Tuesday, December 3, 2013
Poetry: The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly
Take about 10 minutes and write down your thoughts about poetry. What do you think it is? What makes something a poem? What do you think of poetry? What makes a poem good? What makes a poem bad? Go to poets.org and find a poem you like; copy and paste it here.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
My thoughts on poetry is that I do not mind it. I don't love it and I don't hate it, I'm kinda in the middle. For me I think poetry is a different way for people to express themselves in a shorter piece of writing. I think that poets are more creative in a sense of mind. Having the poets being able to write down how they feel and make it into a special form. I think that if the poem doesn't have any good grammar of just that the wording is weird then the poem is bad. But if the poem is flowing and has good grammar then the piece is perfect. A bad poem would have little words and leaves you hanging at the end not letting you find out what happened. Just like a book.
ReplyDeleteThe Poor Old Soul plods down the street,
DeleteContented, and forgetting
How Youth was wild, and Spring was wild
And how her life is setting;
And you lean out to watch her there,
And pity, nor remember,
That Youth is hard, and Life is hard,
And quiet is December.
I think poetry is a freer form of writing than creative writing or stories. You don't have to stick with the form, or worry that it makes sense at first glance. Often times in poetry people use simple actions or ideas that double to convey another meaning, or use very few words to paint a really effective picture in your head. I think a poem is good when it can make you feel something, even if it's not necessarily what the author was thinking or feeling when they wrote it. A bad poem is plainly written and flat, and doesn't have any element in it that makes you think. It's also bad if you try to make it rhyme.
ReplyDeleteI liked this poem because it was just so simple and described one little moment in the authors life:
I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold
-William Carlos Williams
That poem is called "this is just to say".
DeleteI think poetry can be just about anything as long as it flows/ connects in such a way that is makes sense to writer(if not the reader). I am not a fan of writing poetry, and I do not go out of my way to find or read it, but every once in a wile I will find something that I really like and fall in love, or I will see something that inspires me and write a short poem about it. I think that there are good poems and bad poems but it is all up to the reader to decide, some people will love a poem that others hate. Sometimes even the writer will not like it, just like how not all artists like their work bet there are always others that do and that keeps them working/ creating.
ReplyDeleteI think that Poetry is majestic, like a liger prancing through the sahara desert. A poem is made up of different writing utensils, such as similes, metaphors, alliteration, and iambic pentameter and so on and so fourth. I personally enjoy poetry, when I was immature I would just say this stuff is a waste of time and I would rather be doing something else. But actually when you begin to actually read the poems, and understand there meaning you can hear the message. I think that a lot of word play makes poetry good and enjoyable, also a poem that is different. A bad poem is generally a poem that lacks word play and meaning, and a poem where the definition is not clear.
ReplyDeleteHug O'War
from the book "Where the Sidewalk Ends" (1974)
I will not play at tug o' war.
I'd rather play at hug o' war,
Where everyone hugs
Instead of tugs,
Where everyone giggles
And rolls on the rug,
Where everyone kisses,
And everyone grins,
And everyone cuddles,
And everyone wins.
I do not hate poetry, however, I am not a huge fan of it. Those who enjoy writing poetry enjoy it for a clear reason. Freestyle poetry does not have rules. As long as the poet enjoys the topic he/she is writing about, the poem will be good. To me, there is no such thing as a bad poem; poetry is a very unlimited way to express your feelings about a certain subject. I do not love writing poetry, however, I know it may improve throughout the semester. Poetry is meant to be creative and unique; surprisingly, the message in a poem can be understood using very minimal words. You can do whatever you want with poetry.
ReplyDeleteI think poetry can really be anything. Basically a different way of telling a story or getting a point across. Sometimes theres not one meaning to a poem but the person reading can make up his or her own mind.I don't really like poetry, honesty I think its pretty boring I would much rather write a story or an essay in a normal essay format instead of poetry. I always feel like I have nothing to say when I write poetry. I have not found much poetry I have liked but maybe I will in this class. I think a good poem is something interesting, something that most people would enjoy to read. A good poem can be confusing but still interesting to the reader. I think a bad poem would be a poem that makes no sense whatsoever and is boring. Its sometimes good when you don't know exactly what a poem means but when it gets to confusing I think its bad.
ReplyDeleteSometimes I think that poetry seems too over-analyzed, or corny but I've found some that I like. I like poems that are split up by lines, it makes the poem not only more visually-pleasing but you can really get a clear picture in your mind on how the poem is thought out and what the writer intended to say through this poem.
ReplyDeleteI always thought death would be like traveling in a car, moving through the desert, the earth a little darker than sky at the horizon, that your life would settle like the end of a day and you would think of everyone you ever met, that you would be the invisible passenger, quiet in the car, moving through the night, forever, with the beautiful thought of home. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/22153#sthash.78GGmmOT.dpuf
I don't think poetry is bad but I don't think it's that amazing either. I think poetry is a way for people to tell stories, it's a way for people to talk about anything. It's different from typical writing as poetry, to me, is a more succinct version of writing where everything is condensed into smaller and shorter paragraphs. I would think a poem is good when there is a bit of mystery in it. It keeps you thinking about the poem and trying to figure out what the poet was talking about. It also keeps the poem interesting if the story the poet is trying to tell is interesting itself. In my opinion, I don't think there is such thing as a "bad poem". I believe that everyone has their own way of writing and some may like it, some may not. Poetry isn't for everybody though.
ReplyDeletePoem I Like:
Poem: Rubber City Soul
Poet: Lemon Andersen
For In a land far Away
Under a Blanket of the stars
On a moonless night
a child was born in a kingdom
Of Basketball Gods
In a county they called
the Summit
north of the capital
a rubber city
Where the Akronites run it
This child earned
Learned
the labors of his love
From watching his neighbors
Rise above hard work
At the local mills
Watching the sweat of their brow
Seeing his comrades growing up
Trying to Conquer the hill
A steep field of wheat
worn from cleats and cold
pounding the bottom of their soles
Against tough Ohio winters
and unconditional vertigo
But he rose
from the Dusk
of Elizabeth Park
And her projects
till the arrival of the dawn
rose from a high school Phenom
Straight to the pros
never forgetting how
the sun set on Lake Erie
How the rough waters
of the spotlight
can Ravage
Flow savagely along
always high tide
Knowing the odds against him
Yet his will to compete
Remained Hickory Street strong
For In all this love for his land
He learned to live
by the code of a warriors Song
and glorious were the
wins stacked
to the back of the wall
banners dropped
from the top of the rafters
For all the world to see
this man child rise up
against the odds
under the Akronite philosophy
In his mind ever burned:
Talent is given
Greatness is earned.
Anything written can be poetry. I think that poetry does not have to flow, or even sound good. I think poetry is the reflection of the artist in words. In the same way that an artist can make a painting based on there feelings. I think anything from a story, to a collection of words can be poetry. I like poetry in the same way I like an art piece. You enjoy what the artist made.
ReplyDeleteA = A
by Andrew Joron
Mine to ask a mask to say, A is not A.
No one, ever the contrarian, to answer.
The moon is both divided & multiplied
by water: as chance, as the plural of chant.
O diver, to be sea-surrounded by a thought bled white—
a blankness as likely as blackness.
What is the word for getting words & forgetting?
Might night right sight?
I, too late to relate
I & I, trap light in sound
& sing no thing that breath can bring.
I think that poetry is a way of writing a story or feelings that is usually a short paragraph from the poems I've read. Poetry that I have seen is usually filled with thoughts and emotions while telling a story, which is sometimes a metaphorical one. I think that thoughts and emotions that are put together in a certain structured way is a poem. I don't mind poetry though I don't think that I'm good at writing poems. Sometimes I don't understand what poems are about but I like poems that relate to me. I think that too many confusing words make a bad poem. Something that a lot of people relate to makes a good poem.
ReplyDeleteYou write about the life that's vividest. And if that is your own, that is your subject. And if the years before and after sixteen Are colorless as salt and taste like sand— Return to those remembered chilly mornings, The light spreading like a great skin on the water...
I think a poem is something that was written to flow differently than a paragraph would. A poem can be considered a poem if it was the authors intention for it to be one. Overall, I think poetry is interesting, but I don't usually read it outside of school. A good poem is one that is written well or expresses ideas that are original and interesting.
ReplyDeleteThe poem that I chose was maggie and milly and molly and may by EE Cummings:
maggie and milly and molly and may went down to the beach(to play one day) and maggie discovered a shell that sang so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles,and milly befriended a stranded star whose rays five languid fingers were; and molly was chased by a horrible thing which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and may came home with a smooth round stone as small as a world and as large as alone. For whatever we lose(like a you or a me) it's always ourselves we find in the sea
Take about 10 minutes and write down your thoughts about poetry. What do you think it is? What makes something a poem? What do you think of poetry? What makes a poem good? What makes a poem bad? Go to poets.org and find a poem you like; copy and paste it here.
ReplyDeleteI have mixed emotions about poetry. I enjoy reading funny poetry like poems from Shell Silverstein's books. These poems are often for children because they are not boring and they can be very silly. Also, I like the classic children's poems like Humpty dumpy, peter piper and others from Mother Goose. Poems I do not like are really long boring poems about someone, or that tells a story. For example many of the poems we had to read and analyze on the MCAS. Often, those poems can be really confusing and hard to understand. What makes something a poem is having it in stanzas with descriptive writing, like similes and metaphors,and has a title. What makes a good poem is using descriptive writing, with similes and metaphors, using your senses to describe like I feel, I see. A poem is bad when is it boring, bad word choice, and dos not follow the rules of poems.
A Visit from St. Nicholas
ReplyDeleteby Clement Clark Moore
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her ’kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Toys, and St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle,
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."
- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19286#sthash.XDuA32aN.dpuf
I have never been a large poetry fan. I have read many poems and found few that I enjoy, by few I really mean a small amount probably fifteen or less. I believe that poetry is like a work of art. It sends a vivid and thorough message. You can visualize what the words are saying whether it is referring to a cold winters night where the moon is almost invisible behind the clouds or a warm summers day where the pool glistens in the orange sun. I think good poets always mean something and give you an image. But some poetry to me can just be made out of nonsense to try and sound artistic or like you have a deep vocabulary but that is not what its about. So in the end some poetry can be brilliant and the rest is just not worth my time in my opinion.
ReplyDeleteAlone- Maya Angelou
Lying, thinking Last night How to find my soul a home Where water is not thirsty And bread loaf is not stone I came up with one thing And I don't believe I'm wrong That nobody, But nobody Can make it out here alone. Alone, all alone Nobody, but nobody Can make it out here alone. There are some millionaires With money they can't use Their wives run round like banshees Their children sing the blues They've got expensive doctors To cure their hearts of stone. But nobody No, nobody Can make it out here alone. Alone, all alone Nobody, but nobody Can make it out here alone. Now if you listen closely I'll tell you what I know Storm clouds are gathering The wind is gonna blow The race of man is suffering And I can hear the moan, 'Cause nobody, But nobody Can make it out here alone. Alone, all alone Nobody, but nobody Can make it out here alone.
Poetry is a shorter composition with figurative language such as metaphors and smilies. Poetry is also a righter expressing a thought, feeling, or emotion in a shorter format.
ReplyDeleteI generally don't like poetry because I struggle finding poems that I really understand. I understand books better, so I generally read them more. However, I occasionally find a poem that I can relate to and understand.
I think a good poem is one that brings emotion and feeling to the reader. I also think a good poem is clear, but makes the reader ponder what is intended. I think a bad poem is one that isn't clear, and leaves the reader wanting more.
Coming at an end, the lovers
Are exhausted like two swimmers. Where
Did it end? There is no telling. No love is
Like an ocean with the dizzy procession of the waves' boundaries
From which two can emerge exhausted, nor long goodbye
Like death.
Coming at an end. Rather, I would say, like a length
Of coiled rope
Which does not disguise in the final twists of its lengths
Its endings.
But, you will say, we loved
And some parts of us loved
And the rest of us will remain
Two persons. Yes,
Poetry ends like a rope.
I believe that poetry is storytelling and advice in the form of verses. While Shel Silverstein can be funny for kids, I believe that true poetry needs a message. Something that the reader can relate too or at least feel what the emotion that the author is displaying. This makes the only form of poetry I enjoy rap. I believe it is the only true form of storytelling because in rap there are no guidelines. While Lil Waynes nonsensical verses are simply confusing and are what I would consider a bad poem. Rappers such a Felipe Andres Coronel, more commonly know as Immortal Technique, displays points in his life that he believes can help someone like him. While one look at me tells you I’m not like Coronel, he writes so I can understand his predicament and his feelings.
ReplyDelete(Abbreviated Version)
DeleteShe was on her way to being a college graduate
The type I'd sit and contemplate marriage with
Screw the horse and carriage her love wasn’t for hire
Disciplined intellectual beauty's what I desire
Everyone told me kickin' it to her was hopeless
At first I thought she didn't mess with broke kids
The thug’s always talking about, how they smoke kids
"I'm not even interested" is what her body language would say
Everyone around the way gave up trying to get in it
It didn't matter how good your game was, she wasn't with it
On the block other girls was jealous but wouldn't admit it
Talk s**t and deny to everyone that they did it
'Cause they regretted the long list that they let hit it
Smoking weed with thoughts of envy whenever they lit it
She spoke intelligently and they bit it always trying to copy
But when they tried to use her vocab they sounded sloppy
Had a style all her own respectful and pure
I was sick in the head for her and there wasn't a cure
Her eyes are brown and beautiful yet empty and sad
I talked to her occasionally and she was glad
That I wasn't just another trying to get in it
So every now and then we'd stop and talk for a minute
We talked about power to the people and such
We spent more time together but it was never enough
I never tried to sneak a touch or cop a feel
I was too into keeping it real
It was because of her I left my freaks
She convinced me to stop hangin' out on the streets
To stop robbin' and stealin' from people like you
I took her out to the Apollo and the Bronx Zoo
Got to a point when I was either with her or my crew
So I decided one day, to tell her my feelings was true
I couldn't live without her so I told her facing my fears
But her only response, was a face full of tears
I tried to speak but she wouldn't stop until I left sight
I felt like a moth who got close to the light
Except I didn't burn I turned cold after that night
I went on with my life, college my career
DeleteEnded locked up like an animal for a year
At night in my cell I'd close my eyes and see her
Hold her close in my dreams but when I woke she disappeared
Just an empty cell until the state gave me parole in the summer
came back in tact and on track
But the fact of the matter is I still felt cold
Lovin' lots of different women but still felt alone
The sound of her voice beautiful smell of her hair
Though gone physically somehow it was still there
I had to do something because it was too much to bear
I went and visited the building where she used to live
The world looks different after you do a bid
The way your life changed
Stepped in the lobby and tapped the button next to her last name
Her mom buzzed me up and hugged me up like a mother ought to
But her facial expression changed when I asked about her daughter
She said there’s a note for me that was left behind
She had left it waiting for such a long time
"Nobody loves you more than me carino" is what the letter said
"By the time you get to read this I'll probably be dead
But when you left in '97 a part of me went to Heaven
I thank God at least I got to know what love really was
But it hurt me, to see what true love really does
It was because I loved you so much that I had to make you leave
You made me doubt the way I thought, you made me want to believe
And then I slipped up, and I let you get close to me
It was hard to not be openly when people spoke to me
Baby don't you see, I had a blood transfusion that left me with HIV
I died a virgin, I wish I could've given myself to you
I cried in the hospital because there was no one else but you
Promise that you'll meet me in paradise inevitably
No matter what, I'll keep your love forever with me"
This story ends without a sequel
And now you know why Technique, don't fall in love with people
Hold the person that you love closely if they're next to you
The one you love, not the person that'll have sex with you
Appreciate them to the fullest extent, and then beyond
'Cause you never know what you got, until it's gone
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteNature's first green is gold,
ReplyDeleteHer hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.