National Bad Poetry Day

Apparently, August 18th is National Bad Poetry Day. The kind and supportive encourager in me wants to claim that there is no such thing as bad poetry, only bad readers. What I consider bad might be your good. You should be able to write whatever you want. Some one will want to read it, maybe your grandma. But the poet and editor in me just laughs. Yup, I know exactly what bad poetry is. I've written some myself. Bad poetry is usually about love and/or the lack of it. It may involve rainbows and heaven and angelic children. It may rhyme.

It would be pretty horrible, though, to call out bad poetry. I refuse to post any here. So, the only thing I can do is post good poetry and claim that it is a lesson on how to revise bad poetry. Notice the images. Notice the lack of cliches. Notice how it doesn't rhyme or talk about the mystical greatness of life with cheesy, exultant language. It's not too deep. It sounds good and makes people feel some sort of emotion. It's not vague, but it doesn't bang its meaning over people's heads either. In fact, avoiding bad poetry is hard work! And you thought we poets just sat around drinking wine (I do), smoking cigarettes (I don't), and jotting down whimsical lines we'll never touch again (if you don't believe in revision, you're probably gripping some bad poems in your hand at this very moment).

Philip Levine has just been named 2012 U.S. Poet Laureate. Congrats, Phil! Levine is one of many on my long list of favorite poets. Here's a poem called "Our Valley." This is an example of how you can talk about life and the "divine" and stuff like that without being a bad poet (remember, avoid cliches and the cheese-factor).

http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/22172

Alone with Wine and Moonlight

I'm not terribly superstitious, but when the universe bashes me over the head with something, I listen. Lately, I have been seeing references to the ancient Chinese poets in just about everything I read. I've come to realize that I know zilch about Chinese poetry; somehow, I escaped grad school, and the many years following, without this knowledge. In my profs' defenses, they filled my brain with a ton of poetry; there's only so much a person can learn in two years. That's okay, because I'm always learning. Currently, I am learning about Chinese poetry. Apparently Li Po (circa 701-762 C.E.) is the most famous of these Chinese dudes, so I was hoping not to like him - I have this thing about not jumping on band wagons. Silly, yes, but true. Turns out that Li Po is kind of a lonely, moon-crazed alcoholic. He's awesome. Look at this:

Self-Abandonment
(from More Translations from the Chinese Poets by Arthur Waley, Inspiratrix, 2009)

I sat drinking and did not notice the dusk,

Till falling petals filled the folds of my dress.

Drunken I rose and walked to the moonlit stream;

The birds were gone, and men also few.

Drinking alone under moonlit skies is one of his things, and it makes his poems very melancholy, but also quite magical. Put it all together with some lovely images, and you have some centuries-old poetry that anyone can relate to. It's quiet and intimate, and I will be riding around on the Li Po wagon for a while. But don't fret; I'm not too far into the book, so expect some more gushing over these guys.