Poetry and Peter Solis Nery

SO OBVIOUSLY, I have run an earlier list of Tips #1-36. You would check them out if you care. But even if you don’t, you might want to enjoy this list of Tips #37-60.

*

37. A poet is one who is having fun with words. Where’s the fun in broken hearts and lost loves? That’s masochism, baby!

38. A poet plays with language. And plays mischievously. A great poet destroys language as we know it, makes heaven out of hell, makes mountains out of molehills.

39. A safe and friendly poet is a bad poet. A politically correct poet is officially boring. Ass-kissing is a turn off. (But you can eat my ass!)

40. A serious poet is a dead poet. Keats, Yeats, Rumi, and Milton can be profound. Look, they’re dead! Neruda and Whitman are also dead, but they’re more fun. 

41. A poet uses language for enjoyment, for entertainment, not for practical purposes. “Go plant camote” is not poetry. “You are camote” is!

42. A poet sees fun in funeral. First three letters of the word? A poet sees a horse in ‘chivalry’. Can you see it, too?

43. A poet doesn’t write just for him/herself. That’s masturbation! Self-pleasuring using your own words? Eew! Yuck!

44. A poet doesn’t write for others. That’s social work. Wait, that’s prostitution — pleasuring others using words in exchange for profit and recognition. Hmmm…

45. A poet doesn’t lie. (At least, I don’t! — I lie down, instead!) A poet just has abnormal eyes. S/he sees stars in someone’s eyes when everybody else just sees eye boogers. A poet reads things backward, too. Which is to say dyslexia is not fun.

46. A good poet makes poetry fun for others. S/he shows the rules to be learned — and broken! A poet, if s/he’s any good, will always try to break the rules. Wannabe poets don’t break any rules because they don’t know The Rules. That’s why they’re just forever wannabes!

47. Of course, a poet can still write about Love, that most abused of all themes. Every poet abuses him/herself every night fantasizing with a naked mental image of love — au naturel is always good. But a great poet invents new, original 69 positions, however awkward.  

48. And though it would seem s/he cares a lot about the world, the greatest of poets does not really care. The poet’s duty is only to create, and recreate, the world. And the world can take it, or leave it! In that sense, a poet is a god. (Like me!)

*

49. Poetry is magic. It turns a flower into a rose, and a bird into an eagle. The stars become diamonds in the sky. And death comes as the Grim Reaper who looks like Skeletor with a scythe.

50. Poetry suggests. It opens possibilities. “As fat as a cow” is more exciting than a girl all of 204.3 kilos. And you know that “a giraffe” is not necessarily tall, it just has a long neck. And “long neck” is, of course, some sort of brandy.

51. Instead of declaring, poetry gives an impression. It shows more than it tells. (Or at least, it should.) Say “moon, stars, and fireflies,” and we know it is night. It’s rather stupid to say “the moon at night.” Have you ever seen the moon at noon?

52. Poetry is careful with the order of words. “The moon at night” is not quite right. But “the moon tonight” is lovely, and matches the stars in your eyes. “Tonight’s moon,” however, begs to match with “swoon,” or a creature from the black lagoon.

53. Poetry is particular with the sounds of words. “Thin” is slim and lean, you can close your mouth around it. “Thick” is fat, and “fat” is fatter still. Like you need to stretch your mouth to chew an elephant. 

54. Poetry is best rendered short. Easy to memorize. And quotable, because it is portable. Books serve long poems well. But who still reads poetry books these days? T.S. Eliot’s “The Waste Land,” anyone?

55. Poetry is a dialogue with readers. But where poets see a poem, readers often only see a joke. A poem is a poem when readers see zombie lovers in “we are cannibals eating each other until we are left with only our hearts.” And still feel a relatable emotional truth.

56. Poetry reminds us of things we have experienced, and those we did not. Which is to say, your experience of Juliet reminds me of my experience with Romeo. (Wait, his real name is Randy, not Romy!) We remember our “death”, and still, we live to be reminded of it.

57. Poetry reveals who the poet is. And how s/he sees the world. If the poet says his/her life revolves around you, we know s/he is a restless wanderer like a planet around combusting gas. If the poet promises you the moon, we know s/he isn’t original. S/he isn’t an astronaut, and s/he cannot be trusted to deliver a promise.

58. Poetry is short and to the point. Quick and painless. Until bad poets mess it up. The greatest poets can create a world in less than 29 words. “Seventh Morning” sums up creation with “sunlight and moonshine, stars and starfish, cows and sea cows, bamboo grass and seaweeds, and God sleeping in while a couple make pancakes for Sunday brunch.”  

59. Poetry changes our idea of the world. Durian should still stink like a devil’s fart, but a poem extolling it as the “king of fruits” and “food for the gods” must be killed. Unless it says it is the forbidden fruit that Eve broke open, and caused them to be expelled out of Paradise Motel because its stench reached the resting god in high heavens.

60. Poetry pushes language to the edge. Let’s it fall from a cliff like a bird learning to fly, uncertain, unsure, but has all the innate power to, before hitting the ground, dramatically fly up to the clouds, flirt nearer to the sun, get burned and melted like Icarus gloriously falling into the beautiful blue-green sea./PN

LEAVE A REPLY

Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here