Poetry’s just like Art
I know what I like and I can do it myself
But I can’t discern the difference between good and great,
mediocre and marvellous
Yet, I do know awful.
I know the Tay Bridge Disaster is a disaster of a poem
and not just because I was told so.
I know Shakespeare’s sonnets are things of beauty.
But be blown if I can tell why some of this modern shit gets published.
What defines it all now?
Where is the importance of structure and rhythm,
let alone a sophisticated turn of rhyme?
In the plethora of e–publishing
have we lost the sense of what is good,
what is worthy
in that most obscure and least financially rewarding art form?
I guess my dog could paint something as fine as Picasso
and my rooster could pen a poem that was eagerly published
then go onto win a prize.
I can tell you why a short story is rubbish,
why your novel in progress will always be that
I know why your article won’t be accepted for publication
But please don’t ask me about your poetry.
Never ask me about that.
You see, more than any other form,
the personal, not the objective or rational, rules the roost.
Find an editor who loves your style
Then you’ll be fine, lauded and loved – the darling of the festival circuit
But you’ll never make a living
So if you want to eat and drink
write porn instead
self publish your poetry or save it for dark drunken nights
and selected sycophants who’ll say the right thing in your sensitive poet’s ear
Keeping your poetic dreams alive
(Images courtesy Google Images and Andrews UK for cover of Infidelities by Kat Quickly)
Tags: advice to a young poet, cynical has-been, drunken nights, e-books, Infidelities, Kat Quickly, poem, poetic dreams, self publish, Shakespeare's sonnets, The Tay Bridge Disaster, things of beauty, write porn, writing