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Poets & Poems – Blessing of the Poem ((Reedited – 2-26-2008)(New Material Added))
1) Anne Sexton & Sylvia Plath: poems come from the abyss, painfully, and life obviously just as contemptuously; literary (Sexton) could use some substance in her poetry besides nudity, being free verse it allows more freedom to do so I believe. Her book, “The Book of Folly” seems to have been quickly written, and for her skill, could have been done better; like her first two books (To Bedlam and All my Pretty Ones). Her friend, Sylvia Plath, with whom they both went to classes, both shared in the same style of confessional poetry, both suicidal in a large part of it. All in all, Sylvia may be the better poet, but Sexton, who may have pushed his family away to write poetry, did absolutely write and publish more of her poetry. In such cases I do believe where mental illness is present, it is a way for the person to survive, it is too difficult for them to live in the cricket pot, and thus they find an escape.
2) Howard Nemerov: good lyric, one of the poets I ran to in my early days in college to read and try to understand. He writes well, however I find that usually something is missing, maybe he (or poets like him) need to walk to the end of the road (experience more, to fill the holes in his poetry, when I say holes, that’s what I feels missing between the lines, maybe nothing to him, something to me, on the other hand, maybe I’m expecting too much).
3) Allen Ginsberg: when he was in his 20s, he wrote his best works (especially “Empty Mirror” from there, I do believe); he lost it for good taste, and good sense, of which he had none, and exchanged it for pleasure, and a deformed mind, God help the reader. “Howl” and “Caddish” are some of his worse works, or should I say, are some of the worse poetry I’ve read to date. He brings his reader into a circle that never ends. His book, and poems about Cambodia, come from a fragmented mind, he changes from where he starts to be (Cambodia), and jumps off the road always coma, to enter into some madness about something else, that means something to him. maybe, but the reader, it’s far from where he originally took the reader, and the reader expects him to finish what he started, but he never does. And most of his poetry involves his excessive obsession with homosexual dirty sex. He has to tell his audience about it, he simply cannot overlook it; until his dying days.
4) EE Commings: Cummings’ poetry is Cummings! That is, more than most poets; if you have read one of his poems, you have read most of them; indeed a good and genuine poet, perhaps uncompromising, but I get bored after a few of his poems, unfortunately.
5) Gary Snyder: Academic poetry, but in the middle (the beatnik era): he embraces Zen as so many did then; I was at the end of that era. He used his techniques exactly for who he is (or was): sharp, clear and serene poetry.
6) Walt Whitman: he was, of course, the hero of Allen Ginsberg, and perhaps because he shared the same sexual impulses as him. I can see in Ginsberg’s poetry, Whitman’s style. Whitman may have been the father of modern free verse, and did it far better than Allen. The bad thing with Whitman was that he started with a book for 12 poems, and ended with a book of 400 poems, from which he spent a lifetime going back, and again, and again. When you got a good thing, leave it alone, who can go back 40 years and say: this is what I thought then, and therefore, change his book, “Leaves of Grass”. If you read his poems, you have to read between the lines. When he often talks about women, he means men. You can see this by comparing old versions of his poems with newer ones. He is not a bad poet in my eyes, just a dirty old man.
7) William Blake: the mysterious poet, and with a macabre style. I like his poetry in general, not much to say about him, he came, he was, he always will be. I’d call him easy-going Poe.
8) Robert Bly and Donald Hall, both good poets (I met them both). Bly’s best work is his first and second books “Silence in the Snowy Fields,” and “The Light Around the Body.” The only bad thing I can say about these books is that they got too long of a title. However, I find that starting in his second book, and never ending, is his search for his political views to be heard, and it gets boring after fifty years of reading it. His book “My Sentence was a Thousand Years of Joy”, again a long title, but a good book to read nonetheless, and he delivers a more personal approach. Donald Hall on the other hand has short titles. His best book to date (I feel) is “Sen”, a book written about grief. His first book, which I signed from him as well, “Exiles and Marriages (1955)” needs some of that older Donald Hall in it. He wrote a dozen books or more, and I haven’t read them all, so I’d better stop here, while I may have read too much of Mr. Bly.
9) George Sterling: He was like Sexton and Plath from then on, he took his own life, he died in 1926, at the age of 58, Sexton in her late 40s, and Plath in her late 20s. Not many people have heard of Sterling, but he was San Francisco’s number one poet, and friends with Jack London. He may be the best poet I read about images. However, reading him, one can get lost. He is so busy with his pictures, I think he is getting lost, they are beautiful, strange, but hard to hang. He wrote about 14 books, I think I have all but one. He was the teacher of Clark A. Smith, you could say, and Smith and he were from the “Weird Tales”, period of writing, the 30’s to the 50’s, with Robert Howard.
10) Robert Jeffers and Tennessee Williams: Perhaps one of the best poetic prose writers of his time was Robert Jeffers, he was even hailed by George Sterling as a great poet, and rightly so. Perhaps even Mr. Sterling helped Jeffers in his pictures. I have several of his books, and one signed, so I am proud to have them, “Hungerfield and other Poems”, is a good book, as well as his “Collected Poems”. As for Tennessee Williams, it is thought that he was only a playwright, but he was a poet, and wrote “In the Winter of Cities”, a very good book indeed, I was surprised at the depth of his writing, but like Whitman, you have to read between the lines if you want to remove the pretense.
11) James Joyce and Ernest Hemingway: yes, they were both poets, or tried to be. Joyce was not only a bad writer in general, but also not a very good poet; if it weren’t for Ezra Pound, you would never have heard of James Joyce. As for Hemingway, his poetry was next to that of Allen Ginsberg, without dirty homosexual overtones. At its core, his poetry was, depressingly, more on the order of satirical depressing poetry, with a touch of Plath and Sexton to it, but with less substance. But he was Hemingway, and could get away with trash every now and then.
Commentary on Poetry:
“Blessing of the Poem”:
There is nothing on earth that can match the hard scraping deep work and movement of the blood, and sense of sanctification that a good poem can offer (it is the highest quality of writing a writer can do).
That new promising poem, felt in the midst of silence, in the corner of the night, sticking to your mind and ribs until it finds its way out of your box and into the literary world; faint at first, then like the radiation of an atomic bomb.
The question asked: “Why do people write poetry?”
A good question, and difficult to answer, more subjective than otherwise, but let me try, as I see it: imagine (dreams, seeing in your mind, envisioning), everything is under the same umbrella; such things emerge from the unconscious, the mind, condemned, until written, then emancipated (and never to be lost in the vaults of humanity).
Note: Poets seem to have one time of vanity, if not several: for some it is difficult to live in this world, and it is an escape. Many are very intelligent, and clever, some just have deep rooted emotions, and use poetry as therapy, others like Ginsberg, simply need to feed their egos (he never said much unless there was public view of him). However, it’s all in the package, you might say, it’s all right, as long as it’s true and doesn’t hurt the innocent, if you give it to the public, that is, because it can influence minds, young minds, and we have a responsibility to write what will be useful, without pretence, otherwise, lock it in the basement and leave it there. I started writing poetry at 11 years old, I’m 60 now. Funny, my first poem “Kiu” written in 1959, is more popular than most of my writings and I have made 2300 poems, 350 short stories, 36 books and 950 articles, I have two million readers. year on over 400 sites, and this poem is on more sites than any other writing I have so far. What does this say? It tells me what everyone is looking for; what I just mentioned. And this little poem stands out above them all, so simple.
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