You know those moments where you question everything you thought was good and true as the world comes crashing down like a buzzbomb on your coastal British city? I just had that moment. And that moment is this: http://ficly.com/stories/4809
It's nonspecific--the solitary detail is the line near the end about holding her pillow and screaming 'why!', something I doubt anyone outside a Disney teen movie has ever done. It's full of cliches--"heart and soul" being among the worst. It's written in intrusive second person, constantly reminding me that it's not really talking about me. It starts off with quite possibly one of the worst rhymed couplets short of 'life' and 'strife.' It uses 'your' for 'you're.' It uses the word 'heart' four times in twelve lines.
It's from that website I've been touting, and the betrayal of something I championed only makes the pain that much worse.
Because it's covered in praise. Dripping in bleating, sparkling, slack-jawed fawning. While it violates everything I hold sacred about the theory of good writing, it gets a featured slot on the main website. It's like seeing someone beat my best friend to death with a rusty meat tenderizer and then get handed the key to the city by the mayor.
While rocking back and forth clutching my knees in the darkest corner I could find (which in this case was among the spider family living behind my boiler), I've tried to convince myself that it's a satire and everyone is in on the joke. But I just can't believe it. I can't bring myself to.
And if your response is, "Oh, but it's so heartfelt," so is putting your head in a toilet.
The problem here is that this situation raises an inescapable point: when a small percentage of the population thinks clear, detailed, poetic writing is excellent, and a much larger percentage thinks wordy, nonspecific, melodramatic nonsense is excellent, who is right?
Have I just spent the last seven years of my life learning to write the wrong way?
I need to go cry myself to sleep.
(To those who think this is all tongue-in-cheek poking fun at this poem, it's not. Despite the jokes, I'm genuinely distressed about this. My stomach hurts.)
The Charming Mr. Wheaton
-
My Dearest Gentle Readers,
It is with the greatest pleasure that I am able to inform you that on this
very day I was so delightfully privileged as to meet t...
15 years ago
The poem is miserably bad.
ReplyDeleteIt makes me sad.
It has nothing to give.
It makes me lose my will to live.
Also, your post gave me a hilarious mental image of the spider father coming down from the boiler to pat you on the shoulder and say, "There, there."
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteCheer up, lad.
ReplyDeleteYou're right about it, but it shouldn't give you the tummy shame.
The two distinct forms of poetry reader, the academic (or one who tries to be) and the non-academic, are simply targets. You're a writer, and if you spend too much time worrying about what other people think you'll just wither and die. Write to your audience, but don't write for the praise your audience might give. Think of it as a by-product.
The academic is overly concerned about things like metaphor and how a poem fits in the larger scheme of things, and values subtlety and originality over the raw stuff. To the non-academic, these things just make a poem less accessible, which makes the academic scoff and feel underappreciated. Simply realizing that this is the case and figuring out where your work fits is all you can really do.
Fortunately, neither of these camps is correct about "what is good writing". You like what you like and in the great scheme of things it won't matter either way. That's the great thing about being an individual. No one can live off of poetry, anyway. And in this day and age of blogs and vlogs and tweets and tubes, it needs to be enough that you're heard. There's so much writing produced now that very little of it will survive the test of time.
I don't mind the cliche or the banality in the poem. I can appreciate that this person is trying to be expressive, really that's what matters in poetry to me. Not how good it is. But I do mind the fact that the best line in the whole damn thing was stolen from Thom Yorke and Radiohead's High and Dry. That's why it offends me.
(Original post deleted and edited because I know how much typos bother you :) )
ReplyDeleteIt's a horrible poem, but I guess that means it's a good entry for a Radiohead challenge.
ReplyDeleteI laughed when I read this comment:
"Reminds me of my grandmother…. except i never yelled why. never was one for drama. i’m the kind of cry for 30 seconds in private kind of guy."
Really, the "poem" reminds you of your grandmother?
"You sit on the edge of the bed,
Wishing she wasn’t dead,
You close your eyes,
As all your insides fall to pieces,
and you’ll just sit there wishing you could still make love."
Uh...
wow. that might be the worst poem I've ever read. SUCKAGE! i think it's safe to say that only teens could appreciate that, as their brains aren't fully developed. (cami)
ReplyDeleteHeh. I commented on the poem.
ReplyDeleteLOL - i love your comment Lord Admiral! Satire. Brilliant!
ReplyDelete