Fight Club For Poets

Like A Fight Cluber Swallowing His Mouth Guard; Poets Often Feint.

I am a man of many interests, I guess, and poetry has always been one; although I’ve never been known to take quill to claw.  [I usually just prick myself.]  Its the efficient economy of words that drives me.  Anyone can rhyme, but it takes a master to master rhythm, cadence, and implicated levels of meaning.

I was a sophomore at Brooklyn College in 1960 when I thrilled to John Ciardi‘s How Does Poem Mean.   My punster‘s mind knew I was only a rube.  But Robert Frost schooled me some.  Many promises later, I still take a dip in my inkwell, to drip, drip, drip my dribulations.  

e e cummings.  Willie Yates.  Coleridge‘s seabird.  Poe’s bird, too.  Do you know what I…   …   …”mean”?

For a month or two, given the vagaries of time and circumstance, I’ll forego politics.  Geraldo and O’Reilly, Marco and Mitt; be gone.  I have many other promises to keep, many snowy eve’s to ponder.

There are many finer poets than I.  But I am an accomplished “finder”.  A “compiler”.   Data bits, Google “hits”, and playing the hits on The Poem Parade.   A Make-Believe-Ballroom of Poetic Edification.

“Oh, I’m flying now”, the 11 year old boy sang to his Granco radio, late at night, when the adults were asleep.  Stories, stories, stories!

And maybe now:  I can write again!

Sorry.  Where was I?  Oh:  I was day-dreaming.

Fight club for poets!!  Yes; yes.

After a moment of inspiration; off again!!  This season’s T.D.D. starts with poetry and music.  Maybe it’ll make it make sense as I go along.  

Maybe not.

Who knows.

Who cares.

I’m having such fun.

 

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10 thoughts on “Fight Club For Poets

  1. Hey, thanks a lot for stopping by and for reblogging “Oh, Rice!” Acep will be happy. BTW, I earlier posted another poem of his, ‘Broken Heart Poem’ that, as some said in Brooklyn @ 1967, really blew my mind. I’m serious. I feel almost evangelistic ( oh rats, I keep forgetting that I’m not a Christian – darn those Catholic schools!) about people reading it. So, um..if you ever feel like making a trek back to Electrica in the Desert…

  2. I’m glad that you don’t seem to like Eliot and Pound. Good for you!
    Re. “Poe’s bird”: hmm.. no, I don’t know what you mean. Unless it’s “Never more”. But um…well, what DO you mean?
    I want you to know that I think ‘Fight Club for Poets”, as a phrase, a blog title, a concept, a description, a statement, an attitude, a call to arms, ETC – is perfect in every way.

    Madrid, 2004

    Madrid yesterday at rush hour
    the trains ran blood; lowering more
    a curtain on the light.
    That facist, anti-Semite
    Pound said ‘Usura’,
    maybe got it right.

    1. Claire!! Erasmus, 1960!! Brooklyn College, ’72. And you??

      Poe’s bird’s name was “Charlie”. He played a great horn in the 50’s. 1850’s, that is!! Its his twin brother was a half-back with the Ravens.

      And “meaning is in the mind of the beholden”. Kierkegaard?

      I know, I know. I’m all over the place.

      Ain’t it grand.

      TD

  3. Newton North (Mass), ’73, followed by a prolonged early sabbatical, then (finally – my parents practically threw a parade) San Francisco State, ’82. Looks like we’re about 12 years apart – so insignificant now!
    Oh THAT Kierkegaard – played right guard for Erasmus? Wait, did you guys even HAVE any sports teams? (Har har … evidently the Dutchmen are kicking ass this season:
    9 – 0 !!? the last I knew.)
    I was born in NYC (Queens: Jackson Heights, then Flushing) – we moved to Mass. (Boston/Cambridge/Newton) when I was still a young kid, but I’ve always stubbornly clung to my NY credentials. We had family in Queens (Elmhurst) for a long time until the inevitable move to the Island – that long one.
    Brooklyn College! A school with mythical status in my family. My late father, a Merchant Marine and a pretty good poet, used to wax, well, poetic, about ” a brilliant generation of working-class Jewish intellectuals” produced by your alma mater. I’m sure they were a couple of decades, probably more, before your time – but of course I wasn’t listening carefully enough.
    Does it ring any bells for you?
    BTW, that was a great pun about the well-healed ! Ha!
    Sorry to be such blabbermouth – its kind of a famiy tradition. We all talk at once, as loudly as possible.
    I’ll sign off now.

    1. In the day, I ran cross-country around Prospect Park. I blew up to 298 lbs, 54 waist. I could hardly race around myself!!

      Now, at 69, I’m a 212 lbs terror on my wheelchair. Look Ma: one hand.

    2. Oh, there’s more. Yippie!!

      Yes, I’m cursed with a punny mind. “Can’t you EVER be serious”, my folks always said. I could play with myself all day if it weren’t for the… … …er… … …never mind.

      What I miss most about Brooklyn was my uncles’ political arguments. Yes, yes. Gesticulation, finger pointing, hostility from all sides. And then we’d all go for coffee!!

      As Edith and Arnie said; “Those were the days”!

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