EXPERIMENT IN POETRY.
THE NEW - a hopelessly defenceless department that's all!
Eliott and rhythm to express thoughts,
or chamber music free of language.
Admittedly the state of the ballad will be fired.
Bill had to replace them,
as music may remain just after innumerable punching, poetry
would be savoured like an opposition government program.
THE NEW - the enclosing of language.
The managerial type of prose
masquerading as inevitable as the encore of folksong,
and the two human errors,
so that it opened the eight mile road from experience
is taking off this century like a flourishing bus service
between history and NOW.
Once upon a few words together is not so many sounds.
Discovering the result of the founding
of yesterday's clothes; it isn't fun.
Knight and his contemporaries discovered that he operated
along the rhythm of Stockhausen et al. and noise.
Just words together is an evocation of language.
Admittedly it opens the fountain.
Items marked thus are timeless stories.
Discarded paraphernalia gave us concrete poetry one day
whose metre was a fast-fading way
to travel from Edwardian poetry.
Everyone lived for much poor prose
masquerading as the song, the years in which the brothers
were busy writing Homeric epics.
Others were sniffing round the ballade.
Based on the board of vocalisation,
poetry retreats from the fountain;
free-verse is not to take themselves into possession
of spoken language in the harvest.
Fred said he gave us much on such nonsense.
Free-verse is not the traditional poetry in another trend;
is not a young gentleman whose residence
is his first consideration;
is not music that has been conceived in January
on the way to his bedroom.
The first achievements began from so many scattered papers,
an intention to move away from the stairs,
from the experiments tending towards the fifties
with him to harvest.
Modern poetry has this inherent aestheticism,
like a violin-player having to drink at the fountain.
Modern poetry could be in the human voice,
somehow a serious case for communication.
But modern poetry can be a curse
endowed somehow with a great anxiety.
It is no robbery to drink some of the real traditional poetry.
Modern poetry has the richness of ten Mars Bars,
the autumn sunlight her mother's,
caught eating an essential fact with no equivalent.
Even poets have succeeded.
© Gerald England
Composed: Gee Cross, 8th July 1992
1993 TOPS The Toadbird (UK)
1994 Tree Trunk (USA)
Taking a taxi back through time
3 months ago