Does anyone else hate poetry?
Jan 23, 2009 at 5:22 AM Thread Starter Post #1 of 52

rockin_amigo14

Headphoneus Supremus
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Not to intentionally bash an entire medium of art, but I find poetry obnoxious and ridiculously pretentious. Whether it's reading it for school, for religion, for fun, friends poetry, or even my own...I just can't stand it.

I realize some people think it beautiful and moving; some find it to be a great release for stress and tension, etc. The symbols, the imagery, blah blah blah. I think if people are going to be writers, I want to read something with a bit more substance to it.

Anyone else have similar feelings?

On a similar topic, did anyone else think the poem by the inaugural poet was terrible?
 
Jan 23, 2009 at 5:33 AM Post #2 of 52
You just haven't found the right poet yet. It wouldn't be fair to judge the whole of music based on what comes across the radio or literature by the best seller list. I don't know if you want to explore the field, but I promise you'll find poetry you'd love.

And I completely agree that a lot of it is terrible, including the inaugural poem. But the existence of Coors Light does not prevent me from enjoying beer.
 
Jan 23, 2009 at 5:34 AM Post #3 of 52
I don't hate it but I am not in to it either. I am not really a huge fan of literature either. I like it at face value but when I have to look for deeper meanings and all that crap then forget it. Give me some informational or historical reading then I am good to go.
 
Jan 23, 2009 at 5:47 AM Post #4 of 52
I reckon...poems are like...songs without music. Or for which the music has to be composed in reader's heads. So, if you like songs - if you pay attention to lyrics, anyway - I don't see why you should HATE poetry.
 
Jan 23, 2009 at 6:02 AM Post #5 of 52
I write the occasional poem and enjoy it .... trying to put together a children's book soon:

CatAstrophic

Off roof, tumbling,
Gravity’s bain,
Land not on four

One’s gone, eight remain

Venture, far away,
Chased, cornered
Bite, inflicting pain

Two gone, seven remain

18-wheeler,
Stroll you do, the passing lane
Brakes screech,

Three gone, six remain

Into forest, field and stream,
Fox, vermin
Run, run in vain

Four are gone, five remain

Circling, high
Dive, fast as plane
Talons sharp

Five gone, four remain

Back to city,
Track and train,
Cross you do?

Six gone, three remain

Going out?
Clapping thunder, driving rain
Flash of lightning

Seven gone, two remain

Fight or flee?
In the grass, yikes
The serpent strikes!

Eight gone, one remains

The roof, the fox,
The dog, the hawk, the snake
The truck, the train
Lightning strikes, again

How careful, must I be to live
For now I have no more lives to give
 
Jan 23, 2009 at 6:32 AM Post #6 of 52
If you care to, you'll find something that speaks to you. The best poetry is moving in its own right, not as a work of art but as a marvelously compact and/or abstract means of description.
 
Jan 23, 2009 at 6:54 AM Post #7 of 52
What about this poem about "Death" by Emily Dickenson:

Ample make this bed.
Make this bed with awe;
In it wait till judgment break
Excellent and fair.

Be its mattress straight,
Be its pillow round;
Let no sunrise’ yellow noise
Interrupt this ground.

or this haunting poem by Sylvia Plath:

Daddy
You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

Daddy, I have had to kill you.
You died before I had time---
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as a Frisco seal

And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off the beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.

In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My Polack friend

Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.

It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene

An engine, an engine,
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.

The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gypsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.

I have always been sacred of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You----

Not God but a swastika
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.

You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who

Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.

But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look

And a love of the rack and the screw.
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I'm finally through.
The black telephone's off at the root,
The voices just can't worm through.

If I've killed one man, I've killed two---
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.

There's a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you person, I'm through.

...and if that doesn't do it for you, there is Led Zeppelin:

Theres a lady whos sure
All that glitters is gold
And shes buying a stairway to heaven.
When she gets there she knows
If the stores are all closed
With a word she can get what she came for.
Ooh, ooh, and shes buying a stairway to heaven.

Theres a sign on the wall
But she wants to be sure
cause you know sometimes words have two meanings.
In a tree by the brook
Theres a songbird who sings,
Sometimes all of our thoughts are misgiven.
Ooh, it makes me wonder,
Ooh, it makes me wonder.

Theres a feeling I get
When I look to the west,
And my spirit is crying for leaving.
In my thoughts I have seen
Rings of smoke through the trees,
And the voices of those who standing looking.
Ooh, it makes me wonder,
Ooh, it really makes me wonder.

And its whispered that soon
If we all call the tune
Then the piper will lead us to reason.
And a new day will dawn
For those who stand long
And the forests will echo with laughter.

If theres a bustle in your hedgerow
Dont be alarmed now,
Its just a spring clean for the may queen.
Yes, there are two paths you can go by
But in the long run
Theres still time to change the road youre on.
And it makes me wonder.

Your head is humming and it wont go
In case you dont know,
The pipers calling you to join him,
Dear lady, can you hear the wind blow,
And did you know
Your stairway lies on the whispering wind.

And as we wind on down the road
Our shadows taller than our soul.
There walks a lady we all know
Who shines white light and wants to show
How everything still turns to gold.
And if you listen very hard
The tune will come to you at last.
When all are one and one is all
To be a rock and not to roll.

And shes buying a stairway to heaven.
 
Jan 23, 2009 at 7:10 AM Post #8 of 52
I absolutely hate poetry, mainly because we had to critically analyze poems during high school, and I absolutely failed.
 
Jan 23, 2009 at 7:17 AM Post #9 of 52
No need to hate something you dont like.If you find the right poet for you I think you will be a fan too.

I told the same about literature till I read one Dostoyevsky book.
 
Jan 23, 2009 at 8:49 AM Post #10 of 52
School Education makes us hate so many things..i hated studying Sound in school days..but otherwise i can read tons of books on it.

its mainly because of pathetic teachers.

personally i like Robert Frost poems....and lyrics of Eagles songs. (Checkout lyrics of 'Victim of Love')
 
Jan 23, 2009 at 9:04 AM Post #12 of 52
Hate is a strong word!
Some poetry can be nice reading, while most of them don't interest me...
 
Jan 23, 2009 at 9:23 AM Post #15 of 52
I use to publish it. Used to write it. 90 percent of it is pretentious crap. Try some Charles Bukowski. Bet you like that. I used to print his stuff. If you look at the dvd extras of the movie "Born into This" you can see him holding up and reading from my magazine, Now This. Supposedly his last taped reading.

Ps. I liked that Plath Poem.
 

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