Paint Me Byronic

(Every once in awhile, I crank out  a poem. I just found this one while cleaning up my computer.)

I want to be a poet.

I want to write lines that make people think

That I am a wispy-haired, baggy-sleeved genius

Who ponders deep in deep woods and in dandelion meadows

And then snap-traps spontaneous epiphanies in meter and rhyme --

And who sees things about life hidden in things like sailing dandelion spores

That no one else senses.

But I’m not (though I am).

I’m just a guy who takes out the trash

And then writes somber “lines” about it:

“Lines Composed Over a Reeking Tub of Refuse.”

Still – I’m okay with that.

One can’t help it if one is surrounded by trash –

One still has to write.

If you want, though, you can still paint me Byronic.

"At night, a candle's brighter than the sun"

I will not get into this too much -- it could turn into a lit. paper. In my opinion, though, Sting is one of the finest poet/lyricists Britain has ever produced. To me, he is not just a good lyricist -- he is a great writer in the traditional literary sense. I know -- that's a mouthful. It's a heck of a claim. But, instead of writing a lengthy defense of it, I'll maybe post little bits from time to time.

How about this set of lines from "An Englishman in New York," from ...Nothing Like the Sun? The tune is about an Englishman who holds onto his "British" demeanor, despite his surroundings:

Modesty, propriety can lead to notoriety --
You could end up as the only one.
Gentleness, sobriety are rare in this society.
At night a candle's brighter than the sun.

I know the first part is a bit prosaic, but that final line? Sweet Petunia that is good. In fact, I sense in that an intentional spring off of the prosaic leading lines that not only adds to the conceptual and poetic impact, but that creates a structure in which the final line is the Englishman against the unrefined backdrop of the city in which he lives. Brilliant. 

That's it -- I'll stop. Some day I will go on about his album The Soul Cages. To me, it is a lyrical masterpiece. I'll make that case later...

Here's the song in it's entirety. (Musically, notice how the great Branford Marsalis's deliciously-sophisticated soprano sax solo, followed by the savagely-thumping bass drum, adds another poetic layer to Sting's contrasting concoction):

The Ballad of the Eagerly Terrified Poets

I'm teaching a creative writing class this year for the first time in several years. I have a great bunch of kids -- nice, eager and engaged. Still, I've been reminded of several things about teenagers and creative writing, but in a more vivid way than before.

Little children create without hesitation, but once we hammer them with a heapin' helpin' of schoolin' -- into their teenaged years -- they become terrified of it. I'd even go so far as to say they are embarrassed by it. Most of them anyway.

This is what I meant awhile ago when I referenced an American over-emphasis on science and math. As I said before, these subjects are important, on many practical (and necessary) levels, but they tend to bully away the humanities; science and math tend to become the rock stars and the humanities and arts are just the road crew: the show couldn't go on without them, but they never get the groupies or the spotlight.

My teenaged students are terrified of "doing it wrong" when I ask them to write a poem, even when I let them do their own thing; maybe especially so. If I give them a free-verse poem with no constraints and guidelines, they will write one and ask if it is "okay." All I can do is to respond by saying, "Of course it's okay." I make it a point of saying that before I look at the poem.

I Couldn' t Have Said It Better

Every once in awhile, I do this: Someone has said something perfectly and I think you should read it instead of what I planned to say today.

Stephen Pentz keeps a wonderful blog called "First Known When Lost." He is dedicated to starting discussions about great (and often lesser-known) poems. Mr. Pentz always includes his own comments on the poems and those comments are always insightful. On many occasions, they are nothing short of profound.

Certainly, pay close attention to the poem he has selected, but I was most taken with Stephen's succinct and powerful statement about the trends of social analysis for the sake of social change  -- what he calls "that social engineering busybodyness...that seems dismissive of both Nature and Human Nature." Poets, lovers of poetry (and annoying types like yours truly) intrinsically know that any social change has to happen within the individual human heart, not as a result of lab coat studies or of eggheaded "think tanks."

Give me one poet for a thousand sociologists; one graduate school poetry discussion for a million social "task forces;" one earnest young person with hands clasped tightly in prayer, in a midnight bedroom, for a billion droning congregations...

Here 's Stephen Pentz's post: How To Live, Part Seventeen: "Balances"