Saturday, November 6, 2010

Imagist Poem

"What is an Imagist poet?" you may wonder. An Imagist poet is a poet who basically ignores all the older poetic conventions and makes it less orderly, with even less meaning. Here is an example of one: Ezra Pound's In A Station Of The Metro: 

"The apparition of these faces in the crowd,
Petals on a wet, black bough."

Hannah, a friend of mine, ( wrote a poem about this:

If I were Ezra Pound, I would perplex
My readers' minds with language too complex
For anyone (save Eliot perhaps)
To comprehend. I'd say that maps
Are like a daisy, and each moldy twig
A person; that the ocean wide and big
Is like a steel grey nail; and nature 'round
Is like to me as sushi—were I Pound.

I could go on: America's a stone,
And postcards are like ants, as well it's known;
A curly straw is like unto a storm;
And bicycles are arguments in form.
If I were Ezra Pound I would reject
All styles invoking sense that I project
Aught but an image; screw your rhyme,
I'll make my own new rhythm, beat and time!

Like math, it all makes sense until I think;
Then, all my brains confused, I start to blink.

You mustn't think of old as always bad
Or throw away convention for a fad;
Sometimes what's old is only old because
It's stood the test of time. That famous clause
Of Alexander Pope just goes to show
That “old” is sometimes best (as smart folks know!):
“Be not the first by whom the new is tried,
Nor yet the last to lay the old aside!”

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