I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide-—exquisite opening
or press an ear against its hive.——to hear the song
I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,——to cause the reader to think
or walk inside the poem’s room
and feel the walls for a light switch.——ah, this is just a magnificent line
I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem-—oh wish I had written that.
waving at the author’s name on the shore.
But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.-——the snobbish elite of the literary world, the high brows at fancy cloistered universities who believe their own bullshit. There is no room for an "un-groomed" poet, no Grandma Moses of poetry, one must be milled out of the ivied halls, powered, preened, introduced to the gawking of critics, like they are the only ones who have ever lived.
They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.—— they make me want to vomit. A poem will mean different things to different people no matter the author. All the smchooze in the world will not make a lousy poem good, however this author is good.
Exactly. That's why some want to beat it with a hose while others swoon over its beauty.
Sure the ending could be different but tha original truly moves the emotions.