Poetry Blues: Back to Yeats

In the last few days, I've gone back to read The Collected Poems of William Butler Yeats. I am blue about the state of contemporary poetry as well as contemporary life. Yeats wrote not only of his times but of myth and legend. For me, he understood not only the mechanics and techniques of poetry, but also that there was magic involved.

Alas, as a poet and publisher, what I see around me is a "Balkanization" of the poetry world (divided into hostile groups). Different groups can't stand each other, and sometimes it gets personal. I think it was T.S. Eliot who wrote that when poetry wanders too far from sound and music, it loses its power.

I am not a neo-Formalist, nor an experimentalist, nor of any school. I believe you have to respect and know something about poetic traditions, practice them, and then go beyond to discover your own distinctive voice. However, I experience some contemporary poets as having a "tin ear," no sense for the language, and sometimes no apparent interest in thought or language itself.

Older poets (older than I by twenty years or more) have occasionally mentioned the sad state of contemporary poetry, sometimes saying things bemoaning, without explanation, "what has happened to poetry." They may be referring to the lack of interest of mainstream society in poetry, but I think some of them are talking about issues within the poetic community as well.

It is easy to think that your own time is uniquely awful, but perhaps what I should dispassionately conclude is that it has always been thus. Meanwhile, while I wait for enlightenment, I've settled down with the collected works of Yeats, and am enjoying his depth, variety, craft, music, and -- yes -- magic.

Happy Valentine's Day

In honor of the day, I am posting my persona poem below.

This poem is meant to be humorous and I am not a dominatrix, so don't
contact me if you're looking for one! I get enough crazy emails.

Enjoy and try to laugh today, Karen


DOMINATRIX MONTH-BY-MONTH PLANNER

1. Moon for tying executives to their desks, cracking my whip.

2. Valentine with handcuffs, thick leather belt moon.

3. Moon of muddy Great Dane feet mounting you.

4. Pulleys and ladders moon, water buckets & D-rings.

5. Wrist and ankle restraints, worm your way to flower bud moon.

6. Moon of mandatory listening, blindfolded, to baby birds.

7. Silent moon with surprise fireworks behind your eyelids.

8. Run through garden sprinklers or else moon.

9. School bus fantasy moon or ruler to your knuckles.

10. Naughty Jack O’Lantern, crawl, my darling.

11. Moon of sitting on you, feeding you turkey & cranberry.

12. Garters and stockings under my fur coat, you’ll beg among the icicles.

Tell me now when to pencil you in.



--Karen Braucher, copyright 2006

Things about Love I Will Not Tell My Daughter

As Valentine's Day looms, I thought I'd post a recent poem
of mine about love.

Things about Love I Will
Not Tell My Daughter

It's real. It's fake.
It stays the same.
You can't survive it.
There's only one guy for you.
It can look and taste right
and crumble into nothing.
Lust is like it, only stronger.
Years later, the strongest passion
may seem drab or just kinky.
Studying birds might be
a better past time.
You can escape it.
You can create it when it's
not there.
Guys want only one thing.
It will conquer all.
It’s not a feeling but a commitment.

No, everyone deserves
a mysterious hiding place.
Let love take care of itself.
Let it wear a skirt, covering
its penis and vagina.
Let it carry us over the threshold
with our eyes closed.


--Karen Braucher, copyright 2005

Thanks to poet/teacher Carolyn Moore for
the inspiration to write this poem.

Happy February. --KB