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20 May 2017

Poetry Today

by Andrew

Poetry anymore is junk. I prefer form. I like Shakespeare and Milton,—though I've never read Milton much—their blank verse, the heroic verse of English. I like Keats a lot too. But I don't like poetry to-day. Whitman did it like this, like to-day's poets. But that's where it starts and ends, in my book, with him, Whitman.

It's undecipherable to me, poetry to-day. What does it mean? I feel I'm listening to a never ending Alanis Morissette song.

But I like it a bit too. I like the idea of saying anything, writing anything, random words just strung together into a sentence. Joyce's "Finnegan" seems like that. I've only read just a couple paragraphs here and there from it. But Miller does it a bit sometimes too, just starts saying random things. And I kind of like it—in prose though.

So I will write like that sometimes. Why not? It's fun. The writing is therapeutic, as always. Why not? I'll be a poet of to-day—in prose. I am, sim.


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