Ponderings of Meaninglessness

There's a certain poetry journal to which I subscribe that has been increasingly frustrating me. I won't name the journal. I admire its content and legacy, but lately it's been making me feel stupid and inadequate as a poet and poetry reader. One of the reasons I write about poetry is to show people how accessible it really is. Poetry should be enjoyable, no matter what emotion it evokes. It shouldn't be difficult to understand. Whether narrative or lyric, you should have an idea of what's going on. And yet, much of the poetry I read in this particular magazine makes no sense to me. In fact, it bores me. I can't follow a story or enjoy an image. It makes me wonder if I'm just dumb. Why can't I appreciate these poems, which I assume are supposed to be among the cream of the crop? But poetry, like anything, can be divided into many types and kinds. I like movies, but I don't like action movies. That doesn't mean there aren't good action movies out there, right?

Maybe I'm not stupid; maybe I just know what I like. But if I'm not stupid, I have to wonder if pretension in poetry serves a purpose. Is it okay to alienate the populace? I know it should be okay; science nerds and math junkies have their own clubs. I may be interested in these two subjects, but I could never follow a conversation between experts; however, I feel like poetry is different, maybe because nobody ever claims that science and math are irrelevant. We should be focusing on inclusion, not alienation. Ultimately, this is a silly meandering. There will always be snobby poets as much as there will always be excruciatingly bad poets. It all has its place, and I don't have to read it. I'm a glutton for punishment, though, so I will continue to read the obtuse poets, too, just until I begin to understand.

Welcome back Uncle Shelby!

Shel Silverstein passed away over ten years ago, but his children's books and poems have no-shelf life. Everything on It was recently published by Harper Collins. I haven't read it yet, but I am excited to purchase it as soon as I get my next paycheck. Last spring, I re-read A Light in the Attic and was disappointed. For some reason, it wasn't enjoyable for me, and I didn't find the poems to be that stellar. I was upset. I wondered if I wasn't open to children's poetry the way I was when I was a kid; however, I am now re-reading Where the Sidewalk Ends. I read it to my son at dinner, post-mushed veggies, while he's sucking back his bottle of milk. We are both having a marvelous time. Where the Sidewalk Ends is even better than I remembered it. It's funny and well-written, and even touches up some heavy things. I think the poem for which the book is named is one of the best, but I also love "Lester" (p. 6), which is not only funny and sad but also quite the social commentary. It is full of imagery but also narrative. Furthermore, it is well written, rhythmic, and a bit of a math lesson, too! "Apples and kisses and shoes" is genius, I think, for representing the simple, yet sublime, things in life.

Lester

Lester was given a magic wish
By the goblin who lives in the banyan tree,
And with his wish he wished for two more wishes--
So now instead of just one wish, he cleverly had three.
And with each one of these
He simply wished for three more wishes,
Which gave him three old wishes, plus nine new.
And with each of these twelve
He slyly wished for three more wishes,
Which added up to forty-six--or is it fifty-two?
Well anyway, he used each wish
To wish for wishes 'till he had
Five billion, seven million, eighteen thousand thirty-four.
And then he spread them on the ground
And clapped his hands and danced around
And skipped and sang, and then sat down
And wished for more.
And more...and more...they multiplied
While other people smiled and cried
And loved and reached and touched and felt.
Lester sat amidst his wealth
Stacked mountain-high like stacks of gold,
Sat and counted--and grew old.
And then one Thursday night they found him
Dead--with his wishes piled around him.
And they counted the lot and found that not
A single one was missing.
All shiny and new--here, take a few
And think of Lester as you do.
In a world of apples and kisses and shoes
He wasted his wishes on wishing.