My poetics

My Own Style of Poetics
As I start this paper about my own poetics, I have to pause. I realize that I have no idea what my poetics is. I think this is because I am still finding myself as a poet. I like to experiment with different types of poetry, whether it be conceptual, procedural, or something else completely different. I think the best way to understand my own poetics is to define and explore what poetry means to me.
Poetry to me is what cannot be expressed any other way. I think that poetry is a method of art that uses words, sounds, rhythm, meter, space, light, dark, and ideas to express. The poet cannot express this in any other way. It is not that the poet has necessarily tried every other medium before he decided on poetry; it is an intrinsic feeling that a poem would suit the mood, idea or message that the poet is trying to convey.
The meaning of poetry has changed for me throughout the course of my life. I did not have an easy childhood: By the time I was eleven I had been abused every way possible and was suicidal; both my parents were drug addict alcoholics. As a result of this, I was raised by my grandparents for most of my life. And then, when I was 15, my father killed himself. Writing was one of the only things that kept me alive. I wrote “high school notebook poetry” about the crap I had gone through. During this period of my life, poetry was my savior. It was what helped me work through the pain.
Once I got into college, poetry became a craft, an art form. I was exposed to different kinds of poetry. Before college, I had no idea about language poets. I soon came to realize that there was a whole history of poetry that I was unaware of. During my high school years I was taught a few poets and I did some research on my own, but it was nothing compared to the number of poets I have read during my three years of college. This wealth of information about poetry has changed who I am as a poet and what I think about poetry.
Now, I think poetry is an art form that many do not understand. I think it is very similar to music and painting, but behind the times. People expect or accept that music and painting can be experimental and weird. But once you get into poetry, it’s oh no, you have to make sense. The average person thinks modern poetry synonymous with Hallmark cards. They can’t see words as objects that you can play and shape and transform into something intrinsic and interesting. Most people believe that if you can’t understand it, it’s not poetry.
This really hit home for me this year. I used to think that people who wanted to understand everything they read were just simple minded. Those who don’t like or dismiss poetry that is not supposed to make logical sense were just idiots. I sat all high and mighty on this pedestal until my husband turned out to be one of those so-called idiots. It happened one night as I was working on the chapbook for this class. My husband, it a fit of frustration and misunderstanding, said that he did not see what I did as good or even poetry. And I can say it really hurt. My husband’s lack of respect for what I had been working so hard toward and what I had been so proud of seriously offended me. After three hours of arguing and a multitude of tears, we came to a resolution. My husband realized how he had hurt me and explained that it was just that he didn’t understand my kind of poetry.
The experience with my husband showed me that most people are ignorant of the poetic movements in the last 50 years. When poetry is discussed in high school or elementary school, it is Shakespeare or Maya Angelo. It saddens me that people cannot or do not understand what can be done with poetry as an art form. I am not saying that all contemporary poetry or good poetry has no be gibberish that doesn’t make sense; I am saying that most people are closed-minded when it comes to poetry.
Another part of my own theory of poetics is what I think makes good poetry. I think that in order to make good poetry, the poet must have a good use of the English language. While this may seem obvious, some poets just have a knack for putting phrases or words together that catch the eye and the ear. I think that the poet should space, delivery, word choice, size of the poem, and the message when they are writing poetry. The poem must be interesting and exciting. What that means, I have no idea, but I know it when I see it; I know it when I hear it.
Also, I think the reading of poetry and the delivery are completely and utterly different experiences. During the course of the term, I read most of the poets assigned. A few caught my eye, but mostly it was hard for me to decipher what I felt about the poems I read. It felt like words on the page. It was just like every other textbook I had every read. You read it and move on. Upon hearing the poets, however, it became different for me. I was able to hear the rhythm and flow of the lines. The poems came to life (however cliché that may sound) in hearing them read. I was able to lift the fog of “I don’t know/don’t care what I feel about these poems” and I was able to have an actual opinion.
Ok, as I re-read this I realize that I do have an idea in what my poetics is. So I’m going to leave off here before I start rambling.
~Alysia Ferguson

Last poem

Fornication in Hollywood

An attempt at China consumes
all your energies and antiques
that fly mindfully of Sweden.
Do you dream of reporting against
rebellious screens of money?
And, if you do, what type of hope
do you have of fornication?

Is it possible that the world makes
an entire western person which the sun
does cause it to be minimalistic
in its final resting place?
It is constant?
Does it include the sale of Hollywood?
Very good, you pay for it.
But that does not make the surgeon
break celibacy after he has grown old.

An incantation of the chin skin is possible in this war.
You are the sweet pornography of basic fornication.
The nucleus of unicorns in her life
projection which hope for dreams.
The wedded girl of my interior deity
has my constellation's baby.
Her new fiancé does acquire an increase
in information and markets this on
the road of stamina and possibilities.
The final space grants and
supports a cobalt Hollywood.
Every day you hear the ball that causes
numbers by telephones that ripen songs
in order to can cauldrons.

The absence of the very distant fornication
is best served with heat and rice.
Generations lift from this persona the praises
of the populations of everybody that does check in on you.
It is here and there and a mistake.

Taking in the interruptions of reason
for the destruction of methods
do make much trappings sweet,
but they do also incite creation
and earthquakes into girls.
The guitar and other times are not good
in flow, but good in the vibration of fornication.
It does support peace very well, but it does pay
surgeons in order to break the
insufficient use of the word genitalia.
The incantation does compare the rest,
but it entreats you to another time.

ok, you 90s pop fans...

lets see if you can guess which song this is?


Can and Dye

Hey can and dye, can and dye,
Before we meet
I’m going to begin a war.
Any other time I know I could,
and it would be good.
Hey baby ,
How do you develop
an unceasing aftermath
after this present chronology
of sadness travels behind us
and causes us to know that I can?
Independent of an assumption
I start a rumor that you
look like the baby can of dye, can of dye…

Before the meeting ,
I do have a thought of the
imbecility of competition
and how another player
can keep your diary for you.
But I ain’t him, am I?
Rumors, baby, they were all rumors…

Before that meeting
do you want me to make
An actual tentacle
or do you want me
to speak to you
in riddles of the foot?
Possibly,
she does echo mentally deranged rumors…

Oh, you and I did strike a bond,
but does it make you love the truth
or does it make you
realize the best arrival of relation
that I consequently give a
satisfactory reason for?
Baby, do we develop the lives of the old
or do we go inside and I,
with my gift, fly these lives
at the right time with you?
Actually,
it goes another time.

I do have to sell the can,
Or can I dot upon that boat
Of thematic unevenness?
Not of mine, but of you baby,
Does the sewing of queer
Hair, say goodbye more frequently.

Don’t write of the competition
Totally,
because the pension of their voice
owes intoself to the farmhouse
on the lake.
Does communication frizz out of sight
Or does it remain tangible
Off screen?
Truthfully,
I do know know
Because I cut off my love
to avoid all craziness from the boat
and the farmhouse.
I say goodbye to them both.

Above all, my wish is
To finally know the reason for it all.
Do we fall in love with one another
To check and sigh,
Or do we sketch mementoes

Don’t say anything momentarily,
If you do, the stupidity of the consequences
Of leaving will form inside
Forever, forever…
Does it make you desire me
If I crawl upon the terrace
For reasons you cannot know
(and therefore cause you to make
Pincers of my legs)?
It does have greatness of feet
To make a second baby
Through rumor
Right before the meeting of doom.
I did think this was crazy competition,
But another player 2 told me
I don’t understand the moment.
Do you want an actual cause
Or does it matter if
You want me to speak?
You have two feet, but
I only have one.
Possibly it echoes mental derangement,
But I ain’t going to tell…

Another Poem

So, people were wondering what I had changed or altered from the original translated version, so I am going to show both. The first is what came directly from babel fish, the second is my poem.

That family Alabama [glykainetai]

Does make nature important in order to continue it does continue in the rotation me to supply, in that does look in the rest that my family I I do make with [peyu] in the song in the south thinking the time more than d'? Alabamy, and I think his sin, I

Very good j'? those that the gentleman of young persons [peet] in that of j'? those very good Neil for coloc the j'? hope that new Neil it will recall southern persona of don'? ; t does have a need that [glykainetai] its family of d'?

Alabama is the sky where there of c'? it into all cases where home page Alabama I' [glykainetai];? ; very blue color? Its excellency? It goes for the house to its m

[Aytoes] they do make them they do love regulator which inside [Mpirmingkcham] we
everything which we supporting we do potentially now they make with the door of d'?
water not I it does bother to it does make their conscience to be annoying it? You will have a talk in that family [of glykainetai] of the truth of d'?

Alabama is the sky where there of c'? it that home page Alabama I' [glykainetai];? ; very blue color? Its excellency? It goes house it comes here Alabama in its m

Maintenance of the bank of sand [of myos] Of swampers and they'? ; VE does have it does know qu'? it does select song or 2 his excellency where of l'? you do mount onboard my I I I do find, when I'? ; m did feel that blue color you now qu'? it is pleasant? Family of d'?

Alabama which the sky [of glykainetai] there which home page Alabama I' [glykainetai];? ; very blue color? Its excellency? It goes for the house to its m

Family of d'?
Alabama oh of family baby which [glykainetai] which the sky [of glykainetai] there blue color, and governor'? ; That home page real Alabama Lordy Of i' [glykainetai];? ; [y]? Its excellency? It does go house it does finally declare into its m, Montgomery'? ; S.A acquired the answer

here is the cleaned up version:

That Family Blab Man

Does nature make it
important in order to continue
the rotation to my supply of peyote?
That does look like the rest of my family
that I do make the song of the south for,
thinking the entire time
more than you, ala lip balm
-I also think it is a sin.

Very good for those that are
the gentlemen of young people
in that they are very good
for the colored soul.
I hope that the new ceiling will recall
the southern persona
that has a need for its family.

Blab man is the sky and where all cases
Are on the home page.
Blab man glitches a very
blue color in its excellency
As it goes for the house that is mine.

All toes do make love regularly
When they are inside my perming chair.
We see everything that we support and
we do potentially know how
they make doors out of it.
Water does not bother me, but it does
make their consciences annoying.
You will have a talk with that family
To get to the truth of the matter.

Blab man is in the sky
where all the home are filled with pages.
My tail is a very excellent blue color
That goes house to house
Before it comes here.

Maintenance of the sand bank
causes swamps but
does have it have to know you?
It does select a song or 2
because you mount onboard my feelers
In that blue color you now think is pleasant.

Blab man flies in the sky
of fox tails which page home
every now and then.
The house is blue in color
During its excellence period.

A family oh a family baby
which the sky of a blue color governs
those real homes.
Lordy, it goes house to house
and finally declares an acquired answer.

another new one

here is another new poem, see if you can guess the song!

Hey You

Hey you, do you want Turkey?
It makes villains assume your reasons are sad.
Turkey Turkey in order TO BE the best.
Will you recall that this is what you left in order to include its heart,
in order to follow it the best you could.
It begins with his reason, oh Turkey Turkey, in order TO BE better.

Hey you, do you distrust the cause
And Calculate every moment
Until you can get under its skin, in order to follow it?
Or do you make do with the fact that it improved the East?

And, you feel the pain, the aspect of the solution,
Even when it does not supply its peace.
Relative to shifting, it plays out completely in its cause,
that point of cold imbecility.

Hey you, do you not make up with the fact that I charge for
What you have acquired now?
Will I recall this that you do love in order to include its heart,
in order to begin improving the facts of the west?

Withdraw it consequently, and between the two of us,
we can make a beginning.
I’ll expect somebody to fulfill
Since you’re the all knowing one.
You only you, precise in the kinetics of the shoulder.

Hey you, do not become the villain.
It does sadly assume that you will make
The best of the east.
It recalls management under its skin,
For those followers of yours will begin to be
better, better
in this inside out.

some poems

OK, so I tried to post these last time and word was having issues, so here are three of my poems:

I Bleed

Free quite of methods in the skin
of mine to dish on you.
For the sweets of sentencing, you turn another time.
And see? They view that as you.
Please the moment and the side of me regarding spitting downward,
It does look in proportion to the moment at hand, but does it does sketch also?
Proxy mass suicide, you affirm
-No, you sew because ropes are never totally there.
Neither is your last life-line.
Over passion now you cake in provisions a veil. Ha!
A pair of rats are more precise than liquor.
Them onlookers charge more said my dad and your aunt.
Oh I behave,
I believe.
Now, when you do die, your eye does continue,
If not why?
It did conclude here, when the after taste of animal fat never found a time to flee its bedroom
If it is correct.
Our case extends potentially through the eternal attainabilities in this sex shop.
Why? Did it examine you? Oh? I examined you.
I’m always inside you with partiality,
‘for I’m always inside of the spleen.
If I can, I assume the very dignity of population.
It does not have aspect in the majority, but to me it seems that I examined a ghost.
If cellulite is present I, then cause mental derangement in the afterlife.
I did consider my cousins. oh that?
I did contrive that onlooking dance off.
The angel they mined is extracting poo in the corner.
And I did revive the methods by the sweet of frequency in the mind of the antelope.
An apology to the toilet is welcome at any time.
It felt that you turned it on, on purpose.





Lady Luck

When will it become only, l you, and nobody?
From coke and tea you are in activities excessive from many years of hiding.
Know it’s myself of old idiotic ogres.

Lady luck, you acquired my elbow.
Lady luck does it entreat you to love my doggy?
La la, chère of wontons.

You decrease the brains which I have scythed.
Do you raise trite motors in comfort?
When it’s an old person, do I have to eat? Do you allow me to do it?
Razor caravans regard imbeciles that fall off into love.
You will fall in love inside reverse rotations by the entire world.

Lady luck, you acquired my elbow.
Lady luck does it entreat you to love my doggy?
La la, chère of wontons.

It does make the best situation before you will be finally mentally deranged.
Do you invite and say l never open that way.
I speak and you don’t confiscate useless love.




This Type of California

In the dark street of abandon must my hair smell?
Heating it freshly karaoke style lifts it thoroughly.
You will air in front of the distance that those heads do increase the heavy illumination of enlargement- The aspect ratio increased my sky as well.
You will stop there in the night position,
finding it had turned off the entrance.
It did hear the responsibility of things,
and I do think for one second this season is potential sky
or likely hell.
After this to turn in the candle, I did present my way.
It was found under the sulky sound that many toes had heard him speak…

Good flames into the eyes of California.
This place is this type of bulky confrontational room
That you could never find
Year after year.

Their tiffany inversions of the brain did acquire considerably calm silk.
The most beautiful boy, in proportion, does speak to them in a friendly dance
in the garden that bends to which some sweat.
Someone needs the dance to recall,
But forgot himself partially in it.

Consequently, you are the cause of borrowed love that might make liqueur
which does speak of this haven.
Having this religious song here from their sounds is still a very distant bell
The noise in midnight which aches you , you hear that he speaks…

This type of California, the place of anxieties.
This axiom of living in and of it imports good excuses.

Into the champagne ceiling it raised its ice,
and in the aforesaid, it is given to us to completely concluded the prison here.
Our equipment and the mastery of it, is the having of the dinner feast that did assemble
piece from piecing by knife machines.
But can't it?
Does kill the wild animal?

I did resemble the previous matter, that door of function I do open.
The division by color I do decrease, one nock of persona he did speak
that we did become an acceptable form from the author of program.
The established clients can give you the permission you love, but you cannot ever arrive outside!

Some of the many many poets...

Ok, so for this week we had to read A TON of poets. I skimmed all of them, but here are a few that I actually have something to say about:

Jack Kerouac
I like the feeling and the "flow" of his work. The poem Mexico City Blues was one of my favorites mainly because it was funny and I could feel the rhythm of the piece itself. The words themselves seem to have a beat. "Got up and dressed up/ and went out & got laid/ Then died and got buried/ in a coffin and int he grave..." It has a jazzy movement to it that caught my attention and made me want to read more.

John Ashbery
His poem Paradoxes and Oxymorons caught my attention last term and I still like it this term. It is just so sarcastic. It is making fun of the type of poetry that is flowery and showy and says "the poem is you". Yet, his other poem The Other Tradition is flowery. This contradiction interests me.

Robert Creeley
The last line of the poem The Window is just a breathtaking image. "I can/ feel my eye breaking." It is a powerful image that makes the poem for me. I think the poem would be lackluster if not for that line.

Allen Ginsberg
His poem A Supermarket in California sounds like a Walt Whitman inspired drug trip. I love the lines " Wives in the avocados, babies in the tomatoes!" and "Who killed the pork chops? What/ price bananas? Are you me Angel?" I guess I can relate to having random thoughts at the supermarket late at night.

Ok, that's all the poets for now. Here are two of the poems I've been working on:

Pound, Stevens, Williams, Moore, H.D.

I can see why people like and revere Pound, but to me most of his poetry seems some what removed. It has style and allusions, etc, but most of his poems are just so over the top. Don't get me wrong, I do like a few of his poems. One of the poems that I do like is A Pact. I think that it is interesting the Pound detested Whitman for so long because he reminds me of Whitman alot of the time. The other poem that caught my eye was The Temperaments. "Nine adulteries, 12 liaisons. 64 fornication and something approaching a rape." I don't know why, but it made me laugh.

I have always been a big fan of Stevens. My favorite of his (not included in our anthology) is the poem about the little cat feet. My other favorite is The Emperor of Ice-Cream just because it makes no sense.

Williams is a very interesting poet to me. Much of the time it seems like he has spaces in between his phrases or words just for the hell of it. I guess that put large gaps in between words wasn't done a whole lot in his time and he was a pioneer, but in the poem Tract for instance: I tried to figure out why the spaces are there but I have no idea. I like the poem This Is Just to Say because it is quirky and interesting, but I can't stand The Red Wheelbarrow. I've never gotten why it is so significant and important. Lat term, Prof. Mohammad explained that it was a part of a larger piece and that made way more sense.

I wasn't sure how to feel about Moore's poetry. In her poem The Fish the visual aspect of the poem impressed me more than the poem itself. Each stanza looks like the end of a boat. It made me feel clever for getting it and I assume that's what she was going for.

And last but not least, H.D. It seems to me that she liked flowers alot. Most of her poems (or the one's the editors included) are flower-themed. Now usually I don't like flower-poetry, so I was skepitcal, but her little verses seem Dickinson like. Her poem Epitaph is very quirky and about death.

Hey sorry I haven't written in awhile...I really like Stein because of her word repetitions. Although, I do see the point that her poems don't seem to "go" anywhere, I think that her use of repetition creates a rhythm and a music that is unique. There aren't alot of poets during her time that did that. At least, not that I know of. Take, for instance, Susie Asado. The poem itself is like a toung twister in some parts, but if you read the first few lines outloud "Sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet tea./Suesie Asado./Sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet tea./Suesie Asado./ Susie Asado which is a told tray sure." there is definatly music.

I liked some of Mina Loy poems. In the poem Brancusi's Golden Bird" lines 21-24 are "this breast of revelation/ an incandenscent curve/ licked by chromatic flames/ in labyrinths or relflections" just stuck out to me. Her word choice is very presise and she evokes powerful imagry in her poems.

Hi, I'm Alysia. I am a creative writing major and am taking this class to further my study in poetry. While I understand the importance of Walt Whitman, I am not particularly fond of most of his work. I find much of what he does to be egotistical. On the other hand, I find his use of words and word combinations fascinating. Something about the way he phrases and combines words excites my ears. (that's original lol) Whitman is obviously a talented poet, if he could just get over his ego!

Emily Dickinson, however, is one of my favorite poets of all time. She is what turned me on to poetry in the first place. I love how obscure her poetry is and how morbidly funny she can be. She just is one of those poets that I don't think I can ever get sick of!