A Thought About The Future

I have begun to tire of the conventional metaphors so prevalent in poetry today; the clouds, always fragile, the flowers, fragrant, the rivers, always fluid. 

When such predictability comes to the art of verse, a change becomes imperative; an avant-garde breakthrough of linguistic innovation, one that molds the next steps in the progression of this elusive tongue, i.e. a cherry tree should be duly recognized if she wants to fuck a plum. Art should be beyond boundary; the prescriptivism let go, of vigilant grammar, of the caged anatomy of poetic structure.

 

The letting go part is key. And it isn’t always easy. 

There is an association often made among works of literature that poetry must be beautiful. And in my opinion, that viewpoint is flawed. Beauty shouldn’t be, by default, the goal of our spoken language – poetry should break, poetry should appall, poetry should disgust, just like we humans do. 

And as for myself –I want my poetry to be nothing but dangerous; sometimes derisive, sometimes even bone-shattering.