-

There was a time when the colours belonged to the flowers.

Is it time?

Wisdom is a matter of Timing
and Timing is a matter of Wisdom
and when there's one
without the other -
this
is Bullshit.

The Garden

Shrevelled Stones
Play; concordant in
Errdanity. The garden
Prelic is arranged
As my mother
Used to. Arthur
Is precise. I take
Too long with my
Impatient crouve. A
Swaulied hour's pause-
It is time.
The Jabberwocky!
lurks.


:P

To all my critics in jest :P

To: A_Kettle@poetry-critique-boutique.com
From: Blake7@Romantics-r-us.com
Sent: 17:94

Hi – Could you please give me some feedback on this short poem I wrote – I’m thinking of trying to get it published and was wondering what sort of publisher might be interested.

THE TYGER

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

Cheers,

Bill

P.S. There are another five verses to this poem which are equally good. I am thinking of trying to publish the whole poem with a few others under the title ‘Songs Of Experience’.

P.P.S. I’ve also drawn a picture of a tiger to go with the poem but I couldn’t get it into .jpg format to send.

P.P.P.S. I am sure it would sell loads.

----#----

To : Blake7@romantics-r-us.com
From : A_Kettle@poetry-critique-boutique.com
Sent:19:79

Bill,

Welcome to PCB! I hope you will find our poetry critiques useful in helping to develop your poetic skills further.

On reading your poem I was immediately struck by your poem’s rather adventurous subject – the tiger. In general I think that the best subjects for poems come from our own experiences. I am somewhat sceptical that you have much tiger-time under your belt and I’m assuming the title of your proposed poetry collection/leaflet is meant to be ironic.

On to the poem proper:


‘Tyger! Tyger! burning bright‘


Again I presume you are deliberately misspelling tiger with a ‘y’ – Although such misspelling are popular amongst the youth or ‘yoof’ of today, such alternative spellings simply distract from the meaning of the words and should be avoided if possible.

In your first line you have used both unnecessary capitalisation and exclamation marks. What does this achieve? In general, if a word does not immediately strike you, then an exclamation mark is probably a hindrance rather than a help.

I have also noticed your attempt to use rhyme in your poetry. This is an all too common mistake. Hackneyed rhymes like ‘night’ and ‘bright’ have no place in serious poetry.

Rhyme does however, still have a place in children’s poetry. Since you have drawn a nice picture of a tiger, would I be mistaken if I said you were aiming for the child market?

If so then the first two lines are good (apart from punctuation and spelling – see above). Unfortunately, the next two lines use rather difficult language for a 5 or 6 year old. In fact the language is somewhat anarchic to say the least!


What immortal hand or eye
Could frame [thy ?] fearful symmetry?


No doubt you are aware that ‘Symmetry’ does not rhyme with ‘eye’, but even so, such an attempted rhyme is an excellent example of why trying to squeeze a poem into rhyme and meter is generally such a bad idea for serious poems.

If you do want to maintain your rhyme and meter for the sake of your target market you will need to do so using the clear simple language, that is so important in children’s poetry. I hope you don’t mind if I make the following suggestion:


Tiger, tiger, burning bright,
In the forest, in the night
I wish I had my camera lens,
I’d take a picture for my friend.


I’m sure you’ll agree this almost keeps the meaning of the original but makes it so much more accessible to the child audience.

On the other hand, if you intend this as a serious piece – I would suggest ditching the rhyme and the form altogether. The haiku style of poetry might suit your purpose. For example:


Orange, Black
Night falls on the forest
Mortal
We cannot see


I’m sure you’ll agree that this approach has much to offer.

On a final note: Although you may find this a little harsh, I am rather sceptical of your hope that your ‘Songs Of Experience’ would ‘sell loads’. I also think you’ll find that the wider publishing community, and indeed, the general public, will share my scepticism.

I would not however, want to dissuade you, in any way, from self-publishing. A small run of around 20 copies would be perfect if you wanted to share your poetry with any friends, family and other ‘admirers’ you may accumulate during your lifetime.


Good Luck in your Efforts

Regards,
Alan
A_Kettle@poetry-critique-boutiqe.com

----#----

To: A_Kettle@poetry-critique-boutique.com
From: Blake7@Romantics-r-us.com
Time Sent: 20:09


Sceptik! Sceptik! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?


:P

Bill.

It was here I paused and sighed.

The small sucesses 'long the way
like coloured flags that furl and sway
as I recite the pitted road
that brought me where the cool air blowed
Down, from the peaks and valleys snowed.
I may never reach those heights,
but I stitched my flags into a kite;
red and blue and yellow.

The Villa

Note: I was inspired to write this love poem after being struck by the first couple lines of another poem on the internet. Those lines stuck in my mind and I was compelled to continue where the two lines led. So I stole the first two lines - but after - realising my crime - I laundered them to make them my own by changing them in ways that better suited my purpose. So here's to the unknown poet who inspired me and here's to all great artists that were thieves.

The Villa

In a Villa that we built on sand,
I traced our play upon your hand,
while in the yard, an orange tree,
held heavy fruit, that fantasy,
clung to its’ branches, fixed and fast
as Shadow grew across the grass.
This did I promise, This Grandest deed,
assured and soft, and you believed.
Oh how you laughed, and clasped my voice.
I loved you then,
and how.

But how Time twists its’ knife into our story,
and prised me from my promise.
And how I laboured long to gather,
at night, the blood and teardrops of my conquest,
While you slept,
I wept,
and yet-
in my memory you shine,
and in my mind, my foolish words stayed,
true and kind,
and still,
I hold you now, as then,
elipsed in time,
and wonder.

Upon reading a poem about a funeral

I was inspired to write this poem after coming across several poems about funerals in a relatively short space of time. I was struck by their shear mundaneness and almost ordered emotion that resonated with my constricted English upbringing and contrasted with the passion of life a death I had experienced whilst traveling in so-called poorer countries.

After writing the first draft, I revisited some of the funeral poems and realised that many were actually pretty good. But my inaccurate impression is caught here.

Upon reading a poem about a funeral.

I see the funeral described;
the petty detail that hides,
the Crushing Seas.-
He was your Father.

Upon acceptance, upon hate,
upon indifferance, upon fate,
the air that stops you falling,
and upon a loss to come.-
But what would you have felt
if you could fly.

And did you love him?
If so, how?
Or were you cut off with the tide
when you, with clever words, describe
view; narrowed in upon a pin
stuck in a jacket lapel.
Were you bewildered so,
you did significance bestow
on such a tiny, shiny thing that well
conscribed your introspection,
or was it just a crutch to catch your eyes
as you listened to the practiced lies
of a minister's deception.
Stretch Out your Vision,
Howl and Cry,
'till you Comprehend
the Bones
that were your Father.

A Poetic Manifesto

I thought to share a vision of what I consider poetry to be;
to help explain my motives and my wordings as a poet,
be I competent or not.

This is not meant to be a poem, but my licence intruded on my words as I expressed them.

A Poetic Manifesto

Poetry is not about economies of words.
Poetry is about rhythm and flow and start and stop.
It is not about obscuring,
but about revealing.
It is not about being difficult,
but being profound.
It is not about being Original,
but sharing what was always there,
but hidden.

Poetry is about seeing and feeling,
and hearing and thinking,
and knowing and doubting,
and living and dying.

Poets share their soul with the world,
and hope the world listens and accepts.
Poets transform as shamans
into animals and things and people,
to see though other eyes.

To connect with a poem is to be a Poet.
A Poet sees the beauty even in despair;
The rhythm of life even in death.
A poem reports not facts,
but explores magic
in living, breathing words.
This is poetry.

Stephen F. Middleton 2nd July 2009

Maybe this magic is better expressed by another poet of greater renown

To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.

William Blake
Auguries of Innocence (extract)

After reading that, I think I should cross out the "maybe" :)

The Y and where4 of Generation Now

I had just watched David Blandy's "The Barefoot Pilgrim" at the Baltic contemporary art gallery and was struck by the voice of the talking soul and hip hop / rap music in the film. About 5 minutes later I wrote the, as yet untitled, "Generation Now". The language evolved as I listened to it - "We need" became "we is needin'" , "Because" became "Bcoz". I realised that I was also writing about a book I had just read called "The time paradox". The language was reflecting compacting time and the confusion of the self and the group. There is an overwhelming present focus in the poem which prevents the planing or learning required to be "successful" in western society. These are very much the concepts that I am curently struggling with. This compaction of time into the present and the group into the self is very different from the spiritual , or drug induced, high. It is not the same as being in the moment ( explored in "Fly-" and "sway..." ). It is a squashing of time and selves rather than an expanding of time and self.

So the plural "we are" becomes "we is" as Group compacts into Self. "need" becomes "is needin' " as a statement that can exist through time becomes compacted into the moment. Cliche'd rhymes like "revolution" and "evolution" are used as if they are original since there are no clichés without a past. The use of long words for rhymes counterpoints the compression trying to provide relief by making each moment last longer.

I didn't plan it that way - it just happened. I only realised what I was doing when I looked back at it, worrying that I was just writting a pastiche rather than a genuine attempt to get into the head of "Generation Now". I am trying to analyse from outside and empathise from the inside at the same time.

Hope you think my "art bullshit" is getting a bit better.
Enjoy the poem :)

Steve

Generation Now

What is the PLAN.
We is needin' some marks on the map,
marks on the track.
We is needin' a finishing line,
a sense of our time,
not wasted,
incapacitated,
by our condition
in the present.
No future
with no tutor
of our personal past.
your insults last.
in fears,
in our tears,
4 2 hundred years.
we is feelin' it now
Bcoz
It is happenin' now.
-
There is no Cause and Effect
When you're high.
-
No Past
Bcoz the Past is hapenin' now
No Future
Bcoz the Future is happenin' now
There can BE no revolution
no evolution
Bcoz we all is happenin' now.
No predictability,
No reliability,
Bcoz our Future is happenin' now.
No personal conception,
of our past in our possession.
How we got to our position,
ain't by followin' no mission,
or social imposition,
of your logical condition,
Bcoz our Past is happenin' now.
-
There is no Cause and Effect
when you're high
-
We is lookin' 4 a way to BE.
We is lookin' 4 the guarentee.
No promised dream,
No slot machine.
We is lookin' 4 the Ching! Ching!
Payout Day
Today
Bcoz the FUTURE is happenin' now
-
There is no Cause and Effect
when you're high