Types of Poetry

I'm always caught up with the notion that poems have to rhyme. Well, no - that's not entirely true. I write quite a bit that doesn't rhyme and could be considered free verse. But I do have a nagging voice in the back of my mind saying that poems need to be structured, have a form and a rhyming scheme. That gets to be so boring, doesn't it?

There are many styles of writing. I found this site that lists and briefly describes different Types of Poetry and they say it's only a very few examples. I haven't taken any sort of writing course since college (in my not-so-distant past) but the impression was left that there were just a handful of poetry formats. Not so, my friends - not so.



Just yet another reason why poetry rocks my sox.

Keep the Car Running

I first heard this song in the beginning of the year - even though it was released on the album Neon Bible by Montreal's Arcade Fire in the beginning of 2007. On the surface, it's a fast, upbeat, very "pop" kind of alternative song (I still love to listen to it when I'm driving), but when you listen to the words, you know there's something going on that's a little deeper.

Everyone interprets the lyrics in a different way, but the most compelling is that it's said to be about the Rapture (see: Book of Revelations in the Bible) and the Christian perspective on that belief. Basically - if you're baptised, you'll be welcomed into Heaven when Jesus comes back to Earth at the end of the world to gather all the true believers. Nonbelievers and those not baptised don't get invited to the party. There are many blogs and sites out there that discuss possible interpretations. I may not particularly share the religious belief that is so cleverly manifested in these song lyrics (and I don't know whether the band members do, either), but it's an interesting concept to put into a pop, non-Christian song. Perhaps it's just a mockery of belief?

Listen: "Keep The Car Running"



Lyrics:
Every night my dream’s the same.
Same old city with a different name.
Men are coming to take me away.
I don’t know why but I know I can’t stay.

There’s a weight that’s pressing down.
Late at night you can hear the sound.
Even the noise you make when you sleep.
Can’t swim across a river so deep.

They know my name 'cause I told it to them,
But they don’t know where
And they don’t know
When It’s coming, when It’s coming.

There’s a fear I keep so deep,
Knew its name since before I could speak:
Aaaah aaaaaah aaaaah aaaaaah

They know my name 'cause I told it to them,
But they don’t know where
And they don’t know
When It’s coming,
Oh! when It’s coming
Keep the car running

If some night I don’t come home,
Please don’t think I’ve left you alone.
The same place animals go when they die,
You can’t climb across a mountain so high.
The same city where I go when I sleep,
You can’t swim across a river so deep.
They know my name 'cause I told it to them,
But they don’t know where
And they don’t know
When It’s coming,
Oh! when is it coming?
Keep the car running
Keep the car running
Keep the car running

Becoming Currer Bell

By the grace of God I thank my stars that I'm alive and we still are
advancing now although still slow come equity to those who co-inhabit
this space with men who know we serve as we did then;
no need to hide identities when writing farce or tragedies.
The skeptics say we cannot hold ourselves up to the manly mold -
just stories of romance and dreams of girls who play in make-believe,
just poetry that won't add up or earn such praise or test enough
of will and strength, no image clear when dreams just have no use here.

But no, now times are different, right? Women are heard and in well-sight
of earning posts as high as light and are judged on merit as all men might.

A culture sewn together well by threads of cloth slit to sell.
And films where men in nudity are shown as much as girls may be.
Magazines that push the skin to rub enough, absorb within;
the human form was made to sell; that's all I need - no talent fell
before your eyes, no need to blind you
with the wool that I may toss in verses lost by my chest size.

Luckily, it could be worse as we have seen in journals' terse
accounts of women in the Middle East where women are thought less than the beast
that runs amuck in city streets, in blood of men through desert heat.

We have the liberty to speak and fight and vote and drink and sleep.
We are allowed to work alone outside the house and choose our own way to live
if choose we must, but ask not what this means for us.
If you don't know or understand you'll never know; so must I stand
and beg you for equality in stature, sexuality, and strength
you've never given out of fear you'll lose your own?
In all the years since Currer Bell, I hope we must have grown.

If the only way to sell my art is to sell myself as a sugar tart
and flaunt my ass the way they do to show that trash is worth a ransom, too,
than maybe I should find a church to re-baptize myself for another birth
so that I can avoid all the trappings still net and inequalities that have not balanced yet.
Perhaps I’ll become the next Currer Bell and then, by merit, my art will sell.

Saroyan

I just came across an article, written back in April in the NY Times Book review section about the release of the Complete Minimal Poems by Aram Saroyan. The article sounds as though Aram is someone I should be aware of - a poet of poets that expanded the meaning of what poetry can be. I suppose he is, but in my bourgeois knowledge of the world - I have never heard of him. Forgive.

What strikes me is the simplicity of his work. I'm not giving an opinion on whether I like it or not, because that is irrelevant. His work seems so base and uncomplicated; yet, I suppose to alot of people, there is great meaning and the words seem tangible: Sample of his work

I have been writing since I was 12. Sure - it hasn't been all good stuff. In fact, the majority of it is terrible - and I won't even address how bad it was in the early days. But perhaps in my Catholic school training of formalities, I feel the need for proper, meaty poems, when in fact, they can be a single word. Lighght is not poetry to me, but perhaps I should open my mind to it. So...

SuNnnshiine. There, I wrote a poem for you :)