The meaning of Poetry (or any good story)

[Frank]

THE MEANING OF POETRY

Step one - read this poem by former poet laureate of the USA Billy Collins
Introduction to Poetry by Billy Collins

I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem’s room
and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to water-ski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author’s name on the shore.

But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.

Step two - Read my take on this poem

I think that too many people read a poem and right away want to know what it means.
A poem is an experience, a thrill ride at an amusement park, a sensual pleasure like a good cigar or a fine wine. Sip it, taste the flavor and if you don’t like it spit it out. End of story - no need to know “what it means”- FRANK
Now having said that I will present my poem but I will not tell you what it means.

Step three - read my poem and tell me what you think

2 Living breathing Poems by Frank

I have to say I was not thinking
of poetry, but there she was
in the grocery store, discussing produce
prices with her son who was hoping
to survive the ordeal. We passed
each other, she was going one way and I the other
the way was narrow,
so I let her go first,
I extended my arms out
as if holding a door open for her and
strangely enough, she noticed and rewarded me
with a ‘thank you young man’. I especially liked
the way she said young, reminding me
of days long past when I did hold open doors
for older ladies. Some time later, same store, same day,
same two people pass again. We do the same dance,
even though we are now going back the other way,
each of us having reversed our direction,
this time there is only ‘thank you again.’ but I am happy
with that. Her son comes rushing up her, hands in air,
there you are, he tells her (as if she did not know).
He tells her they are done, she says good, can we go get our
food now. He says, yes I think it is ready now.
Now I am in the parking lot, loading my car, I see her again
she is standing in front of the Chinese take-out joint,
looking like she has lost something but I know it is not her sense
she may be silver in hair and slight, but there is still sparklers
lit in those eyes. No, she has lost her son, who stands four car
spaces away loading his or is it hers ? groceries in their car.
Neither can see the other, but I, the poet can see them both.
As the poet, I wonder how this will end, should I interfere,
or leave it to the imagination of the reader ? No, I think the
reader deserves closure and while I am thinking that she discovers
where he is and waves and then goes into the Chinese joint.
I don’t know what happened next as I drove away but you
the reader deserve some sort of an ending so, as I am walking back
from the car to my house, a very young lady rides her training wheel
equipped bike up to me and says “hello.” and I say hello back
and then she says “goodbye.” and rides away.

[Ang Monsoon]

Beverly, the mount of Venus is the fleshy part of the palm of your hand, just under the thumb. I have to admit, after I'd logged off I had a red-faced moment as I thought I'd done a Freudian slip, as I believe a part of a woman's anatomy (not on her hand) has a similar name. However, I looked palmistry up & I did have the term correct!! That's the danger of writing & sharing quick things I guess, very risky!! It's very interesting though what you said about the statues. I was writing in prose & it seemed boring so I wrote it like that instead. It just "happpened" without much time to think about it. I used to love newspapers but i don't read them much anymore. It just started off thinking about the newsprint coming off. Hope that answers yr. q., I guess I started of "literal" but like always happens with these things there's another meaning to them that I haven't had chance to ponder myself yet.

[Ang Monsoon]

Message for Francesca: there's a lot of action going on: smashing, slipping, jumping, patting and a lot of opposites...I was intrigued by "steel and tears all around my knees". Mm freedom & danger & dreams....I'll be interested to see what you come up with next!!

[Francesca]

Thank you for giving me your point of view, I am interested in how other people see
what I write and how they are affected, it gives me a sense of perpective: I had not realized I had put in so many opposites...

[Barbara Ann Storrier]

I couldn't agree more!

Francesca you do have a wonderful gift ... I hope you don't mind me saying ...

For a real treat, click on Fran's icon, go to her page, and read the fabulous short story she has posted there ... it's awesome!

:)

[Francesca]

Oh Barbara!

I posted it in the short-story group already... now I am feeling a bit shy:-)

[Frank]

I was inspired by Francesca but I was hung up on the word Just
so here goes some fast art or poetry or just garbage

JUST

Sit back and stare
at me at life at almost
anything, then tell us please
what is there beyond your eyes

JUST
they thought they were doing
what needed to be right-ened
what the book of rules told them to do
just being just

J'UST
the knights spend their tyme
horsing around, pointing long 'lances
at each other, then BOOM off they went
Demolition Derby - Mid age style

[Francesca]

I like "what the book of rules told them to do
just being just"!

Just like running and sitting and standing
all at once,
diving into an icy heavy mass
of lying waters
where memories die like a curious child
slipping down
falling and falling
down into the well.
Just a spell of time left.
A short life in a bird's eye view
just a few moments before darkness

[Beverly]

Francesca,
This is "JUST" a fabulously written poem. I find myself enjoying writing poems more than stories, at least at this point in my life, because they are shorter and I seem to go deeper into my inner landscape of emotions as a result.
I've been painting birds lately (and always focus on painting their eyes first so love
A short life in a bird's eye view

where memories die like a curious child has a sense of longing to it, my own inner child has been coming out lately to play so I personally resonate with this line.

I like how the last 6 lines get longer and longer in word length. Like steps or a ledge or
falling and descending. The poem structure seems to echo the meaning in a more complete
sense because of this.

I shall JUST have to write something here myself really soon. How long did this take you to write?
So glad you are here, I am inspired by you.

[Maureen]

Francesca, I agree with Bev. A beautiful poem! I am glad you are here, too.

[Francesca]

That was my immediate response to Frank:-)

Yes let's go on writing JUST poems!! It's your turn now

[Frank]

Francesca,
that was JUST marvelous poem

I love the last two lines.

Now I go to sleep,
Frank

[Maureen]

Just Frank.
Just creative and clever and your special style ... love the "J'ust" / Joust take at the end.