I hate poetry. And love it.
And . . . I’m not really sure what else. Sometimes, I am seized by a concept or a phrase–and I just cannot give it context. I feel that it should be in the middle of something, but I don’t know what else–so I make it the opening line to a poem.
I possess a somewhat fluid definition of “poems”. I don’t like structured poetry because I don’t like to write it that way–or see it like that when I am writing it. Yes, it is fun to dissect poems and their references, like in T.S. Eliot’s “Loveson of J. Alfred Prufrock” (yes, I did need it to be explained and read to me by my English literature professor mother), but I don’t like making puzzles, just solving them. It’s what makes films like Coherence and books like Cloud Atlas and some other title that’s escaping me right now absolutely fantastic to watch and read, but torture for me to even imagine creating.
For me, poems are ideas, images, and phrases thrown together to bring together a mood or story. I hate rereading and editing my poetry, because I start to loathe it once I begin going over it–this allows me to not have a big ego when it comes to my poetry writing. I hate it and take people’s words for it if they think it’s good (yes, I share my crappy poetry).
I dunno. Maybe my mom’s just flattering me when she says anything of mine is good.
But the point is, poetry is complex and cheesy sometimes (if you haven’t suffered through an eighth-grade English course that was bad enough and then concluded with an assignment detailing that every angsty, idiotic, hormonal teenager in the class must write a poem, then you wouldn’t understand. In order to avoid humiliation, I wrote a comedic poem about the Invisible Pink Unicorn. A pair of boys wrote about suicide because of being dumped by a girlfriend they probably never had, and another kid rapped about monster trucks. I hope they never know that I have exposed them.)
Eventually I will rediscover my IPU poem and post it. I thought it was pretty funny. I didn’t know how to pronounce “usenet” and thought it was U-senet. Back in the good ol’ days. I should also probably do something on my inability to pronounce words.
Poetry is fun to write (sometimes), interesting to read (occasionally), and horrible to look back on (predominantly).
Probably the kind of poem least likely to humiliate you is haiku. If you actually stick to the format, there’s very little you can do that’s wrong. But never limericks. They’re horrible. I used to do them in Latin class to bribe my teacher to give me and my fellow students chocolate.