Words describing the
Sharp silents sounds
Of a single edged razor blade
Slicing through wrist and vein - -
Blank verse summoning sights
Of dark red blood pumping
Into a clutterd sink - -
Is not poetry.
Expaining the blood stains
While cleaning up the mess
With bandaged wrists the next day - -
Is not poetry.
It may be cofessional.
It may diffuse a fire
That was buring out of control.
If anywhere it goes in your diary.
Don't fling your bloody wrists at me
By making up a metaphor.
Until I see the scars,
It is not poetry.
A decent debate, you say? What does that mean, John Nightingale?
Your image certainly deprives the act of slicing your wrists of glamor. It's an ugly way to end a life. Good strong poem.
Strong views Tom. I think we could have a decent debate about this.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
'Anatomy of a poem' and your 'I've Got News for You' deal with much the same idea, Tom, that's for sure! I try every now and then to wake up the poetasters and wannabes who have no real interest in poetry, but who tune in to the folks who strut their stuff on this site and deride the tradition of good poetry and declare loudly that emotion is all one needs. Forget technique and working on the basics! And they succeed by and large in encouraging a lot of dreck posted here!