Rarely if ever does my élan vital express itself in such a way that I’m spirited to imagine a life writing away from the blog and appearing in other rags mags zines or dreams. So I’m not sure what had come over me when a short time ago I submitted alas unsolicited a piece intended as humor if not hilarity but certainly on the droll side of the street to not one but two unsuspecting webzines. It was the same pitch but each written from a different angle etched or drawn to what I felt might be the proper editorial lilt of the zines in question. After a few days my vital on the wane I withdrew one and a short time after that the other was returned declined. Not to go too deep into these waters, but I then decided to post the piece or pieces here at the Toads, such was my confidence in my own funny business. But it’s hard to be funny when you are thinking about it, and which piece would I post? One view was a bit more sarcastic, not very helpful, and not in keeping with the gentle persuasion usually practiced here at the Toads. The other was perhaps a bit too light, like leaves falling but not from a wind.
Anyway, I then posted the piece on my own blog, here at the Toads, and then withdrew it myself, a self declining procedure. And then Susan asked why did she get two emails with the same title and both unable to read. What tangled webs we weave when weaving loose and goose via the web. I figured out my mistake. The first piece I had started back on March 8, and it sat in my unpublished (and unpolished) bin where I let it stew awaiting a reply from the zines I’d submitted to. When I did pull it out from the in progress bin and let it fly to the blog yesterday, March 16, it posted with its start date of March 8, thus confounding. Interesting. In any case, here it is yet again a third time a charm, but with a few additives, the two different voices brought into one. Is it funny? Well, what’s funny?
The Expressionist Poem
You can’t even draw a cartoon sketch using stick figures – how are you going to make an oil painting? But you love color, and vivid, oily, oozing wet paints. You squeeze a tube of pea green onto a cream white canvas and using a squeegee smear the paint into the coarse warp and weft, dripping drops of black, yellow, and white paint as you go. Composing an expressionist poem is like the paint scenario above, but you use words instead of paints. No one will notice the difference, but some will complain they don’t understand, to which you might reply, what’s to understand about hue?
The Political Poem
You want peace, and you’re willing to fight for it. Your poem is a protest sign, a bumper sticker, a lawn sign, graffiti on a post, a bill on a telephone pole. You don’t count syllables and you don’t take no for an answer. You submit and resubmit relentlessly. You are not patient – you are stubborn. Then some nasty neighbor you think is the enemy lends you a gratuitous hand. Senseless. Unjustified. Nevertheless, you try to thank them, but they turn the other cheek. The pecuniary poem is often disguised as a political poem, or mistaken for one. The question is not, who will have the money, but who will have the poetry, but the answer is the same. Two examples of political poetry can be found 100 years apart, the first in Walt Whitman’s “Leaves of Grass” and his other writings, the next in Allen Ginsberg’s “Howl” and his other writings. Whitman and Ginsberg remain the best examples of political poetry and also provide the template for the line that works best for the sub-genre.
The Funny Poem
From the rear of the classroom you heckled a joke at the teacher and the other students laughed. You thought it might be fun to be a stand up comedian, but when you get in front of an audience you break out in hives. But the funny poem doesn’t just tell a joke. It is witty and wise and takes a long time to master. It is the poem of the mime. Sarcasm is not necessarily satire. The master of satire is still Jonathan Swift, whose essay “A Modest Proposal” could have been written yesterday in as much as it’s still about today.
The Anti-Poem
You abhor poetry, it’s a hateful thing, and you attempt to infiltrate its postmodern ranks with rants and fury, rhyme and sense, rhythm and music. Your hate is epic, but your talent is nought. You find a job pumping gas. You come to realize the anti-poem has become de rigueur in the house of living poets. To write an anti-poem today, you must reinvent the wheel of poetry. You will begin a new trend, the anti-anti-poem. You consider changing your name to Gilgamesh when some lady riding a Pinto pulls in and wants her windows washed. You join the Big Quit, walk away from the filling station, as you realize too that poetry is a wheel without an axle. If you find yourself feeling anti, or anti-anti, or however many antis make a day, remember these words from the Preacher: “One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh: but the earth abideth for ever.”
The Moody Poem
Apropos of absolutely nothing, three pieces of rusty apple, a chunk of Garrotxa goat cheese, and a half-full bottle of Vouvray in your knapsack, three college degrees framed and hanging on your office walls (office hours M-W-F, 1 to 2), and a long list of successful publications (albeit in paywalled journals not well read by even your peers), leaving a reading, a blue mood like gauze cheesecloth falls over your fizzog, and you escape to a local pub where you start your first modish moody poem, about a feeling of loss in the midst of plenty, which turns into a four pint memoir. The master of the moody poem might be Leonard Cohen. Surprisingly though many of his songs are not in minor keys. Nor did he as far as I know keep office hours, publish in obscure journals, or what have you.
Poem Standard
The poem standard usually is about a lovelorn topic: a waning moon, a laundromat at 3 in the morning, a simple puppy love jilt, dubiety, trains, solitude, leaving home, returning home – but everyone’s moved away. Cars, surf, homesickness are all permissible topics. Keep it short and sweet, or bittersweet, but avoid sounding angry. The poem standard is bi-partisan. To get inspired, think slow dance wearing socks on the gym floor while a live band plays “Louie Louie” at a time when there was no such thing as a crappy instrument.
The Theoretical Poem
The theoretical poem is never actually composed, only discussed.
The Mother’s Day Poem
The Mother’s Day Poem is not theoretical. You should write one every day, even if it’s never discussed.
Painting with Text Poem
The Coming of the Toads 