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Prufrock Peaches (TM) Do you dare to eat a Prufrock Peach? |
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Rename the armed forces "Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori." |
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"So Much Depends Upon a Red (TM)" is the brand name? |
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What if they start making rakes? |
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I favor the idea.
I always wanted to open a restaurant and call it "A Clean Well-Lighted Place.[TM]" |
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I like it. The "Why Must That Toad Work Squat Upon My Life" Job Agency, or the "They Fuck You Up, Your Mum and Dad" psychotherapist. Much rich material in Larkin alone. And, in much the same curmudgeonly spirit, I'm to have to fishbone this idea as well. Sorry. |
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Leaves of Grass (TM) clippers. |
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[basie] You must be referring to my chain of clean, well-lighted coffee shops. Those nasty drunk old men are nuts. |
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I would say "a clean well lit place" with lit in place of lighted. Am I wrong to think such a thing? |
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//cannibalize and screw up the original WTP characters// |
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If that bothers you, you should see my little girl's bedroom. Pooh on the rug, Pooh on the duvet, in the window, on all the shelves, and hanging from the ceiling. My wife even painted Pooh on the walls! |
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Back to the idea, can we look forward to Foxin's socks and Greenegsan Ham? How about Matilda Lie Detectors, Gogently Funeral Directors and Nuclear Bunkers from FriendlyBombs of Slough. |
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[Trodden] You do not understand. This is a clean and pleasant cafe. It is well lighted. The light is very good and also, now, there are the shadows of the leaves.
... A clean, well-lighted cafe was a very different thing. Now, without thinking further, he would go home to his room. He would lie in the bed and finally, with daylight, he would go to sleep. After all, he said to himself, it is only insomnia. Many must have it. |
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No reason it has to be Modern poetry, is there? |
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O, my luve is like a red, red wheelbarrow
That's newly painted in June
O, my luve's like the melodie
Tha' its wheel squeak'ly plays, in tune |
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As fair art thou, my barrow'd lass
So deep in luve am I
And I will luve thee still, my Dear
Till a' the new paint gang dry |
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Till a' the new paint gang dry, my Dear
And wi' rocks fill'd thee tae the brim!
O I will luve thee still, my Dear
Be thee fill'd wi' sand up tae the quim. |
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Dang! is what the the barrow'd lass said when she discovered her quim filled with sand, I'd guess. |
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Probably. Someone had to get it, sooner or later. |
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I've been avoiding this one because I had absolutely no clue what it was about, and had not the time to find out. Now that I have...
Is this what constitutes poetry in America now? What happened to Robert Frost and Emily Dickinson, to name but two? Is that really "the most famous twentieth century American poem", as the linked site suggests? |
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Most infamous perhaps? Oh, that would be something by Snoop Dogg? |
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"What happened to Robert Frost and Emily Dickinson, to name but two?" |
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Um, <whispering> they died. And it's been a while, too. |
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There's quite a new poet on the scene that might be useful here, by the name of Rumsfeld. See link. |
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<Dang what?> Your poem is impressive. |
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<Is this what constitutes poetry in America now?> Well, it's not that different from haiku, a form that goes back to the 16th century. |
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[krelnik], I've long been an admirer of William Carlos Williams and Wallace Stevens. Long ago, I even wrote a dissertation on Weldon Kees. I may have to make room in my pantheon of poetic practitioners for the "found" poems of DH Rumsfield. Thanks for sharing the plum. |
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//Um, <whispering> they died. And it's been a while, too.//
As did Williams, in 1963.
//not that different from haiku//
It lacks the elegance of haiku, although I'm no fan of that form either.
I walked up the
street under
the railway bridge
to buy a
paper
the store was
full of morning
shoppers
How is that functionally different from The Red Wheelbarrow, or several other of Williams' output? |
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I'm not defending it. I'm just pointing out that sucky poetry is not limited to modern America. |
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Certainly it's not. We have our own, publicly-funded, producer in Andrew "Perpetual" Motion. |
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I was hoping this wouldn't devolve into criticism of good poetry by people who don't get it.
You look no better than the rubes who whine in front of Picasso paintings.
If you don't get it, fine, it's not for you. But don't pretend you know enough about what the author is saying and how well they have accomplished their aim in a poem that doesn't make sense to you. |
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I may not like it, but I know a good circular argument when I see one. |
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The rubes who whine in front of Picasso paintings definitely look better because when you look at them you are able to see a Picasso in the same field of view. Beauty by association. |
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Busted by Unabubba. Sometimes I write myself into circles.
Pay attention to what I meant, not what I said. |
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"He took his vorpal™ sword in hand." |
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Art is wherever you see it. If you want to argue that one poem is inherently good while another is inherently bad (or that judging poetry on one set of criteria is good, but another set of criteria is bad) come back when you have the chromatography results. |
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On that note, I'm with [ravenswood], especially (3). I dread the day I'm confronted in the supermarket aisle with Isn't It Funny How Bears Like™ Honey. |
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