White Rabbit and I were talking the other day, after I had posted my “Revelation” post, about which writers of “light verse” are likely the most under-rated? It seems that every Thursday we drag out some relatively well known poet and talk about one of their poems or, on occasion someone goes out and finds poet that few of us ever heard about that they happen to like.
We have been talking for nearly the last week about “what is poetry” and “why do people write poetry ?”. Ted even got us into a discussion about whether we believe that poetry is a dying Art. Personally I think it is – at least for the public at-large. The number of people who actually read poetry has dropped by 50% in the last 16 years (according to the NEA). Today less than 9% of the adult population reads poetry anymore.
One of the poets which Rabbit and I both enjoy is Willard Espy. I suspect few here know Espy – for most of his poetry is not “serious” enough – a thought to which today’s poem speaks. And it also speaks, I think, to why the readership of poetry has declined so precipitously among the general public
Willard Richardson Espy, who died in 1999, was an American editor, philologist, writer, and poet. He is remembered as a wordsmith and memoirist, whose prolific career celebrated language, word play, light verse, and what Henry James once called the “visible past” - the events in the history of a time and place that can be recovered and preserved by the reach of a long memory and a gifted imagination. He is particularly remembered for his anthology of light verse and wordplay, “An Almanac of Words at Play”, and its two sequels.
Espy is also noted for “Words to rhyme with : for poets and songwriters” which includes a primer of prosody, a list of more than 80,000 words that rhyme, a glossary defining 9,000 of the more eccentric rhyming words, and a variety of exemplary verses, one of which does not rhyme at all. And it is from that tome that this poem is taken -
YOU'D BE A POET, BUT YOU HEAR IT'S TOUGH?
You'd be a poet, but you hear it's tough?
No problem. Just be strict about one rule:
No high-flown words, unless your aim is fluff;
The hard thought needs the naked syllable.
For giggles, gauds like pseudoantidis-
establishment fulfill the purpose well;
But when you go for guts, the big words miss;
Trade "pandemonic regions" in for "hell".
…Important poems? Oh…excuse the snort…
Sack scansion, then -- and grammar, sense and rhyme.
They only lie around to spoil the sport --
They're potholes on the road to the sublime.
And poets with important things to say
Don't write Important Poems anyway.
Copyright © 1986 Willard R. Espy