There’s a wonderful challenge for you over at dVerse Poets Pub, should you choose to accept it. We are being asked to talk about our poetic influences, which poets we most admire and then to write a poem in the style of that poet.
If you’re like me, it’s hard to narrow it down to just one. However, there are three styles of poetry I enjoy. For the sake of simplicity, I’ve crystallised each style into a single poet I am particularly fond of. Here are the three, with examples of my own poetry written in their style. See if you can match the poets I’m trying to emulate with the poems below. [I may have mentioned them previously on this blog.] Please guess in the comments below and all will be revealed later. I’ve given some additional visual clues to help.
1) The Anguish of Modern Existence
Between a June and forgotten September, we once were heroes.
Between the sea and sand, we once knew flight
And heady air of freedom; or all the giddy brightness of the sun.
Once there was a glimmer… and then we lost.
Once there was a brief ambition… drowned in polite nonentity of words.
First we had coherence, the fullness, the whole –
But we heeded it not and mocked,
O O O O that whining rag…
Thinking the circle is easily closed once again.
Siamo sempre singulari and we were left with snippets
odd scraps to fight over, amour de mon enfance,
all but forgotten.
Once love dwelled in this unreal city.
Now its waxen wings are melted and its feet ground to dust.
2) Sensuous Mediterranean:
Please – just this once – take my hand and lead me to the terrace
to bathe in silken moonrays, drink in the shush of trees,
laugh softly at the mewl of plaintive cats
and trace that whimper within us,
eyes sinking in each other’s.
For once switch off reason and indulge in full moon madness,
dance among the giants of Poesy and leave
algorithms, measurements to tremble just a little at fear of your neglect.
And if you can’t lead, follow, join me in this folly,
savour every twinkle of fairy-silver dust.
As I ascend, so fly me with eyes open to wonder
and planetary music our only constant guides.
Just be the limbs atingle
Just feel the drip of sweat between us
of stolen blue moon incantation.
3) The world in a raindrop:
Our first drink at the corner pub.
I sit on my hands
to keep them from stroking your cheeks.
After two nights of febrile wakefulness,
wrapped in the smell of the other:
are you sure you meant to say that?
Chopping up the onions
I can still pretend the tears
have nothing to do with anything.
Two weeks of sun in the mountains
but mud is on the forest floor
and not a glimpse of daffodils.