edpeterson
on love.term by ggawrysi
7 May 2004, 8:55 AM
so.....where's the fucking?
bunk
Powerful spacing.
Watch out for Johnny the Greek,
He'll bugger up the olymipics,
Have a bearded wife,
But not care as he prefers sodomy.
guff, syntax error.
A peerless, saturated jock strap of meaningless rhetoric.
You should have seen the version where she was reading Henry Miller. Talk about morally bankrupt; I nearly exhausted my prostrate in the writing of it.
Of course being Welsh you are in your own seperate catergory which has no idea of how ashamed you should be of everyting they have ever done.
Mechanically it's not to shabbily done, I'd say. The endrhymes weave without any noticeably intrusion.
The meter chugs right along, slightly bumpy toward the end there - but serves to let the reader know the station approaches. I'd try to hack out some of the conjunctions, in particular but carefully since it would affect the good flow.
Philosphically, I'm willing to accept it as a character perspective, one that although I personally don't quite relate to it, I can understand.
Have an Eight. A few more poetic techniques would notch it up pretty easily, given the success of the mechanics used.
I asked first quim face.
If she really was reading Lawrence, then "assurance" is bow'ls because you only chose it to rhyme with what she happened to be reading. But if she wasn't reading Lawrence, then the whole poeme is UTTERLY MORALLY BANKRUPT.
Are you being ironical?
Needs work, but I like it. It is the lot of the middle class to be ashamed of who they are - something not true of the poor or the rich. It is the bourgeois burden.
Why can't poetry reflect on ideas, not just imagery or feelings? Yours is a fundamentally anti-intellectual position. And how do you know what poetry is anyway? Like Wittgenstein said, there are things we recognise without being able to define.
This is not an essay. And if you think it isn't poetry, you're defining poetry in a particular manner, which is precisely what pissed me off in the first place.
And I don't suppose anybody has noticed the reference to Pound's Canto XXXVIII, have they?
Bloomsday is the day in 1904 on which Ulysses is set. But of course it links to Harold Bloom and antithetical criticism too.
This poem is as entertaining as shopping with pants full of follow through, in a large out of town shopping centre, knowing that you have to get the bus home and someone has taken an overdose in the toilet affording you no possibility of discarding your soiled under garments.
-10_
Were you being ironical?