped that my dead could be retrieved
My blue mug’s striped like sea and sandy shore I love my memories of expansive sands The mug is round so it can hold much more
The image of the mug opens a door To access spaces where my dreams command My blue mug’s striped like sea and sandy shore
Stretched blueness takes me to my deepest core Where by my inner heart I understand The mug is rounded well and gives me more.
On the beach, the salt stuck to my pores Like Whitby where my spectacles were gummed My blue mug’s striped like sea and sandy shore
The Synod of historic Christian lore Held at Whitby where tall cliffs descend Reminds us how the inter-faith’s still sore.
And how my deepest thoughts are made disband To submit to God and that beloved hand My blue mug’s striped like sea and sandy shore The mug is holding memories that allu
Known to sailors around the world as the doldrums, the Inter-Tropical Convergence Zone, (ITCZ, pronounced and sometimes referred to as the “itch”), is a belt around the Earth extending approximately five degrees north and south of the equator. Here, the prevailing trade winds of the northern hemisphere blow to the southwest and collide with the southern hemisphere’s driving northeast trade winds.
Due to intense solar heating near the equator, the warm, moist air is forced up into the atmosphere like a hot air balloon. As the air rises, it cools, causing persistent bands of showers and storms around the Earth’s midsection. The rising air mass finally subsides in what is known as the horse latitudes, where the air moves downward toward Earth’s surface.
Because the air circulates in an upward direction, there is often little surface wind in the ITCZ. That is why sailors well know that the area can becalm sailing ships for weeks. And that’s why they call it the doldrums.
I began writing ten years ago.Before that I had read many books on the topic which were of little use to me.I think it’s better to start writing.When you have written a few poems or stories, you are more likely to benefit from reading the advice of othere.I spent far too long reading You need to read a lot in all genres but especially poetry.Some people still think they should try to write like Coleridge or Wordsworth and also they should use poetic language On the other hand, do people want to read the following
Ah,he said and swooned onto her breast She’d had cancer and had just one left When he found her empty in one cup He was rude; she killed him with a jug
That is in poor taste and I guess my mind is thinking of someone I saw yesterday I would not wish to write in that style on such a topic.I must be trying to make light of the news I heard. That makes me realise we need to think about what is happening to us and to decide if we really intend to write sick humour.
Moving on, keep notebook and write down anything that happens that has an emotional impact on you.I believe these events, visions,converations mean something to you and if you can find a form for them then other people will also be affected
Poetry relies on metaphors.If you read the Greek Myths,The Bible,any stories from the ancient worl you will realise that many of our common sayings are there.Also in Shakespeare. To be or not to be, that is the question
The Ancient Mariner is a poem which has a lot of images once in common knowlesdge Like I’m in the doldrums.Have a look and see where/what the Doldrums are and what it means….. in a place you are stuck despite all your efforts until a change of the wind/your mood happens.
Apart from these metaphors and stories in history and literature,you will come across events in your own life which will be somewhat similar.You can then make new symbols or they emerge in your writing as you go along
The notebook is the most useful thing.What has emotional meaning for you will most likely be what others will find interesting or moving
Random apples Fall silently On unknown Newtons
One may fall on you, so keep your eyes open
What is your apple? What does it teach you? Are you a potential writer?
In the winter, comes a day of spring Kind wind brings softness to the upturned face And warmth to once cold bodies seems to cling
When will be the day the first bird sings And hawthorn hedges fill with sweet white lace? In the winter,oh, a day of spring
A little heat is welcome ,promising That winter darkness soon will lose first place And warmth to once cold bodies, air will brings
We struggle on like donkeys stumbling With heavy burdens and no hint of grace In the winter, comes a day of spring
We lift our eyes, allow wide opening And in the lines of hills, our love is traced Giving hope to our cold hearts and skins
We take our time and feel no need for haste And so create an opening for grace In the winter, came a day of spring And sun on winter bodies made them sing
The darkness at the heart of any shrub A home for little birds in cold and damp The leaves of olive, gold and green were shed The darkness is the heart of any shrub No longer hid by summers of burnt red Flames in June, the loss in winter’s bed Through the window I see my lit lamp Darkness makes the heart of any shrub Safe for little birds in cold and damp
From a young age, William Blake claimed to have seen visions. The first may have occurred as early as the age of four when, according to one anecdote, the young artist “saw God” when God “put his head to the window”, causing Blake to break into screaming.[119] At the age of eight or ten in Peckham Rye, London, Blake claimed to have seen “a tree filled with angels, bright angelic wings bespangling every bough like stars.”[119] According to Blake’s Victorian biographer Gilchrist, he returned home and reported the vision and only escaped being thrashed by his father for telling a lie through the intervention of his mother. Though all evidence suggests that his parents were largely supportive, his mother seems to have been especially so, and several of Blake’s early drawings and poems decorated the walls of her chamber.[120] On another occasion, Blake watched haymakers at work, and thought he saw angelic figures walking among them.[119]The Ghost of a Flea, 1819–1820. Having informed painter-astrologer John Varley of his visions of apparitions, Blake was subsequently persuaded to paint one of them.[121] Varley’s anecdote of Blake and his vision of the flea’s ghost became well-known.[121]
Blake claimed to experience visions throughout his life. They were often associated with beautiful religious themes and imagery, and may have inspired him further with spiritual works and pursuits. Certainly, religious concepts and imagery figure centrally in Blake’s works. God and Christianity constituted the intellectual centre of his writings, from which he drew inspiration. Blake believed he was personally instructed and encouraged by Archangels to create his artistic works, which he claimed were actively read and enjoyed by the same Archangels. In a letter of condolence to William Hayley, dated 6 May 1800, four days after the death of Hayley’s son,[122] Blake wrote:
I know that our deceased friends are more really with us than when they were apparent to our mortal part. Thirteen years ago I lost a brother, and with his spirit I converse daily and hourly in the spirit, and see him in my remembrance, in the region of my imagination. I hear his advice, and even now write from his dictate.
In a letter to John Flaxman, dated 21 September 1800, Blake wrote:
[The town of] Felpham is a sweet place for Study, because it is more spiritual than London. Heaven opens here on all sides her golden Gates; her windows are not obstructed by vapours; voices of Celestial inhabitants are more distinctly heard, & their forms more distinctly seen; & my Cottage is also a Shadow of their houses. My Wife & Sister are both well, courting Neptune for an embrace… I am more famed in Heaven for my works than I could well conceive. In my Brain are studies & Chambers filled with books & pictures of old, which I wrote & painted in ages of Eternity before my mortal life; & those works are the delight & Study of Archangels. (E710)
