Free Verse as Nightmare Surrealism
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
“I thirst for new songs
without moons or irises,
and without loves that have died.” ~ Lorca, New Songs (Cantos Nuevos)
Who doesn’t? But the problem is the songs
Aren’t songs. Once irises and moons are gone,
We suffer dreck. Where poetry belongs,
We get instead a trashcan rattling dawn,
Some words slapped down in little almost lines.
The imagery is random like some dumped
Word puzzle by the road, or like landmines
Defused, or like a druggie sprawling slumped
In rags alone for smoking frozen spice.
When unrequited love is ditched for lust,
Some stanzas (?) made of awkward words like lice
Suck Sappho’s head and cause a shattered bust.
Let’s turn from moons and fragrances in verse
That make a fool of poems. Call the hearse.
~ Phillip Whidden
