. the idea is to aver the overt statement
appear somewhere even if it stultifies
in rarefied realms sophisticate
tuck the image in wayward
by all means deride the rhymer
. as the pen buckles under the eye's
squint-eyed callousness
some cribbed unfinished line
.. a well-named bird say thrush
leaving its claw-prints
clear
perspicacious
on early-sprinkled snow
It matters little
. in fact
not at all
where the thought laid off
nor which the word
betrayed the thought
matters only the elegant sway of the
print
. the spare rustle rice paper feel
then dress the thought the way the club ordains and practises
pressed with care
.. the demure pleats of the skirt
all in assumed array
. for no rhymed reason
still the hopping bird about to take flight
the impression must give the feel
. something must not seem
to be said
..'tis enough to let the words
slide along the secluded path
. rare
. bold
used in its obsolescent sense
No way the Select
. must condescend to court
the Internet
they only write within behind closed-club sessions
.. the idea is not to have
les foies
' sa hautaine foi apparaissait en filigrane
dans ses paroles '
NOTES
"avoir les foies" means "to be scared to death" and the rest in French means: his words hardly veiled his haughty creed or (as in this piece) manner of writing.
Hello & Bonsoir Ron ! Once again you hit the poem right on the head with your comments. Might I add, you don't need to have taken any classes on poetry. The rub is, here the use of "class" cuts both ways: has only partly something to do with learning or teaching; rather the other half smacks of social or intellectual class. For your sake, I have added notes for the French to make things clear. Please re-visit the poem. Thanks as ever. Every good wish.
Hello & Welcome to you Red Poetess of the Heart or rather Poetess of the Red Heart, or perhaps Heart of the Red Poetess ! Warm welcome to all of them. Thanks for warming up to the Glass lyrics. Aren't they really heart-stunning. I have changed a word in that poem. Check if you will. Every good wish.
My French is terrible so I did not understand your final words on the matter. But what you are writing probably is why I never took a poetry class. My freedom of expression could not be confined to the narrow expectations of those in the "club" of expert poets. Those that hold their nose up when it comes to most poetic expression unless it conforms to their particular esoteric attitude.
I only have one guideline: if my poem does not communicate to the reader, then it makes no sense as a public offering. My prize words are nothing more than a private joke.
Still Living on my Feet is the follow up to Tichaona Chinyelus first book, In the Whirlwind, which was rooted in a sense of hard-hitting revolutionary black love. However, in this sophomore effort, Tichaona brings the revolutionary essence from deep
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Hello & Welcome to you Red Poetess of the Heart or rather Poetess of the Red Heart, or perhaps Heart of the Red Poetess ! Warm welcome to all of them. Thanks for warming up to the Glass lyrics. Aren't they really heart-stunning. I have changed a word in that poem. Check if you will. Every good wish.
I only have one guideline: if my poem does not communicate to the reader, then it makes no sense as a public offering. My prize words are nothing more than a private joke.
Ron