Free Verse Rant Against Free Verse Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

I admire all the aims of Free Verse,
In all I write rightly explicit
Regardless of stress and of meter
And with Capital Letters to boot.

One onwards plods petty, proasic,
Even worse, with linguistic abuse,
As for spelling, why, rules and times changing,
No core...erections once inked I think fair.

Terpsichore would be dumb could not dance,
Prose to accent and scansion stays deaf,
While to harmony all seems averse
Calls on cue for vain ego's applause.

Free Verse tractor drives, pastures green
Are ploughed to prepare literary
Slums which spurn mental gymnastics
Burning faith in fair future hopes held.

'There is no poetry in money,
No money in poetry' either,
As returns fall returns must increase,
Squeezing readers', booksellers' illusions.

This rant could continue for years
with cadence most messy maintained,
with readership bored into tears...
Oops! There's rhyme unintended! Oh curse!

© Jonathan Robin - written 21 December 2007 - see Paul Verlaine, Vers Libres and JR Free Verse below

Free Verse - Translation Paul Verlaine Vers Libres

I admire all the aims of Free Verse,
‘tis explicit in all that I do
in shaping the stress to converse
with a rhyme-scheme restricted to two.

That I stay with this number is true, -
a linguistic abuse, maybe worse,
how it weighs and encumbers the view! -
but French art needs its aid, though perverse.

Else the Muse would be dumb to a curse,
for to accent, the lingo’s deaf too, -
though what can one do? All’s averse
to fantasy rhyme calls on cue!

May Free Verse’s aims bring joy unto
the young sparks who chance meanings coerce -
whose mental gymnastics’ fun value
is the fire to inspire hopes they’d nurse.

They’re young colts who green pastures traverse
with gravity worthy their virtue,
though mad they’re superb, and no hearse
they’d inherit! Free Verse tempts! You too?


© Jonathan Robin - Poem written 19 June 1991
Translation Paul VERLAINE - see below Vers Libres



Vers Libres



J’admire l’ambition du Vers Libre, -
Et moi-même que fais-je en ce moment
Que d’essayer d’émouvoir l’équilibre
D’un nombre ayant deux rhythmes seulement?

Il est vrai que je reste dans ce nombre
Et dans la rime, un abus que je sais
Combien il pèse et combien il encombre,
Mais indispensable à notre art français.

Autrement muet dans la poésie,
Puisque le langage est sourd à l’accent.
Qu’y voulez vous faire? Et la fantaisie
Ici perd ses droits: rimer est pressant.

Que l’ambition du Vers Libre hante
De jeunes cerveaux épris de hazards!
C’est l’ardeur d’une illusion touchante.
On ne peut que sourire à leurs écarts.

Gais poulains qui vont gambadant sur l’herbe
Avec une sincère gravité!
Leur cas est fou, mais leur âge est superbe.
Gentil vraiment, le Vers Libre tente!




Paul VERLAINE 1844_1896 Epigrammes