A Conversation for A Taxonomy of Poetry

Typical

Post 1

Caiman raptor elk - Infinity lies outside the box

If it should come to it, I would vote for type 1 or 0.

As a whole, I keep wondering if it would make any difference if the types were in reverse order. I think it would.

The current order evolves from a tight feeling to a sense of freedom and joy. (for me, that is)

Thanks for writing this (in any order)


Typical

Post 2

Pinniped

Thanks.
I’m going to make an indiscreet confession, mainly because the people concerned will never see it.
This started out as a spoof of the styles of the other four members of my poetry class.
I’m not sure that there is a progression from first to last. I’m not really doing justice to the sheer randomness of the Type 0 subject, or to the barely-suppressed rage of the real Type 3 perpetrator. The other two are more difficult, because they’re not so extreme. Type 2 would like to be sensitive, but tends to come out simpering. Type 1 has to tell everybody that their poetry is metaphysical, because otherwise nobody would realise.
I think your range of freedom is about right. Whether Type 0 is actually joyful or just manic I’n not sure. Very few poets (and certainly nobody in my class, myself included) unerringly capture unbridled joy. They’re all too self-conscious for that.


Typical

Post 3

Caiman raptor elk - Infinity lies outside the box

Thanks for the confession.

I suppose the joy or maybe relief is mine, caused by the release from the rage in the first poem.

People capable of unbridled joy probably also have unbridled versions of the other emotions too, which can then be a bit scary, not least for themselves.


Typical

Post 4

Elektragheorgheni -Please read 'The Post'

Pinniped, I really enjoyed your poem. This is something because I usually only like Keats, Shelley and DG's poems.


Typical

Post 5

Pinniped

Why thank yousmiley - blush
The would-be Romantic in that little peer group is certainly Type 2.
I like Shelley too. Not so sure about Keats. DG I probably ought to read more of: as yet I think of him as a prose writer.
The trouble with choosing favourite poets, though, is that pretty well all of them clunk someimes. I prefer to stick to liking particular poems. Favourite collections is about as general as it gets with me.
I guess if I had to choose a favourite poet, it would be Geoffrey Hill.


Typical

Post 6

Pinniped

Talking of Shelley, do you know “England in 1819”? It’s a bit of a rant, but at the same time an obvious basis for a 200th birthday tribute.
I’m kind of gobsmacked that there aren’t spoofs doing the rounds already. Replace George III with Theresa May and run from there.
Alternatively substitute a country of your choice, though I don’t think the modern US dynamic matches PBS’s polemic as well as England (still) does. Maybe there is US Civil War poetry that could serve as an American template?
I’m not sure today’s hootoo is lively enough for an Update Challenge, but back in the day an invitation to rewrite anniversary poetry might have produced some delicious parodies.

For your ref, in case you’re tempted:

An old, mad, blind, despised, and dying King;
Princes, the dregs of their dull race, who flow
Through public scorn,—mud from a muddy spring;
Rulers who neither see nor feel nor know,
But leechlike to their fainting country cling
Till they drop, blind in blood, without a blow.
A people starved and stabbed in th' untilled field;
An army, whom liberticide and prey
Makes as a two-edged sword to all who wield;
Golden and sanguine laws which tempt and slay;
Religion Christless, Godless—a book sealed;
A senate, Time’s worst statute, unrepealed—
Are graves from which a glorious Phantom may
Burst, to illumine our tempestuous day.


Typical

Post 7

Caiman raptor elk - Infinity lies outside the box

How about:

The bald, mad, blind, despised, and dying wield;
Scythes, the tools in their hard trade, who go
Through waving corn,—spuds from a muddy field;
Farmers who neither see nor feel cash flow,
But hitchhike to their fainting country fling
Till they drop, blind in booze, after the show.
A people starved and stabbed by th' unskilled King;
An army, whom plebiscide and prey
Makes as a two-edged sword to all who sing;
Golden and sanguine songs which tend to sway;
Reheated pasta, with cress—a hearty meal;
A minute, Time’s worst statute, unrepealed—
Are grapes from which a glorious Chardonnay
Burst, to illumine this tempestuous fray.


Typical

Post 8

Dmitri Gheorgheni - Not Banned in China

I don't know what Shelley would have thought, CRE, but I like it. smiley - rofl


Typical

Post 9

Pinniped

I’m going to post twice.
First, it’s a well-turned poem and to see the possibility of attaching another meaning to the original form is clever, so well done.


Typical

Post 10

Pinniped

But even as you were writing this alternative, I was starting to wish I hadn’t set the hare running in the first place. As very often in my h2g2 history, my posted idea doesn’t stand up to hindsight.

The Wendell wrinkled her nose first. She reminded me that Shelley’s extraordinary polemic was a reaction to the Peterloo Massacre, arguably the only incident in the entire of England’s history where one of the poem’s accusations (that the army should be counted among the establishment enemies of the people) could be wholly substantiated.

That made me realise that Brexit is a political debacle, but that’s all it is. It is not an atrocity committed by the government against the innocent populace. I’ve concluded that parodying that particular sonnet, in a reference to May’s straits or indeed to anything else, trivialises Shelley’s righteous and rightful anger.

Sorry I started thissmiley - erm


Typical

Post 11

Caiman raptor elk - Infinity lies outside the box

I respect that. I wasn't aware of the background either when rewriting. So let's Just keep it at this.

Thanks for comment 1 though.


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