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LUDIC LOG

12.03.2002

Poetry occupies an interesting position among the arts. It's one of the very hardest to do well, let alone to master; and yet, it's one of the most commonly practiced. Many, many people seem to think that even though they can't draw, dance, make sculptures, act, play an instrument, or even work up a good whistle, they are perfectly capable of writing poetry that someone might want to read and possibly might even enjoy. To save a long screed on this topic, I'll say simply: these people are wrong.

I am one of those people who can't write good poetry, and probably the only difference between me and the slam poseur and the aging and sensitive soul with the lavender-scented journal is that I know I suck. However, I admit to a certain fascination with fixed forms.

Fixed (sometimes called traditional) forms of poetry -- such as tanka, cinquains, limericks, shih, sonnets, and so on -- are those which have rigorous rules about the form, meter, rhyme scheme, syllabic count, etc., they may contain. And, by one of those odd coincidences that give me fodder for daily log entries, they've been a recurring theme in my life over the last few days. I spoke to my friend James about them on the phone; I finished reading a book of contemporary American poetry in fixed forms; and I read some rant from a guy on a literature mailing list I'm on about how straightjacketed you are when you use them. To which the only response is, well, exactly! That's the whole point. And it's also the reason they appeal to me -- they focus the mind sharply and make you much more economical and precise about your use of language, which generally makes for better writing. (This is the same reason that formalism and structuralism are so appealing to me; they strip considerations of context out of the creation of art, forcing you into a rigid constraint where you're forced to be much more careful about what you do. Not unexpectedly, this often has the effect of making your writing more free rather than more limited.) If you want to play a game where drawing a walk gets you to second base, that's fine; I certainly won't tell you you can't. But whatever you're playing, it ain't baseball.

You can also turn an otherwise banal or lifeless bit of humor or observation into something entertaining and funny with fixed forms; and they're uniquely suited to pretty much any topic you want to graft into the structure. Is all this theoretical vaporing just a cheap lead-in to some cheeseball jokey poetry I wrote? You bet your fucking ass.

PORNOGRAPHIC CINQUAIN

Cum shot
Once chance; one take
Money; that is the term.
It sure costs me, if I blow it -- 
Too soon.

POLITICAL HAIKU

Winter brings cold death.
Who's that at the podium?
Henry Kissinger.

KUNG FU SHIH

The northern punch, the southern kick -- 
Or punch down south, and kick up north?
I always forget that rule;
I only remember -- "kick ass".

A LIMERICK ABOUT WINONA RYDER'S RECENT LEGAL DIFFICULTIES

A waif with a purse full of pills
Blamed a film script on all of her ills.
But her technique was iffy; 
She was caught in a jiffy.
She should have just polished her skills.

A CLERIHEW ANENT PROFESSIONAL WRESTLING

Vincent (Junior) McMahon
Is enforcing a strict steroid ban.
His employees will soon become elfin
As he keeps all the juice for himselfin.

HOMELAND SECURITY TANKA

Cold, strong western winds
Meet hot eastern desert breeze.
They hate our freedom,
Or so the leaders tell us;
Better dump those freedoms.

INSTITUTIONALIZED PANTOUM

Weekend Paxil leaves me pasty 
Thursday tranks, delivered hasty
Tuesday, Lithium, no warning
Friday's downers lie a-borning

Thursday tranks, delivered hasty
Electro-shock and feeling wastey
Friday's downers lie a-borning
Give me Prozac, I'm in mourning

Electro-shock and feeling wastey
Thorazine on Monday morning
Give me Prozac, I'm in mourning
Wednesday, Valium, sweet and tasty

Thorazine on Monday morning
Tuesday, Lithium, no warning
Wednesday, Valium, sweet and tasty
Weekend Paxil leaves me pasty.

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QUOTE OF THE DAY: "I loaf, but in a highly decorative and charming manner." (Monte Beragon, in Mildred Pierce)