Bad and good poetry

 

I'm not so sure that we are right on distinguishing between good and bad poetry.

I prefer to talk of bad and good readers.

I mean that if someone reads a Dante's or a Keat's sonnet and she/he does not like it, there we have a bad reader, not certainly a bad poet.

May be we would talk of poetry and not poetry.

There is a long not interrupted line that ties poetry41, from the first known poets (king Salomon, Ben sirac, Homerus and the ancient greek-roman poets, till nowdays; and that's a line of love, universal brotherhood, friendship, deep sentiments but good sentiments.

We cannot call poetry writing on denying  Naziskin  Holocaust or on racism hate and human distruction!

That's just not poetry at all.

Otherwise, who is going to select good and bad poetry'

Good and bad art? 

Do we remember great painter Van Gogh?

At his time he was not certainly considered to be a good artist but who dares today to say he's not?

Does poetry belong to evil and all the other stuff don't?

So, better no to talk of good and bad poetry. 

Ars Poetica

The Ars Poetica of Horace is incredibly pungent and present even though more than 2000 years have passed since the great Latin poet wrote this work, also known as the Epistle to Piso . The work attracted the attention of Giacomo Leopardi who made i , in 1811 , a fine octave transposition in rhyme.
Here are some pearls in all faithful to the original that inspired them .
" If you want to deserve altars or temples / wait at least nine years, dear brother / before to publish your poems/and work on them as blacksmith does to make the iron shape!!! "
" Meanwhile, everyone is kindly asked to be short  / and either delight or to be useful in his rhymes! "
" But if you are in  search of  honor and praise / writing four verses, oh Piso  / show them to your  parents or to a wise and good censor ;/ keep them locked up for a long time / for if a man has once ever escaped/  he's not  coming back never indeed ! "
" We can tolerate mediocrity in anything ;/ but not in  poetry: thus in honey /  choosey mouths do not like   / a bitter almond  inside . / The best would be to write on prose / if a versifier  is just too cruel / as the football player leaves balloon and balls / and  abandon the disc who is not too strong  ! "
Let us meditate on these verses together, all of us who want to be poets !

Don't disturb Lord Byron

From time to time I receive e-mails from various publishers and/or editors who offer me to publish my works, qualified as interesting and suitable to be read and published.

Of course they ask me to pay a sort of contribute to the expenses (truely is not just a contribute they ask you to pay, but such an amount of money enough to cover the mere expenses plast an additional for their own profit).

In front of my perplexities they assure me that even great writers from the past started their career publishing their first books on their expenses. And they quote Kipling, Dumas, Byron and other unreachable writers from the past.

I thank you them very much but may be would sign their contracts (I underline may be) if they did not disturb the quiet rest of those great writers, unreachable for anyone, even of mother English language.

I don't dare to be compared not even with great or medium Italian writers (which is my first language) and I do understand Poetry is not great business for publishers today.

But if any of them really wants to edit my novels (I mean, only those I am translating form Italian into English) he must be ready to risk on his own. Otherwise it means that my novel is not worth to be published (on paper). Nevertheless I'll keep publishing it on this blog on line.

The Word-Mason

I 've never believed a poet could be
compared to a mason,
unable to see words similar
to stone-bricks!

I said to myself : how can a man see
a poem like a home?
Where are the walls to touch?
Where presences to smell?
And familiar noises to be heard?

Of course I know that anyone
Is able to see by his mind’s eyes;
but what if I were a King Midas
from ancient Greece
making verses of all my touching words?
Then I’d be able to construct
Golden, glittering poems?

As matter of fact a poet can build his poems
like a craftsman does his own handicrafts!
So many voices I can hearing around:
some, may be coming from Gehenna’s souls,
sound like star’s waves;
some others, come echoing,
from a confused dream of my past:
-" Watch out, boy! Lord Winningoes
will let the cat out of the bag, ‘you know?"

This reminds me
The misterious message of my remembrance!
But memories can be empty,
waterless fountains sometimes!
-"I’m going to resolve the enigma
of the secret message!"-
Albix thought, while still dreaming.

-"When you wake up
will be solving correctly
the whole matter!"-
seemed to reply a dead voice.
Now I feel like my dream
Will start being shown on the wall.

A dejà vu or may be a dejà entendu
Where a voice from the roof
Will show me building
A magic house made with all the letter
Of the latin alphabet
Enflourished on the top
With gothic and cirillic caracters!

Killers on line

My heart is bleeding
Bleeding on line!
While searching for love
I’ve found killers on line!

You are a master
Master of space
You feel so skillful
Skillful on words

You shoot with your rifle
Blindy to art
Keeping real poetry
Far away apart!

You keep on shooting poets
Down there on line!
Someone is killing Eraton
Somewhere on line!