Bust A Rhyme

Carole’s turning into a bit of a poetry nerd, it would appear, as she potters through her Open University coursework.

A mere few weeks after an extreme reaction to the hideousness of studying poetry (it’s so bloody pretentious) and me having to go through things with her to help her understand (because of my extensive background in poetry chemistry) she’s popping down ideas about how poems make her feel and all sorts of crap like that.

Sometimes I get to be involved.

Part of the critique of the poem comes from what you think and what other people think of it. I get to play the part of other people. I get to read the poem and express in words how they make me feel.

This is what I know to be true – I can absolutely see why Carole had her extreme reaction. I have read one this evening to pass judgement on and it didn’t make me feel anything. I didn’t read it and immediately feel one way or another. I had to dig deep for how it affected me.

And I don’t think I’m allowed to say it offended me on so many levels because it wasn’t fun and bouncy. I love a fun and bouncy poem. Something slow and ponderous with lines that go on for ever, pfft. I hate them. If it was a choice between reading it and turning the page, the page would be turned all the time.

But I do these things out of love. I read a poem written by someone who went doolally during the war and speak my mind. More or less.

It’s like when I see sculptures and it’s just bricks or whatever. I don’t get it. I don’t understand why these things are held in such high regard. Maybe my brain isn’t wired up the right way to really appreciate poetry. But then again, I sort of wish that I had the opportunity to travel back in time to talk to some of these poets and say, “Hey, when you wrote [insert poem here] did you think people in the future would be thinking that when you wrote the first line it was clear that you were writing at exactly the same time as a bird flew into your window…”

Or whatever pretentious bollocks people come up with for some of this stuff.

No offence Carole.