UnfortunatePoetry

I've always been super confused by alternative lines and dashes and such in poetry, as if there was some code the poet had inscribed and I was just too confused to try to decode it. I'm sure it's different with each poet, but for this poem (by the not-unfamiliar-to-us Sylvia Plath) I felt like each line break signified a shift to a different mental picture. Even though sentences seem to be interrupted and fragmented, there is an overall blend to the poem. (I know, I'm using somewhat flowery language to describe another ultra-dark Plath poem.) "Mary's Song" by Sylvia Plath The Sunday lamb cracks in its fat. The fat Sacrifices its opacity... A window, holy gold. The fire makes it precious, The same fire Melting the tallow heretics, Ousting the Jews. Their thick palls float Over the cicatrix of Poland, burnt-out Germany. They do not die. Grey birds obsess my heart, Mouth-ash, ash of eye. They settle. On the high Precipice That emptied...

When I was in third grade, a student teacher did an activity with us where she taught us about the a new form of poetry from Korea called sijo ("SEE-ho") poems. (If someone knows the pronunciation as different, please let me know; this is how she pronounced it.) It's like a haiku, but a bit longer and a bit more open. A sijo poem has three lines, all of which have 14-16 syllables each. In each line, there is a lot of freedom in how a poet can say what they want, but there's still a basic pattern with each poem that is rooted in tradition. Typically, the first line sets the theme of the poem, the second line elaborates and offers another perspective, and the final line presents a conclusion. It's also typical for the first two lines to follow a 3-4-4-4 lyrical grouping pattern. Regardless of that, the final line almost always gives a syllabic twist in its first half. Some traditional examples of sijo: From U T'ak (1262-1342) The spring breeze melted snow...

Warning: If you're looking for a happy kittens-and-puppies-and-unicorns post, it ain't here.  We briefly touched on the genre of spoken word poetry before the shutdown with Olivia Gatwood's "Ode to My Bitch Face", but I wanted to shed a bit more light onto it.  To me, spoken word poetry is one of the freest forms of poetry. The point is not to rhyme or follow some sort of meter but to bring the audience into the place you imagine or otherwise bear witness to, using just your words and voice. It can be competitive in realms such as poetry slams (ex. Louder Than a Bomb), or it can be just a therapeutic venue for a soul seeking release. It can be both, it can be neither.  I find a lot of comfort in spoken word - it offers a place for people like myself to be completely honest, which is something that is extremely difficult to do in real life. No harsh reality is "too harsh" or "too dark" in spoken word poetry (or really in poetry in general)...

I found on this site  https://writersrelief.com/2016/04/06/11-poetry-forms-youve-never-heard/  a list of more little-known types of poems. I think many of us have heard about these (especially the ekphrastic one... hi, Dr. E) and one that stood out to me was the "occasional" poem. Basically, an occasional poem is one about a certain point in time, whether it be a specific date or a general month, season, day of the week, etc. One example, as listed on the site, is "The Birds Begun at Four o' Clock" by Emily Dickinson. The Birds begun at Four o'clock — Their period for Dawn — A Music numerous as space — But neighboring as Noon — I could not count their Force — Their Voices did expend As Brook by Brook bestows itself To multiply the Pond. Their Witnesses were not — Except occasional man — In homely industry arrayed — To overtake the Morn — Nor was it for applause — That I could ascertain — But independent Ecstasy Of Deity and Men — By Six, the Flood had done...

(I apologize, this is late, as is pretty much all my work at this point.) I named my blog site "UnfortunatePoetry" because we're in a very unfortunate situation right now, and oftentimes in these difficult times that we find much solace in poetry. I wanted to celebrate the poetry that has served as an outlet for various people suffering in various unfortunate scenarios. My favorite poem right now is actually a song, "I Couldn't Be More in Love" by the 1975 (written by Matthew "Matty" Healy). The song, dedicated to Healy's fanbase but also a tribute to any heartbreaking scenario where it seems our feelings are just too demanding for rationalization. It's a sad, slow song, one that warms you up and makes you cry at the same time. Healy says, at its essence the song is about "what happens when people stop caring." In the verses, Healy speaks of feeling lonely without the attention of those who care and want to listen, but how w...