PS: I have written this piece over a year ago. I deleted my old blog (still not sure of the reason). But this one was the favourite one of mine.
Have you ever tried reading Coleridge’s Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Shelley’s Ode to the west wind, Poe’s The Raven, Frost’s Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening or Tennyson’s The Brook? If you did, you might have enjoyed the imagery, the symbolism and the overall general flow of the written words. Those were the days when poems were not written, but created. They had this musical quality about them, something that made the poem linger on in our minds even after we stopped reading or reciting them.
The poets of that era were true romantics, they found beauty in things such as a lonely maiden on the hills, the flowing of the river or a stroll through the woods. The poems were refined, untouched by vulgarity and were written with a sense of purpose.
The modern poems undoubtedly, posses these things, but to a very less extent. The evolution of poems have caused a massive mutation which has made them ugly, for lack of a better word.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep
But I have promises to keep
And miles to go before I sleep…
And Miles to go before I sleep
Did you feel the smooth, buttery flow of the words, just like the delicious softness of a red velvet cake? I find the modern poetry lacking this aspect of the art.
For example, if someone wanted to write about sunrise today, it’d go something along the lines of.
Rising in the east
Spreading its warmth
The morning wind blows
It feels good
Much wow, such morning, very fresh.
and…. it’d be a best seller. The most important part of being a poet was being poor and misunderstood. The only poems worth their weight were written by poets who had been dead at least for a good 100 years.
The younger poet was frequently found in his opium den, wasting away his nights, waiting for an idea to flash through his mind. Being a poet was a full time job. You had to have earned your living only through selling your poems. You couldn’t own a business or be a doctor by the side.
But alas, this culture came to an end. Nowadays there are more poems and poets than readers. Lawyers, teachers, doctors, actors, engineers, etc have now taken up part-time poetry as their hobby. Many have even published their works. Sad part is, they themselves do not read the modern poems and complain when others don’t read theirs’. Nowadays, poems are written just because people want to amuse themselves. There’s an aspiring poet in every house who is waiting for his next chance. Where have the good ol’ days of smoke filled rooms gone?
I know some of you may feel offended by this. This article is meant for entertainment purposes only. (Just like your Poems). I know my poems aren’t exactly in league with the classics too. Hell, I know they are downright pathetic. But it hasn’t stopped me from writing. I know you won’t stop too.
But this is about the general downfall of poetry, not the poets. It’s still men ( or women) that write poems. Only the art that was passed down has been changed. Poets today lack direction, not talent.
I do like the different writing styles and the challenge they posses for poet as well as the reader. But if I come across something like:
Is what you did to me.
Is what I’ll never be.
It’s where I look to see.
Is all I’ve got to feel.
… it makes me throw up on the inside. I mean C’mon! That isn’t poetry. It is just a random collection of words that does not even make sense. It doesn’t even qualify as a sentence.
Putting the dressing on salad; I would like to request for one more time, to kindly keep on doing whatever you are doing. I had the idea for this post while I was going through some poems which I wrote myself. I thought, why not make fun of my own piss poor works?
A VPP( Very poor poem):
Ur brown eyes are like cups of coffee
So sweet like fresh toffee
You come in my life as a dream
Just like I add some cream
Oh you look lovely in that dress
Just like fresh coffee from the french press.
Whatever your name be, Martha or Margaret,
I enjoy you like I enjoy a cigarette.
Just like my fav beans, u r fine
My favourite cup, u r mine.
You make me feel alive, u r not like others.
U aren’t decaf for sure, say my brothers.
Sweet and light, just like coffee cup
If I ever met you, I’d say Sup.
Whether it’s Monday or Sunday.
I’ll take you home, some day.
If u r Irish, I’ll add some whiskey
I’d lock myself with you and throw away the key
And if you are vegan, I’ll have a latte of soy
Oh my love, you bring me so much joy.