Poems

Re: "...the souls of poets"

Ted Burke — Tue, 07 Jul 2009 01:08:31 GMT

Then Bingo is my name, O!

Re: "...the souls of poets"

blahblahblahs — Tue, 07 Jul 2009 01:05:59 GMT

if this is a meant as a slam

No , this is a ,not a meant a .as a slam a......lol

I came up with the idea for ‘the bingo thing ‘

because after reading your piece and loving it

I said out loud

when I was done,

‘fuckin’ bingo’……………..lol

strange but true......lol

My poetry is NOT Cheesy . .

denny — Tue, 07 Jul 2009 00:36:33 GMT

It's syrupy - which they also have at the Waffle House.

d;-)

Re: I feel "slighted" . . .

Ted Burke — Tue, 07 Jul 2009 00:19:55 GMT

Cheesy as your poetry?

I feel "slighted" . . .

denny — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 23:36:19 GMT

I used to eat at The Waffle House - doen't that account for anything ? Great Cheesy Grits

d;-)

Re: "...the souls of poets"

Ted Burke — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 23:15:37 GMT

Hmmmm. I don't know if this is a meant as a slam, but I like it.

Re: "...the souls of poets"

blahblahblahs — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 21:55:55 GMT

Burke and Bingo ! Or was it Bingo and Burke ?

And out from the crowded and dimly lit basement of the old church

a familiar voice screamed bingo and a man stood up waving his arms

and by god it was the old man ted burke the notorious poet , and of course

he had won first prize again.

All the others began to collect their things and put on their coats,

for it was the last game of the night and burke would once again

win the grand prize of a free pancake breakfast at Tiny’s Diner down the block

where anybody who had any sense years ago stopped going .

But Burke was a man who was born hungry .

And he would again wait for the sun to rise

and get him some pancakes with blueberries and cream on top.

And simultaneously he would begin to daydream

about all the women that he's ever loved.

It’s really the only way you can eat Tiny’s pancakes

with a smile on your face.

Re: "...the souls of poets"

Ted Burke — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 20:03:18 GMT

Michael Jackson, Jack Kerouac, Charlie Parker, Sylvia Plath, Jimi Hendrix, and the lot died of causes that had nothing to do with the fact that each of them had varying degrees of talent. People die daily who haven't distinguished themselves as singers, dancers, writers, poets, jazz improvisers; they drank themselves to death, they overdosed, they committed suicide due to untreated clinical depression, they were merely in the wrong place at the wrong time. No one, though, latches on to a single name of the average anonymous drug casualty or suicide and speculates as to the nature of the sad, early death, no one really wonders about the soul of the everyman that just might be too sensitive to deal with the harsh facts of life and is driven to end the endless pain.

Rather, we shrug, we say”ain't that shame" and then go about our business, mildly annoyed. We love celebrity hood, though, we are obsessed with as a culture, and indeed celebrity has become our religion--we create a mythology about the doings of the famous Gods and wonder about their inner lives, their moods, their ability to cope .

Patti Davis, something of a famously failed artist/writer herself, picks up one of the stalest clichés around, the most exhausted of all tired tropes, the most insipid of perspectives by wondering aloud if there is something in the tortured psyches that compels the brilliant and the intensely gifted to short circuit themselves and bring an end to their lives. It's awful enough that Davis speaks so insipidly about the blunt matters of death, but it is also aggravating she's given such a big microphone from which to entertain her morbid hero worship

Re: "...the souls of poets"

denny — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 19:05:10 GMT

I am not sure we can attribute one single cause as the reason that some in the Arts have died young at their own hands. It depends, in part, upon the circumstances present in the life of each.

Some, Like Michael Jackson and Judy Garland reached "stardom" at a very young age. And I wonder that living a life of "adulation", the loss of "childhood" or the failure to mature in a normal fashion didn't contribute to their inability to psychologically adapt to events in their later life.

The music industry placing a whole new set of pressures on the successful performer - like the oft mentioned "sex, drugs and rock & roll". There have certainly more than a few who have succumb to drug over-doses - intentional or otherwise. And for some, their fading popularity after being treated as "pop gods" can be a depressing situation.

Writers, especially some poets, seem to suffer a combination of these flaws. Certainly there are those who feel things very deeply - and live a life on an emotional roller coaster. Some painters, like Van Gogh and Jackson

Re: "...the souls of poets"

NuPlanetOne — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 18:42:05 GMT

Yes, MA, as an ideal I believe also that one can choose to remain wondrous and open to all that comes along the path and never feel the need shape it into a physical form. Although I do believe you have a poetic soul if such a thing does exist, perhaps in the sense that you try to keep that ideal alive. I read this morning that John Updike was a lifelong golfer and thought to myself perhaps that is why he didn't seem to take poetry so seriously. Or did he? A lifelong hacker myself I've had many moments out on the course that have challenged my stamina to remain serious in the face of adversity. And I have met many a man or woman out there who see in that frustrating pastime a good lesson in dealing with the limitations of ability. It's hard to hide your inner demons from playing out on your face, but you learn to control them, and it seems to build optimism. 18 chances to start over again....sorry for the tangent. Fore!

Re: "...the souls of poets"

falcon — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 04:21:31 GMT

I'm not convinced that all artists have an uncontrollable self-destructive urge. I do wonder, however, why it's true of so many artists, particularly of my own time, whose work actually interests me.

Re: "...the souls of poets"

MaryAnn — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 01:12:36 GMT

I will give you this though, if you mean that should one choose to occupy himself with matters of a sensitive nature or to speculate about the wonders of life, then he will choose a tool that will help him in that endeavor. I suppose in that sense it was I who chose poetry.

Ideally, Nu, I think one can choose to remain wondrous as a child, to feel as much joy and pain from a third love as from the very first. I don't know if one necessarily needs a tool for that, but I do find that reading poetry reminds me of that ideal I set for myself. And yet I remain firmly committed to my decision to refrain from writing poetry. However, I don't think everyone who goes through life open to its pains and pleasures necessarily needs to read or write poetry.

Re: "...the souls of poets"

NuPlanetOne — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 01:00:23 GMT

MA...

Well, I don't think it is a disagreement, per se, because the factors you attribute to causing a person to choose themselves to become a poet, inclination, genes, ect., can be said to add up to a compulsion. Perhaps selected was the wrong way of putting it as I don't mean to intend some outside force or design was responsible for the inclination. Having the compulsion myself I am tempted to call it a curse at times since I am under no obligation to write the stuff at all.

We might disagree a tad on whether one can choose to be sensitive or wonder too deeply about one's surroundings. I know lots of people who do not seem to wonder about the deeper meaning of their existence at all. They accept certain explanations and although they choose the most comfortable of those explanations, they are neither inclined nor seem capable of making any explanations themselves. And hardly any of them read poetry for fun. But they do react to things and at times have strong opinions and wonder aloud about what it all means. And that is that. I, on the other hand, always try to describe it and come to some kind of explanation or description. It feels like I can't choose to ignore it, like I have some primal need to strip it down. In any case, I don't see that these are clear choices. So in that sense I feel poetry chose me.

Re: "...the souls of poets"

blahblahblahs — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 00:15:43 GMT

Reagan just ...........

should read

Davis just................

As I was just deliciously

chastised by the woman I love...........lol

Re: "...the souls of poets"

MaryAnn — Sun, 05 Jul 2009 18:53:48 GMT

Anyway, I believe that all souls are deep and full of insight and sensitivity and wonder about our surroundings. Poets, for whatever reason, were selected to describe that insight and sensitivity and wonder in marvelous little or not so little word structures. Not a calling, it seems, but a compulsion. Ultimately, I think the notion is warranted, but impossible to define.

Hi Nu,

I agree with everything you wrote up to this point. I don't think poets "were selected." I think they select themselves. Based on inclination, genes, brain hemispheres, nurturing, life experiences, etc., they become poets.

As for sensitivity and wonder about our surroundings, I think that that too is a choice. We can choose to not see our surroundings after a while, to toughen ourselves, or we can choose to remain open and alert to our surroundings, to remain vulnerable to emotions. And it's not only poets who consciously choose the latter.