It's strange to be so self-obsessed
that someone else's pain or death
produces neither empathy
nor thoughts of noble charity
but rather leads one further in
and from the world to memory's din;
but after all, it's real fear
that makes such things to disappear.

The poem, just as many do
in flood of words or blessed few
has petty verbal games to play,
but in the end has naught to say.
A poorly written paragraph
with little wheat and flowing chaff
is what the poet (loosely) wrought:
the line-breaks added added naught.

When time allows and will's restored
I will return with something more:
a sonnet for my final fan,
the Fray's own form and function man...

That was fun. One small suggestion:

From: but after all, it's real fear
that makes such things to disappear.

To: but after all, it is real fear
that makes such things to disappear.

Form and function (donning the disguise of flow) being of such paramount importance to a sonnet...

I'm one of the poor souls that is more likely to pronounce real as "RE-ull" than as "reel"

it's a disease... : )

That's rich. I pronounce it somewhere in between. But I can see how re-ull fits. My bad.

Foobs:

It's strange to be so self-obsessed
that someone else's pain or death
produces neither empathy
nor thoughts of noble charity
but rather leads one further in
and from the world to memory's din;
but after all, it's real fear
that makes such things to disappear.

The poem, just as many do
in flood of words or blessed few
has petty verbal games to play,
but in the end has naught to say.
A poorly written paragraph
with little wheat and flowing chaff
is what the poet (loosely) wrought:
the line-breaks added added naught.

You think the poem's that bad? Uh-oh. This does not bode well for the poem. (Which poem, last week's or this week's? Or both? Will have to read this week's ASAP.)

Foobs:

When time allows and will's restored
I will return with something more:
a sonnet for my final fan,
the Fray's own form and function man...

I await like the proverbial intelligent cat at a mouse hole, with "baited" breath.

wr ()()

Foobs (again):

It's strange to be so self-obsessed
that someone else's pain or death
produces neither empathy
nor thoughts of noble charity
but rather leads one further in
and from the world to memory's din;
but after all, it's real fear
that makes such things to disappear.

The poem, just as many do
in flood of words or blessed few
has petty verbal games to play,
but in the end has naught to say.
A poorly written paragraph
with little wheat and flowing chaff
is what the poet (loosely) wrought:
the line-breaks added added naught.

Having read (and reviewed) the poem "Siren", in the end (and despite my relatively kind comments in my review), I have to agree with you mostly. Not that I agree it has nothing to say or that the line breaks added nothing at all; but 1) the vision of Breslin's poem is almost entirely turned inward, as you describe, while that of Donne's devotion is turned upward and outward; 2) the free verse form, while adequate for Breslin's intended job, doesn't hide the fact that the job itself is rather underwhelming in scope (especially compared to Donne's).

I am beginning to wonder if I have seen so many naked baby emperors parade by on Tuesdays that I have lost my own sense of proportion. When a poem like this actually seems good (instead of what it really is, mediocre), simply because it touches upon a part of the human condition to which I can relate without muddying the waters with coded language, then I'm probably in trouble.

Anyway, I think we're seeing Mr. Pinsky's populist trend continuing...maybe we Fraysters should start pointing out that accessibility is not a panacea either.

wr ()()

I stand by my original post that this poem is simple and straightforward. I enjoyed the poem. It was...OK.

If I were setting it up on blind date I would introduce it thusly: "You'll like it. It has a great personality".

“What I thought I was doing” is an excellent opening in response to “Is this good-bye then”? Actually, it is not a bad starting point to respond to any of the situations portrayed in that portion of the poem.

(My hunch is: it was actually employed…if so, Bravo, good habits are hard to come by).

As for accessibility…I am firmly in that camp. Perhaps more on that later…

As for the fawning over the Poet, I shall remain mute.

Did I just write that out loud?

What I thought I was doing...

Hi Foobs,

Since you are so good at writing rhymed poems, I was wondering if you could/would write a song-poem in honor of Fannie and Freddie to the tune of "Frankie and Johnny." They've been so much in the news lately that I feel we should honor them. I'll even sing the song aloud if you write it.

MA