I never really did learn to appreciate poetry. It always seems to not make sense, or has to follow some archaic form. As much as they tried to jam poetry down my throat in school, I still don't really understand it.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
«Refrigerator Haiku»
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thats a interesting haiku right there lets see if i can make one.
ReplyDeletethats a fast fridge
lets make me a good haiku
banana peels rock
@ Stefan: If I'm not mistaken, "that's a fast fridge" is only 4 syllables.
ReplyDeleteA lot of the poetry they give you in school is crap. I used to think I didn't like poetry, but then I read some Kipling. I think they don't let him into the schools because he actually has something to say. Try The Sons of Martha, it's a poem for engineers. On the lighter side, there's Ogden Nash. Even his name is funny, and some of his poems aren't much longer. But schools only teach serious poems.
ReplyDeleteThis is the poem that my Creative Writing teacher started our first class off with. Needless to say, he's my favourite teacher. (:
ReplyDelete"Mein Kampf"
By Gary Snyder
all I want to do is
make poetry famous
all I want to do is
burn my initials into the sun
all I want do do is
read poetry from the middle of a
burning building
standing in the fast lane of the
freeway
falling from the top of the
Empire State Building
the literary world
sucks dead dog dick
I'd rather be Richard Speck
than Gary Snyder
I'd rather ride a rocketship to hell
than a Volvo to Bolinas
I'd rather
sell arms to the Martians
than wait sullenly for a
letter from some diseased clown with a
three-piece mind
telling me that I've won a
bullet-proof pair of rose-colored glasses
for my poem "Autumn in the Spring"
I want to be
hated
by everyone who teaches for a living
I want people to hear my poetry and
get headaches
I want people to hear my poetry and
vomit
I want people to hear my poetry and
weep, scream, disappear, start bleeding,
eat their television sets, beat each other to death with
swords and
go out and get riotously drunk on
someone else's money
this ain't no party
this ain't no disco
this ain't no foolin a
grab-bag of
clever wordplay and sensitive thoughts and
gracious theories about
how many ambiguities can dance on the head of a
machine gun
this ain't no
genteel evening over
cappuccino and bullshit
this ain't no life-affirming
our days have meaning
as we watch the flowers breath through our souls and
fall desperately in love
this ain't no letter-press, hand-me-down
wimpy beatnik festival of bitching about
the broken rainbow
it is a carnival of dread
it is a savage sideshow
about to move to the main arena
it is terror and wild beauty
walking hand in hand down a bombed-out road
as missiles scream, while a
sky the color of arterial blood
blinks on and off
like the lights on Broadway
after the last junkie's dead of AIDS
I come not to bury poetry
but to blow it up
not to dandle it on my knee
like a retarded child with
beautiful eyes
but
throw it off a cliff into
icy seas and
see if the the motherfucker can swim for its life
because love is an excellent thing
surely we need it
but, my friends...
there is so much to hate These Days
that hatred is just love with a chip on its shoulder
a chip as big as the Ritz
and heavier than
all the bills I'll never pay
because they're after us
they're selling radioactive charm bracelets
and breakfast cereals that
lower your IQ by 50 points per mouthful
we get politicians who think
starting World War III
would be a good career move
we got beautiful women
with eyes like wet stones
peering out at us from the pages of
glassy magazines promising that they'll
fuck us till we shoot blood
if we'll just buy one of these beautiful switchblade knives
I've got mine