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stonepicnicking_okapiOne of the themes this month's poetry postings has been 'poems about poems.' And finding collections which are rich in poems that speak to me. The last of the poems from A Poem of Her Own: Voices of American Women Yesterday and Today edited by Catherine Clinton is by Marianne Moore. DW doesn't do service to the shape of the stanzas which cascade like stairs.
I have been listening to a lot of audiobooks on Youtube and some of them start off with this phrase 'The moral right of the author has been asserted.' And the phrase stuck with me, so I wanted to write a poem (a villanelle, one of my favourite forms) using that phrase.
Poetry by Marianne Moore
I, too, dislike it: there are things that are important beyond
all this fiddle.
Reading it, however, with a perfect contempt for it, one
discovers in
it after all, a place for the genuine.
Hands that can grasp, eyes
that can dilate, hair that can rise
if it must, these things are important not because a
high-sounding interpretation can be put upon them but because
they are
useful. When they become so derivative as to become
unintelligible,
the same thing may be said for all of us, that we
do not admire what
we cannot understand: the bat
holding on upside down or in quest of something to
eat, elephants pushing, a wild horse taking a roll, a tireless
wolf under
a tree, the immovable critic twitching his skin like a horse
that feels a flea, the base-
ball fan, the statistician—
nor is it valid
to discriminate against "business documents and
school-books"; all these phenomena are important. One must make
a distinction
however: when dragged into prominence by half poets, the
result is not poetry,
nor till the poets among us can be
"literalists of
the imagination"—above
insolence and triviality and can present
for inspection, "imaginary gardens with real toads in them,"
shall we have
it. In the meantime, if you demand on the one hand,
the raw material of poetry in
all its rawness and
that which is on the other hand
genuine, you are interested in poetry.
asserted by okapi
in form mutilated or in spirit converted,
this verse—though terse or worse, hapless, hopeless—must not be.
the moral right of the poet has been asserted
but once out of hands, it stands to be changed, perverted,
beyond recall, recoil to sanctity, living free
in form mutilated or in spirit converted
despite lightning storm, kite string is drawn in, reverted
to type, cutting the hand which fed it glass, alas, the,
the moral right of the poet has been asserted
once cut and plastered, faster and faster, it’s flirted
with, and with disaster, most disconcertingly
in form mutilated or in spirit converted
but muse will choose which words are snagged and which are skirted
that’s everywhere, whether in the air or privately
the moral right of the poet has been asserted
that which inspires lights fires, and when warmth had deserted,
the poet’s rage turns to sobs, for all who care to to see,
in form mutilated, or in spirit converted,
the moral right of the poet has been asserted
I have been listening to a lot of audiobooks on Youtube and some of them start off with this phrase 'The moral right of the author has been asserted.' And the phrase stuck with me, so I wanted to write a poem (a villanelle, one of my favourite forms) using that phrase.
Poetry by Marianne Moore
I, too, dislike it: there are things that are important beyond
all this fiddle.
Reading it, however, with a perfect contempt for it, one
discovers in
it after all, a place for the genuine.
Hands that can grasp, eyes
that can dilate, hair that can rise
if it must, these things are important not because a
high-sounding interpretation can be put upon them but because
they are
useful. When they become so derivative as to become
unintelligible,
the same thing may be said for all of us, that we
do not admire what
we cannot understand: the bat
holding on upside down or in quest of something to
eat, elephants pushing, a wild horse taking a roll, a tireless
wolf under
a tree, the immovable critic twitching his skin like a horse
that feels a flea, the base-
ball fan, the statistician—
nor is it valid
to discriminate against "business documents and
school-books"; all these phenomena are important. One must make
a distinction
however: when dragged into prominence by half poets, the
result is not poetry,
nor till the poets among us can be
"literalists of
the imagination"—above
insolence and triviality and can present
for inspection, "imaginary gardens with real toads in them,"
shall we have
it. In the meantime, if you demand on the one hand,
the raw material of poetry in
all its rawness and
that which is on the other hand
genuine, you are interested in poetry.
asserted by okapi
in form mutilated or in spirit converted,
this verse—though terse or worse, hapless, hopeless—must not be.
the moral right of the poet has been asserted
but once out of hands, it stands to be changed, perverted,
beyond recall, recoil to sanctity, living free
in form mutilated or in spirit converted
despite lightning storm, kite string is drawn in, reverted
to type, cutting the hand which fed it glass, alas, the,
the moral right of the poet has been asserted
once cut and plastered, faster and faster, it’s flirted
with, and with disaster, most disconcertingly
in form mutilated or in spirit converted
but muse will choose which words are snagged and which are skirted
that’s everywhere, whether in the air or privately
the moral right of the poet has been asserted
that which inspires lights fires, and when warmth had deserted,
the poet’s rage turns to sobs, for all who care to to see,
in form mutilated, or in spirit converted,
the moral right of the poet has been asserted
no subject
Date: 2023-04-25 02:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-04-25 06:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-04-25 03:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-04-25 06:04 pm (UTC)And yes it's such a great statement to start with.