Certain Poems Aren’t Boring

There are major and semi-major poets today whose poems are so tedious and pretentious that they can induce a rageful narcolepsy in the reader. Surely you know what I’m talking about – that horrid self-satisfied voice, that insufferable presumption to tell me something dreary or personal, that blatheration masquerading as existential profundity. Editors who publish that kind of thing should stop.

And then there are poets whose work quietly astounds. It possesses a quality of subdued wonderment about phenomena and about the invisible that haunts from behind appearances. Their poems are more implicit question than odious preachment or tiresome diary. I also notice a more pronounced sensitivity to the contours and shadings of language in these other, different poets. Their poems refresh the reader with atmospheres of poise, depth, and ambivalent beauty. Poets like Barbara Maat.

Here is one of her poems, untitled:

 

rivers of dark sky
where the rusting stars bathe
in the abyss, the dragon breath of da’at
teased from an apple seed

 

An impression conveyed. A suggestion offered. Words lithely incantatory. In the right hands, the natural can go surreal and mystical. In the right hands, four lines can open you onto a paradox as symbolic, true, and tragically beautiful as a resonant night dream.

 

10885425_10202335361584993_8258405927298039907_n

 

 

Posted by Tim Buck

 

 

Advertisements

One thought on “Certain Poems Aren’t Boring

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s