i'm usually not interested in top 10 lists, but i was impressed by the number of responses radar got by just asking folks to rank their favorite poets. his blog got hundreds of passionate responses, which made me realize that poetry still really matters to people who are not poets.
as a writer returning to poetry, this was a revelation. and made me wonder more:
>where does poetry fit into people's lives today?
>and, what will make poetry more accessible to people?
i've posed these questions in surveys for you, before you answer them, an embarrassing confession: i've never read as much poetry as i do today. and this is even counting my years as an undergrad studying creative writing!
my obstacles to reading more poetry:
> i was turned off by poets that i'd read in school*
> i've found very few enjoyable, interesting, contemporary poetry books at the library or local bookstores
> i've found poetry readings for contemporary poets to be tedious, self-congratulatory or underwhelming
> and, last but not least: reading poetry after a day at work was too intimate and soul-searching -- hard to do when you're living a life you dislike.
it's taken a lot of involvement -- researching, reading, rejecting, more reading -- to really discover poetry that gets me inspired and that can relate to. so i'd like to refer you to a few poets that inspire me, and a sample stanza of a poem. often the poem is not my favorite, but a strong poem, that will give you a sense of their style.
enjoy them.
b*
Agorophobia: A Reply
from The Room Where I Was Born
Not yet. Frost hasn't hit. Gripping the branches, only
crabapples last, balled infants' fists, toughest parts turned
inward. No not depressed. Just sick inside all week.
Cars slur by; the windows itch in their panes, crawl
the opposite wall. I watch into drift, liquid fever-shift.
Mother, inside me the room busies your hands.
crabapples last, balled infants' fists, toughest parts turned
inward. No not depressed. Just sick inside all week.
Cars slur by; the windows itch in their panes, crawl
the opposite wall. I watch into drift, liquid fever-shift.
Mother, inside me the room busies your hands.
Chase Twitchell
and speak directly into the ear of the sky,
it's you I'm thinking of.
finish reading this poem
Reetika Vazirani
The Lover
from World Hotel
I took the train from Patiala,
finish reading this poem
Reetika Vazirani
The Lover
from World Hotel
I took the train from Patiala,
left the girls with Ayah, and lied,
I'm with Faye and Daisy.
Had to say what he'd approve of.
Had to say what he'd approve of.
Go then, Kiran said, crushing large rupees in my hand.
finish reading this poem
Seamus Heaney
The Door Was Open and the House was Dark
from Human Chain
The door was open and the house was dark
Wherefore I called his name, although I knew
The answer this time would be silence
e.e.cummings
somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond
from 100 Selected Poems
somewhere i have never traveled, gladly
finish reading this poem
Seamus Heaney
The Door Was Open and the House was Dark
from Human Chain
The door was open and the house was dark
Wherefore I called his name, although I knew
The answer this time would be silence
e.e.cummings
somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond
from 100 Selected Poems
somewhere i have never traveled, gladly
beyond any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
finish reading this poem
*obviously with the exception of e.e.cummings, seamus heaney and a few others...
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