First off, on this tenth day of the festival of sonnet in celebration of National Poetry Month, I’d like to thank the curator or curators of the NaPoWriMo website for featuring yesterday’s poem on their blog. What a lovely gift to wake up to. So many of us out here in the blogosphere often, I think, might feel like we are just shouting in the middle of a vast desert, thousands of miles away from any other living and reading souls. It can get kind of lonely, so a boost like this is a welcome visitation. Thank you, NaPoWriMo, and thanks to each reader that stops by for a look.
Here’s a sonnet today about my particular poetic tastes, about what floats my boat as a reader of poetry–or conversely, what sinks the ship.
Ten
I may have the wrong idea about
Poetry. I want it plain-spoken, clear.
Less bewilderment, less staggering doubt,
The sense often muddied, I just can’t hear,
Couldn’t tell you squat, a gun to my head.
I may have had pleasure in the language,
Or may have felt the sounds instead,
But don’t ask me to unpack this baggage.
An editor once told me there was no
Music in my poems, the ones about my son
She called precious; no compliment, you know.
What did she want? What would she choose to run?
Music over matter, sound over sense
May please some poets; for me it breeds offense.
michael jarmer 