dedalus Posted February 8, 2011 Share Posted February 8, 2011 (edited) Poems, you know have little to do with fancy language. There is no need to use special words which you would never use in daily speech. You would not say, 'Hark, the dawn!' to your mama, nor would you remark that the raiments of night unfold the stars as you talk & laugh with the boys, so why the hell do you do it now? ---------------------------------------- Post-poem: Keep language simple. You need to keep close to the smells, and to the brightness and shade, to the colours, the sublety of changes, the roughness and smoothness of touch, to the sudden sound that turns your head, the tang of the pickles and mustard, to the shapes and the sudden movements, the instant flash of a blade, the way time stops. It does in a crisis. That split second of disbelief is what military training aims to dispel. And so, when in a suburban MacDonald's that deranged stranger slits the throat of your companion, just like that, you shoot him (American version), or you knock him on the head (European version) and call the police. The police come in and put up crime-scene ribbons; the colours may vary, but this is what they do. So, anyway, you don't proceed or glide down to the Mall. You go there. You don't partake of light refreshment, you have a coffee, a snack, or lunch. Likewise, you don't 'sincerely' regret the effects of collateral damage, you admit you've killed hundreds of innocent women and children. Language can be dangerous, misleading, often a total lie, in the sense that verbal markers completely lose their meaning when connections are lost to the things they describe. I am no great fan of 'heightened' language, I have seen too much of it put to abuse. Elections, for example. I would say to young poets (and to the older ones, also) that there is no need for any special poetic language, and that it is generally better, ever and always, to employ the demotic, to write in the way you think and talk. Edited February 17, 2011 by dedalus Quote Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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