A Poet in the World of Reality Options

[Guest_Toumai_*]

A Poet in the World of Reality

Poets muse,
waiting:
for inspiration,
enlightenment,
perfection.

I’m impatient,
gossiping
outside school:
road works,
celebrities,
holiday horrors.

Poets feel.

I am touched by:
sunburn,
beggars,
gastric ’flu.

Poets notice:
prismatic sunbeams,
striking gossamer;
rainbow magic.

I wonder where
sodding scary spiders
crouch, waiting;
spinning in the shadows
menacing my existence.
So much debris;
so much fear.

Poets brave
the unimaginable:
writing it ...

I take:
children to school,
cat to vet,
recycling to dump,
offence ... too easily.

Poets take:
liberties,
lovers,
drugs,
forever deciding
where to place one ...
    full
         Stop
                .

© Toumai, 2005

Thanks, James, for much-needed pre-crit

[Guest_Jox_*]

Hi Fran, Nina...

Hey this is rare: Nina and I disagree over a poem - great! (Lest people think we're comparing notes before posting).

I can understand that "sodding" might be taken as anger - though I never use anything so tame when I'm angry - all my angry words start with B, C and F!

I think in this context "sodding" is good because it expresses sheer irritation. As an arachnophobic myself I can entirely understand that. Spiders are scary and when I have one crawling down the wall - say next to where I'm writing here, I think "Sodding Hell" as I reach for a large slipper with which to dispense said creature. It is fear which results in great irritation. So I can empathise!

>N>urm are you describing yourself here?  I don't think I take liberties, I definitely don't have a lover or do drugs, but yes I agonise over where to put a full stop.

LOL - C'mon now, poets are famous for all sorts of eccentric and interesting behaviour. It doesn't mean all poets do the same but they can't all be listed in detail. When I think of poets, I think of Byron, Shelley, Oscar Wilde, John Keats etc. They, for me, represent the "Golden Age" of poetry - not that I actually like many of their works. So, again for me, that verse relates to men such as that (women have no part in this cliche view of poets I have). So, I could instantly understand that verse.

As Fran says, I did a bit of pre-crit on this because she was unsure of a couple of things (thanks for the generous credit, Fran). When I read it then and now, it seemed to me that it was a satire. I took none of it - neither the downtrodden mum nor the airy-fairy poet to mean Fran herself at all - having met her neither image seems to fit.

I think we make a mistake if we assume that voices in poems are representative of the outlooks / views / angst of the writers themselves. I have written a few personal poems but most are not and I write some with deliberate opposite views to mine etc. Poetry enables us to explore ideas - but we are not necessarily advancing our ideas all the time - and certainly not reflecting our own lives all the time.

We nearly all do drugs by the way - caffeine and alcohol to start with. But poets are famous for injecting and snorting. One thinks of Oscar Wilde and absinth. As regards lovers - I thought poets never stopped (Wilde again?!)

So I see this poem as the comical / satirical contrast between two exaggerated extremes - the “housewife” drudgery of boring life and boring speech - yak yak yak on celebs and that airy-fairy carefree and hedonistic world that poets inhabit. neither may be true of anyone - but, hey, that’s satire!

Best wishes dharlings...

A poet (not).

J.