The classics

How authentic a drawing is,
How expressive a painting is,
How imaginative a poem is,
And how narrative a prose is
Define how far they are classics.
21.04.2007

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Poem Versus Prose

You do not like this poem
And I do not like your prose
Enough with your predicates
And your subjects
In this poem you will find
No commas and semicolons

This poem
Is armed with rhythms
Stanzas and shifts
This poem has no end
There are no colons
In this poem

Your prose is replete with nuances
This poem echoes
The plight of the oppressed
And dispossessed

In your prose I find parentheses
This poem speaks of life
Your prose can be edited
Cut this poem and it bleeds

You do not like this poem
And I do not like your prose
Prose has pauses and hyphens
Prose comes to a stop
This poem plugs images
Even in your head

Prose deals with fiction
And nonfiction
This poem can be heard
It can be felt
It speaks of hunger
Of hopelessness
Homelessness
It speaks of a bitter reality

You do not like this poem

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It Isn't Traditional

Is it poetry?
Is it a narrative.
Is it part haiku,
With a dose of prose?
Who knows?

Is it what it should be?
And is it possible what should be,
Isn't and has never been.
And those wishing to see it,
Expressed properly as intended...
Have not a clue,
What those initial intentions meant.
Was it created to communicate,
Between elitists who prefered eating cake?
As they delighted in making fun,
Of the ones too socially powerful...
To know what behind their backs was being done?
Who knows?

Or...
Why is it today,
Anyone can say...
To decide to justify,
What etiquette abides?
When one chooses a method,
Using limited words to mention...
What from their own minds,
They describe and 'they' themselves wish to define.

And it is...
Poetry.
And it is...
A narrative.
And it is...
A dose of prose.
With a touch of haiku.
With a doing done as one would choose.

'But it isn't traditional.'

And what are those traditions,
You can say today...
Remains as an influence.
And 'still' exists?
Name just one!

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Dead To My Poem

DEAD TO MY POEM

Dead to my poem-
Dead to the poems of others-
Dead to poetry
In any way at all-

Into another way of feeling:
Dry- nervous- anxious- fearful.
Prose is my soul
Empty small literal flat prose.

Flat prose
Lines too flat to even need paraphrase
No poem no poetry
Prose.

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Rhyme Rant on Prose Rants

RHYME RANT ON PROSE RANTS
Prose which with capitals would rant
against pet hate, for favoured cause
is often filled with fatal flaws,
or pays attention far too scant
to harmony, stays ignorant
of rhythm which enhances, draws
skein polychrome. Its pointed jaws
restrict free scope increasing cant,
seldom perceived as elegant.
True poet purity implores
to etch, to sketch, to open doors
upon perspective which prose [r]ant
encounters rarely where it roams
on well trod trails of barren tomes.


3 December 2007


robi03_1688_robi03_0000 SXX_IXX

Rhyme Rant on Prose Rant poem © Jonathan Robin

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A Poem

i like to read your poem
and i like to say it is a poem
there is a difference
of course
between the two statements
i like to read
it is your poem but i may
after reading
that
saying that i am honest though
and can distinguish a poem
from one that is not a poem
that your poem is one that i only
like to read
and may
say that it is not your poem
but it is yours you are sure of that
but what i am saying is that
i am reading your poem
but i feel that it is not
a poem after all
i can say one when i read one
so i just say i like reading your poem
which could not really be a poem
not even prose
i just like it
but it is not anything about what
i feel i like it to be
a poem or prose
i am reading it, it isn't
like this one for instance
you know that
now.

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But when I worked on a painting I would do it from a drawing but I would put certain things I was fairly sure I wanted in the painting, and then collage on the painting with printed dots or painted paper or something before I really committed it.

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Tristan (an acrostic)

TRISTAN

he is…

Terrific
Reliable
Imaginative
Sensitive
Thrifty
Authentic
Neighborly

and so much more!

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Of the individual poems, some are more lyric and some are more descriptive or narrative. Each poem is fixed in a moment. All those moments written or read together take on the movement and architecture of a narrative.

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When I am finishing a picture, I hold some God-made object up to it - a rock, a flower, the branch of a tree or my hand - as a final test. If the painting stands up beside a thing man cannot make, the painting is authentic. If there's a clash between the two, it's bad art.

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When I am finishing a picture, I hold some God-made object up to it a rock, a flower, the branch of a tree or my hand as a final test. If the painting stands up beside a thing man cannot make, the painting is authentic. If theres a clash between the two, its bad art.

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A Poem Is Just A Poem

a poem is just a poem and if it is just a poem
it must be just a poem just like another poem

a poem is nothing but just a poem otherwise
it cannot be my poem; it may speak about

anything, or something, or about everything,
but my poem is just a poem just like anybody's

poem, which is just but a poem, like any other
poem, for a poem to be a poem it must just be

a poem: it has nothing to do with my love, and death
my life, or bliss, but as i have told you, once, twice

thrice, eat some rice, and be that wise, a poem is
just a poem, just like your poem. Why do you insist

on asking, what is happening to me? I am not a
poem, for i am but just the composer of the poem,

need i tell you again, that a poem is just a poem?
just like any other poem, which is just a poem

it is just a voice in my head that i have heard
someone comes and speaks and i listen so

this poem is not actually my poem but the poem
of someone else's: theirs not mine, from a mind.

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Henri Matisse

Drawing is like making an expressive gesture with the advantage of permanence.

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Love Is Poem

So many poets try to define it
So many philosophers try to understand it
But it beyond all's thinking
It is love and the love and nothing.
Some say it's madness
Some say it's happiness covered with sorrowness
But I say it is poem
Believe me Love is poem.
It is poem of two hearts
It is poem bound all mens
It is poem sing by Gods
It is poem love by Angels.

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John Shea

Lost poem

It was on this page, then gone
Like feathers blowing in the wind.

Where is the prose I wrote?
Not a letter is in sight.
I am looking with all my might.
Oh where is the prose I wrote?

Today I wrote a new poem,
Was it lost in cyberspace?
I hope not for I might not know it,
Even staring at me in the face.

Give me a break, my memories are at stake.
Oh where is the prose I wrote?

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The Best Poem In The World

The best poem in the world
will never be read
when everyone is writing
The best song in the world
will never be heard
when everyone is singing
The best painting in the world
will never be seen
when everyone is painting
The best performance in the world
will never be witnessed
when everyone is acting

However a world where the best poem
is burried in a stack of poems
the best song drowned out
by a million voices
the best painting lost in a gallery
streatching out as far as the eye can see
And the best preformance
competing with limitless preformances
will not be sacrificed
for an artless world

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This Poem

THIS POEM

This poem
This first poem
This last poem
This poem that invented Poetry
This one and only one poem
This fictional poem
This ideal poem
This perfect poem
This would – be holy poem
This unreal poem
This poem which is not a poem
This poem which is the essence of all poetry
This poem
And that poem
And my poem
And your poem
And all poems
Poem poem poem poem poem
This poem
Mine and yours
This one small poem of so so many
And not such a good poem at all.

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Define insanity, define me

'A spectrum of behaviours characterised by
certain abnormal mental or behavioural patterns
that may manifest as violation of societal norms
including becoming a danger to themselves and others or
nowadays denoting mental instability'

Hey! wiki define abnormal, because I don't understand
Tell me who decides societal norms, cause I didn't contribute to them
Let me be dangerous, let me be myself
The stability of whom should I look at?

Define love, define pain, define sufferance
define mercy, define justice, define tolerance
define passion, define sex, define complexity
define insanity, please define me

Take me out of this dream, I can't catch the reality
lead me through this wet fog, guide me home
all my senses are enhanced when
I'm abandoned to your memory

Borderline attitude of being nervous, occasionally anguished
a stormy spirit supposedly calm, a balance quite disturbed
people are arrogant with strange guys
people are scared about non-linear minds
are you among them?

Define love, define pain, define sufferance
define mercy, define justice, define tolerance
define passion, define sex, define complexity
define insanity, please define me

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So it is in poetry. All we ask is that the mood recorded shall impress us as having been of the kind that exhausts the imaginative capacity; if it fails to do this the failure will announce itself either in prose or in insignificant verse.

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On occasion I have drawn as a release from painting. The economy in using paper, pencil, charcoal and crayon can help towards a greater gamble and higher rewards. I also find that drawing can generate ideas more rapidly than painting.

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Why I Am Not A Painter

I am not a painter, I am a poet.
Why? I think I would rather be
a painter, but I am not. Well,

for instance, Mike Goldberg
is starting a painting. I drop in.
"Sit down and have a drink" he
says. I drink; we drink. I look
up. "You have SARDINES in it."
"Yes, it needed something there."
"Oh." I go and the days go by
and I drop in again. The painting
is going on, and I go, and the days
go by. I drop in. The painting is
finished. "Where's SARDINES?"
All that's left is just
letters, "It was too much," Mike says.

But me? One day I am thinking of
a color: orange. I write a line
about orange. Pretty soon it is a
whole page of words, not lines.
Then another page. There should be
so much more, not of orange, of
words, of how terrible orange is
and life. Days go by. It is even in
prose, I am a real poet. My poem
is finished and I haven't mentioned
orange yet. It's twelve poems, I call
it ORANGES. And one day in a gallery
I see Mike's painting, called SARDINES.

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