Archive for February, 2008

Scientific question #1: what effect does COMET DUST have on WOOD? (satire)

Published February 27, 2008 Anglo-Saxon literature , Art , Beowulf , Blog , Comedy , Contemporary Epic Poetry , Humor , Journal , Life , Literature , Morte De Arthur , Poetry , book reviews , books , epic poetry , fantasy , fiction , philosophy , poem 0 Comments

Normal every day wood like you find laying around the house could not survive contact with comet dust for more than a few hours. Not only would it aziotrope immediately, but the ionic salts present in the comet’s tail would turn to polyphenolic acids which would start by eating away the proteins and eventually could dissolve a whole ship. Fortunately, however, the ancient Romans used tar as finish on their vessels. Also, the Romans traveled within the protection of the ether streams, so I think they could have survived contact with a comet in outerspace.

Nevertheless, there would be some evidence afterwards on the front and sides of the ship. the polyphenolic acids would still results in tiny staggered oxidation rings with microfillaments of hydrolized wood about 3-4 microns apart. Surprizingly, such relics exist. We have fragments from ancient Roman ships with precisely this kind of mark on them. It is very possible that we have remnants of the ships that carried our ancestors into space.

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Click here to read similar posts

The Return of the Muse is not a news source. This post relates to the imaginary universe of the The SkyPath Crusade epic poem

Or, for lots of laughs, click here to read an Autobiography: How I discovered that Romans used to live on Mars.

Who says the Romans never went to Mars?

Published February 27, 2008 Anglo-Saxon literature , Art , Humor , Internet , Literature , Poetry , Random , Reviews , Sci-Fi , Science , Sir Gawain and the Green Knight , book reviews , books , epic poetry , fantasy , fantasy poetry , fiction , poem , reading 0 Comments

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Last year a buddy of mine named Sylvester who works for Nasa informed me that the hubble space telescope had picked up some strange UV rays emanating from the smallest moon of the red planet. Nasa believes that these light waves were given off by a rare steriosomer of a common organic compound found on Earth. That is to say, these molecules are identical in composition to the ones found on our planet, but since they are chiral and their spacial configuration is slightly different, they rotate light beams in the opposite direction. Needless to say, Nasa is trying to figure out how come this stereoisomer exists near Mars, but not on Earth.

I think I have the answer. This exact configuration must have been developed unnaturally through some sort of artifical synthesis. My guess is that the ancient Romans, whom we know had an advanced knowledge of metallurgy, figured out how to enhance the structural make up of the molecule in order to use it for weapons. But how did they get it to Mars? I believe I have the answer to that question as well. They sailed there in wooden ships on the ether streams that used to connect Earth to the other planets.

You may think I’m crazy, but I have proof. Last year, in an ancient abbey somwhere near modern day Ankara, a Turkish scholar unearthed an ancient manuscript which has since been named The SkyPath Scroll. This scroll contains an epic poem written in Byzantine Greek detailing a journey to Mars by two English knights in search of the holy grail. It turns out that when they got to Mars, they discovered that the Romans were still there! This is exactly the proof I was looking for. If you doubt me, you can read the document for yourself. It has been translated into English with rhyme and meter. You can find this translation along with the original illustrations posted online right here. Read it and believe!

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Click here to read similar posts

The Return of the Muse is not a news source. This post relates to the imaginary universe of the The SkyPath Crusade epic poem

Or, for lots of laughs, click here to read an Autobiography: How I discovered that Romans used to live on Mars.

The reason we need epic poetry

Published February 26, 2008 Art , Beowulf , Culture , Events , Family , Hip-hop , Inspiration , Internet , Literature , Poetry , Thoughts , Writing , books , epic poetry , fantasy , fiction , history , poem 2 Comments

Recently I read a poem written by a very well known poet who’s still alive. Frankly, it was horrendous. I don’t need to mention the name of the poet. There’s a lot of bad stuff out there by poets trying to pass it off as “sophisticated” or “real to life.” The fact is it’s drivel. Poetry that is nothing more than lines straight from a condensed essay with random space breaks does not appeal to me. That is not art. True art represents the order present in the universe. Pseudo-art tries to destroy it.

The problem our society faces in regards to poetry is this: poetry is dead, yet we cannot escape it. It’s part of our music, advertising, and tradition. Almost all of us have a favorite poem. Then why is it that we don’t have poets today who write stuff for us that we enjoy? Is it because all the poets are bad? Of course not. It’s because there’s no market for poetry. Poetry is simply too easy to write, and too difficult to sell.

What we need is a revival in poetry. We need the old fashioned fun, easy to memorize fairy tales with new, creative, 21st century twists. We need hope, legend, and humor to come together in a form that is neither mind-numbing nor mindless. What we need is for something ancient to be reborn in a modern context.

That is why I support the return of epic poetry. Epic poetry, well written, can be fun and entertaining, just like an action novel. In fact, if you wanted, it could be an action novel. It could be a romance, suspense, or a murder mystery. The possibilities are endless. Epic poetry can return, and it can do so with lots of power.

Sir Gawain and the Green knight: February 22nd 2008

Published February 21, 2008 Art , Blog , Poet , Poetry , Sir Gawain and the Green Knight , SkyPath Crusade , Thor , Thoughts , books , poem , society , thriller 0 Comments

There is something new going on in epic poetry. The best words to describe it are “fun,” “intriguing,” and “finally at last!” I am talking about the rebirth of epic poetry in a form that is as entertaining as a movie and as easy to read as a novel.  This, at least is what is being attempted. The result is often some thing much less spectacular and quite a bit more mangled. Still, there are many writers out there attempting it, some who are very skilled wordsmiths.

I am one of them: not a skilled wordsmith, but an amateur poet with grandiose dreams. I have written a full 39-chapter booklength epic poem entitled The SkyPath Crusade. You make mock it, but I challenge you to read a few chapters and see what you think. Any skeptic who thinks that a logical storyline can’t be told in eight-line stanzas with a regular meter and rhyme including numerous internal couplets will have to think again. Not only does the plot progress well, but, I flatter myself, it’s quite funny!  Read it yourself at http://skypathcrusade.wordpress.com  The prologue is posted below

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The SkyPath Crusade

A Science Fiction Epic Poem

Copyright © 2007 by Daniel Schilling

All Rights Reserved

Prologue

Oh, those were the days when boys were men
One thousand years ago
When the grass was green and the cows were clean
And the mountains filled with snow
When able knights rode back and forth
Across Earth’s dusty face
And the very best who passed a test
Went straight to outer space
 *
Their ships were built from bygone days
With masts and sails so white
They knew no fear, they left our sphere
For passage through the night
On ether streams they sallied forth
Across the heavens’ breadth
On cratered moons and Martian dunes
To die a distant death
*
They fought with kings and cyber lords
When ancient worlds ran dry
With watchful sights on meteorites
They sparred across the sky
They learned to hide in comet dust
While fleeing from the fray
The only law within the jaw
Of half the Milky Way
*
But his’try now has passed them by
For very few returned
And tales told grew very old
While manuscripts were burned
But if our modern probes can spy
Their castles still on Mars
We’ll then be sure we never were
The first ones to the stars

So what do you think. Am I completely crazy or just partially. Writing this thing was not as easy as it looks (this is just 4/5ths a page out of 86). So cut me some slack. Perhaps I’m actually on to something. Or perhaps poetry is still dead.

The Cremation of Sam McGee

Published February 21, 2008 Anglo-Saxon literature , Beowulf , Blog , Comedy , Hip-hop , Journal , Literature , Poetry , Random , Reviews , book reviews , books , epic poetry , fantasy , fiction , poem , reading 0 Comments
By Robert Service
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee,
Where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home, in the South to roam
‘Round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold
Seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he’d often say in his homely way
That he’d “sooner live in hell”.

On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way
Over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka’s fold
It stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we’d close, then the lashes froze
Till sometimes we couldn’t see;
It wasn’t much fun, but the only one
To whimper was Sam McGee.

And that very night, as we lay packed tight
In our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o’erhead
Were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and “Cap,” says he,
“I’ll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I’m asking that you
Won’t refuse my last request.”

Well, he seemed so low that I couldn’t say no;
Then he says with a sort of moan:
“It’s the cursed cold, and it’s got right hold
Till I’m chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet ’tain’t being dead — it’s my awful dread
Of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair,
You’ll cremate my last remains.”

A pal’s last need is a thing to heed,
So I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn;
But God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day
Of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all
That was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn’t a breath in that land of death,
And I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn’t get rid,
Because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say:
“You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it’s up to you
To cremate those last remains.”

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid,
And the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb,
In my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight,
While the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows –
O God! how I loathed the thing.

And every day that quiet clay
Seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent
And the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad,
But I swore I would not give in;
And I’d often sing to the hateful thing,
And it hearkened with a grin.

Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge,
And a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice
It was called the “Alice May”.
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit,
And I looked at my frozen chum;
Then “Here,” said I, with a sudden cry,
“Is my cre-ma-tor-eum.”

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor,
And I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around,
And I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared –
Such a blaze you seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal,
And I stuffed in Sam McGee.

Then I made a hike, for I didn’t like
To hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled,
And the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled
Down my cheeks, and I don’t know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak
Went streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the snow
I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about
Ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said:
“I’ll just take a peep inside.
I guess he’s cooked, and it’s time I looked”; . . .
Then the door I opened wide.

And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm,
In the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile,
And he said: “Please close that door.
It’s fine in here, but I greatly fear
You’ll let in the cold and storm –
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee,
It’s the first time I’ve been warm.”

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

Thank you for reading “The Cremation of Sam McGee” by Robert Service. If you enjoyed it, you would probably also like the science fiction epic poem The SkyPath Crusade, written in roughly the same style. Here are the first few chapters.

The SkyPath Crusade

A Science Fiction Epic Poem

Copyright © 2007 by Daniel Schilling

All Rights Reserved

Prologue

Those were the days when boys were men
One thousand years ago
When the grass was green and the cows were clean
And the mountains filled with snow
When able knights rode back and forth
Across Earth’s dusty face
And the very best who passed a test
Went straight to outer space
*
Their ships were built from bygone days
With masts and sails so white
They knew no fear, they left our sphere
For passage through the night
On ether streams they sallied forth
Across the heavens’ breadth
On cratered moons and Martian dunes
To die a distant death
*
They fought with kings and cyber lords
When ancient worlds ran dry
With watchful sights on meteorites
They sparred across the sky
They learned to hide in comet dust
While fleeing from the fray
The only law within the jaw
Of half the Milky Way
*
But his’try now has passed them by
For very few returned
And tales told grew very old
While manuscripts were burned
But if our modern probes can spy
Their castles still on Mars
We’ll then be sure we never were
The first ones to the stars

Chapter One

The moonlight in the silver sky
Shone down the Scottish glen
When Alfred on his loyal steed
Came trotting home again
A giant hunk whose gnarled trunk
Had drunk the dregs of life,
Had now come back to face the flack
For parting with his wife
*
Her face was tough as iron bars
Her hair was free but gray
The strands came down behind her frown
And scared his smile away
Her dewy brow was ever now
Like ivy near her eye
The gleam of hope had left the slope
That ran her tear-drops dry
*
“My gentle dove I’m dreaming of,
I’ve missed you all these years”
She answered him in a voice more grim
“I’ve kept the time with tears
Each night you lack to come right back
I’ve slept with hollow dreams
Our ghostly bed has often bred
The sleep of midnight screams”
*
“I know,” he said: “I know although
My soul just had to leave
My heart as well has tasted hell
Without your arms to cleave
But now I’m here, through wind and fear,
Such slaughter I’ve survived
The last of twenty Island men,
The only one alive”
*
“Of course,” she said, “I knew you’d be,”
When others’ luck ran out
You always were the kind of cur
To turn the odds about
I did not think that you would fall
And yet I can’t deny
I’d hoped you’d come home sooner though
It meant you had to die”
*
“But now you’re here so drink your beer
And soak your wounds in mud
In half a week your sword will squeak
From rust and want of blood
You’ll soon be gone when trumpet sounds
Re-echo through the glen
You’ll take that battleaxe of yours
And hit the road again.”
*
And thus she said and so he did
And this became a fact
He bargained with an Englishman
And entered in a pact
For brightest gold his arm was sold
He left one afternoon
That’s how she found her husband bound
For passage to the moon

Chapter Two

Across the void of open space
The dreaded Klarons came
The Persian moons of Jupiter
Were easy worlds to tame
The golden ring of Persia’s king
Was mounted on a clip
Above the console on the bridge
Of Jarga’s mothership
*
The aliens had skins of green
Their eyes were scarlet red
The only noses on their face
Were holes in their head
The king himself was something else
A beast beyond compare
Whose love for war compelled him more
To spread it ev’ry where
*
The Klaron Lord was not adored
But what else could be done?
The point was moot; he took their loot
And then he had his fun
This nomad race from outerspace
Was wicked at the seam
And yet for such they could not touch
The ancient ether stream
*
These paths that ran from planet Earth
Were built by men of skill
Whose ancient ways had seen their days
Whose works persisted still
The magic web would never ebb
While justice had its hold
No pulsing gun could catch the son
Who surfed the magic road
*
But since the moons of Jupiter
Had quickly all been sacked
The other worlds of humankind
Were soon to be attacked
The Klaron cruisers grew their fleet
With captured Persian ships
Whose human crewman now enslaved
Would serve on other trips
*
And so the fight would soon ignite
Each orbit of the sun
The worlds at rest would face a test
For keeping what they won
Their stupid wars and petty sores
Would never make them strong
The only way to save the day
Was learn to get along

Chapter Three

Beyond the moon called Ganymede
A human vessel lurked
Her decks were filled with pirate scum
Ill-fed and overworked
For ever since the Klarons came
Their catchings had been slim
Their captain was an ol’ sky dog
Whose name was One-Eyed Jim
*
Now Jim was not the kind of thief
Who set his victims free
For ev’ry five he kept alive
He slaughtered ninety-three
He had a sport of making port
While Jupiter was nigh
He’d force each rank to walk the plank
Above the planet’s eye
*
But now he could not catch his fill
Since Persian ships were rare
And Klaron cruisers fully gunned
Were flying ev’ry where
The quickest way to capture prey
Was jump from stream to stream
But if somehow he tried it now
They’d catch him in-between
*
For seven months he stayed upstream
‘Till most his food ran out
And half his fold was in the hold
With sickness, chills, and gout
He yelled and swore the Klaron war
Was wicked at the brim:
How dare they face a peaceful race
Whose loot belonged to him?
*
He sat and stewed, He spat and chewed,
He snarled at his mate
He ground his knuckles in the wood
And cursed his sorry fate
Until one day his temper turned
And put him back on track
He then began to make a plan
To get the Klarons back
*
He made his servants clock the ship
To see how fast she flew
He mounted scopes above the ropes
To give him better view
He had them test the catapults
And hone the gears with care
He told his mate to calibrate
Their windings to a hair
*
And while these changes all took place
His brains convulsed inside
He sent his scouts on all the routes
And half their number died
He did not care, he knew that there
Were cruisers there for sure
The time was nigh when he would try
What none had tried before

Chapter Four

A hundred million leagues away
Upon the moon of Earth
The council of united worlds
Had met for all its worth
They all agreed they must impede
The alien attacks
With candor bold their blades were pulled
From all the others’ backs
*
The Roman king of rosy Mars
Presumed to be in charge
But China’s chief from Saturn’s reef
Was also still at large
The two of them had not been friends
And now with Persia gone
They had to know who had control
Before they’d get along
*
Their lesser peers from other spheres
Were equally enraged
For they’d be first to face the worst
When battle was engaged
They had no heart to play the part
Of nonessential pawns
Whose weak abode would soon implode
Between the giants’ yawns
*
Upon this sticky stage of doom
The course of fate seemed clear
The council in its present state
Was choked by hate and fear
Then from the shadows of the room
A hefty hulk arose
The very air began to tear
And half the nobles froze
*
The giant was an Englishman
Whose name was Travers Grey
With such a voice they had no choice
But hear what he would say
He gave a yell that cracked a bell
And shattered half the cups
The jousting joes assumed the pose
Of lactose-drinking pups
*
“A curse on you, you motley crew,
I’ve witnessed many things
I’ve seen such rub in many ‘a pub
But not a court of kings
Your proudest guys have drunken eyes
Your leader is a sot
I came through space to witness grace
And this is what I got”
*
“They told me I would see great things
Within these halls of mirth
The remnant of each golden dream
That vanished from the Earth
I find instead, the world I fled,
Is never far behind
The human race from Earth to space
Is sick, demented, blind!”

Chapter Five

“My name is Travers William Grey
I come from down below
I bear a message from the king
Whose name I’m sure you know
His kingdom is from ancient days
On Earth, the only one:
I’m speaking of the Sov’reign Lord
Of old Byzantium”
*
“My men and I have flown the sky
On orders from the same
We come from Britain’s wooded coast
The land of Arthur’s fame
As soldiers from the mother-world
We urge you to avoid
This present trend that will not end
‘Till Earth has been destroyed”
*
“The tidings that my party brings
I fear are very sad
The wars below against the foe
Are faring rather bad
The ancient strength has now at length
Been weakened at its core
The time draws near when none will hear
From Earthlings any more”
*
“But now my master seeks to prove
His last eternal will
That human heart though worlds apart
Should be united still
And thus he sends his greatest gem
The daughter he once knew
To grace the skies above his eyes
And marry one of you”
*
When this was said he bowed his head
And fell upon a knee
The hall went still; a gentle thrill
Ran through the company
The door that stood of sturdy wood
Beneath a frame of birch
Began to shake as though ‘twould break
And gave a sudden lurch
*
A sweet surprise met all their eyes
Like sugar on the tongue
As summer’s storms her eyes were warm
Her skin was fresh and young
A Scottish knight was on her right
Still grunting at her side
His mighty punch had caused the crunch
That threw the chamber wide
*
The whole crowd at once was cowed;
The kings began to melt
Each blushing prince could not evince
The passion that he felt
The gleaming sweat that swiftly set
Upon each royal nose
Endangered all to quickly fall
And stain their silken hose

Chapter Six

The moments fled, the room was dead
When princess Shelah came
The men who saw her grace those steps
Would never be the same
Her evening gown threw lace around
The sandals that she wore
Her dress embraced a gentle waist
Like none they’d seen before
*
The Roman king in scarlet robes
Sprang lightly to his feet
He gently fixed his signet ring
To let his knuckles meet
He slowly took his helmet off
And gave the girl his arm
His friendly smiles filled the room
With diplomatic charm
*
He walked across the ancient hall
His hand attached to hers
His Latin chin was bold as sin
His hair was soft as furs
For fifty seconds no one spoke,
But stares began to flow
‘Til Marcus with his eyes still raised
Was forced to let her go
*
The Chinese Chen with fourteen men
Advanced across the floor
Each wore a blade with metal made
From Titan’s distant core
His Asian skin was gold yet thin
In lamplight from the walls
He bore a scepter in his hand
Adorned with seven balls
*
The Princess curtsied with respect
And let herself be led
The fourteen warriors formed a line
With Chen still at their head
With tassels starched they slowly marched
Upon the marble stair
They placed a throne of precious stone
And left the princess there
*
Then all the courtiers stood as one
While Shelah took her seat
The Scottish Alfred stood behind
With Travers at her feet
They shifted clockwise on the steps
And took her left and right
Then all the men sat down again
And some began to write
*
The court was open for debate
The ancient torch was lit
Some eighty scribes from different tribes
Engulfed a marble pit
The chronicles they wrote that day
Are valued more than gold
And some still say they hold more sway
Than any story told

read the remaining chapters (7-39) complete with illustrations at http://skypathcrusade.wordpress.com

The Poetry Revolution: A Declaration of Independence

Published February 18, 2008 SciFi , Sir Gawain and the Green Knight , SkyPath Crusade , Technology , The Page , Thor , Thoughts , Writing , society , stories , the cremation of Sam McGee , thriller , world , writing poetry 0 Comments

I don’t know how many times I’ve read some new “famous” poet writing in the same obscure and insipid style that has plagued our culture for the past one hundred years. They each claim to bring something new to the world of poetry but every time it feels like a new regurgitation of the same old stomach ache. At last we are at the verge of freedom. Elitist brand poetry has slipped so low that it will probably never recover.

Now is the time in which the world of poetry can finally be reborn.  The sages of academia are no longer able to hinder it. They have squandered the people’s patience so long that they have made themselves irrelevant.  The only people who read their stuff now are the students trapped in their classrooms.

But for the rest of us there is much opportunity. Those of us who live in the real world and have jobs that lend us real-world experience are able to write much better than they are. Sure, we may not be “educated” with all their theories, but we have a better teacher than they do. We do not pretend at existence: we thrive in it. We neither need their approval nor want it.

Here is how, in due time, poetry will be reestablished among the reading public. It will not be through academic symposiums or university-sponsored learning. Rather it will happen when the long poem or the epic poem is once again written by people who understand how to entertain. When rhyme and structure returns with wit and humor to satisfy the soul and thrill the imagination. No more metaphysical comparisons and oblique imagery. The day of muddled communication will be long gone. The day of inspiration will return.

So sharpen your pens writers and start them singing. A new day has dawned.  We are no longer in bondage.

The Cremation of Sam McGee and the SkyPath Crusade

Published February 18, 2008 Comedy , Community , Daily Life , English epic poetry , Entertainment , Events , Family , Friends , Fun , Hip-hop , epic poem , epic poetry , fantasy , fantasy poetry , fiction , funny 0 Comments

My full-length Epic Poem The SkyPath Crusade is modeled after “The Cremation of Sam McGee.”  The meter I used has seven stresses per rhyming line, which is also the same number as “Casey at the Bat.”  Unlike “Casey,” however, I often insert an additional rhyming pair within the lines, allowing each stanza to have as many as 6 rhyming pairs instead of just two. This is the same formula that Robert W. Service used in “The Cremation of Sam McGee.”  Here’s an example from his poem:

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
        By the men who moil for gold;
    The Arctic trails have their secret tales
        That would make your blood run cold;
    The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
        But the queerest they ever did see
    Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
        I cremated Sam McGee.

Now, to compare, here is an example from my poem.

A sweet surprise met all their eyes
Like sugar on the tongue
As summer’s storms her eyes were warm,
Her skin was fresh and young
A Scottish knight was on her right,
Still grunting at her side
His mighty punch had caused the crunch
That threw the chamber wide

As you can see, the two forms are very similar.  Mine is perhaps a bit more condensed though, the result of the influence of modern pop music, no doubt.  Service’s poem, on the other hand, being over a hundred years old, is classier than mine.

Why hasn’t the poetry revolution happened yet?

Published February 18, 2008 1 , Anglo-Saxon literature , Art , Beowulf , Blog , Blogroll , Comedy , Community , Contemporary Epic Poetry , Crime , Culture , Daily Life , English epic poetry , blogging , book reviews , books 0 Comments
That’s a very good question. I am certain that there are a lot of people out there that dislike the direction of modern poetry, even among the super-educated. I run into them all the time. I expect them to be critical of my ideas against modern lyrical forms, but instead I find that they share many of my viewpoints. So why is it that a new popular poetry hasn’t emerged yet?

The first answer is that it is opposed by many university professors.  This answer isn’t very convincing because university professors really don’t have much power over what gets published and what doesn’t.

The second answer is that the public is simply unwilling to give poetry a second chance. Unfortunately this may be true, but I do not wish to believe it.  Poetry is not dead.  It can’t be dead.

Thirdly-and this is the answer I hold to-poetry must be written in such a way as to compete with the novel. This is seldom done because most poets focus on short poetry. We need something longer that can demand the readers’ commitment. Although a reader may look at a short poem and agree that it is enjoyable, he/she simply puts it out of their head the next minute and moves on to the next thing. 

I believe that the best way to get the poetry revolution up in running is to start writing humorous epics/long poems based on a constant rhyme and meter with enough freedom to keep the reader from getting bored. Of course this is a very difficult thing to do, which perhaps is why no one has done it yet. Sooner or later, however, someone is bound to get it right. Until that day we just have to keep writing. 

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