From c1eb96578e5a40d2b6eaee0ace394cff8daf197b Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: Case Duckworth Date: Mon, 2 Mar 2015 16:47:25 -0700 Subject: First complete compile --- onformalpoetry.html | 42 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ 1 file changed, 42 insertions(+) create mode 100644 onformalpoetry.html (limited to 'onformalpoetry.html') diff --git a/onformalpoetry.html b/onformalpoetry.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e7d5e9c --- /dev/null +++ b/onformalpoetry.html @@ -0,0 +1,42 @@ + + + + + + + + + + On formal poetry | Autocento of the breakfast table + + + + + + + + +
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On formal poetry

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I think that I could write formal poems
exclusively, or at least inclusive
with all the other stuff I write
I guess. Of course, I’ve already written
a few, this one included, though “formal”
is maybe a stretch. Is blank verse a form?
What is form anyway? I picture old
women counting stitches on their knitting,
keeping iambs next to iambs in lines
as straight and sure as arrows. But my sock
is lumpy, poorly made: it’s beginning
to unravel. Stresses don’t line up. Syl-
lables forced to fit like McNugget molds.
That cliché on the arrow? I’m aware.
My prepositions too—God, where’s it stop?
The answer: never. I will never stop
writing poems, or hating what I write.

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