Averse
to Verse
The fear of poetry must be a fear of the unknown (Or unknowing)
I have never met a poem with claws out or teeth bared Poems don’t
charge (they don’t even accost) Granted, they aren’t always
the most approachable of beasts They’re reticent Rarely make
the first move They let you approach them, broach them, rub their
bellies or send them to a corner of your mind Then they can be incited!
(But you don’t have to worry about that kind of poem)
Don’t be
averse to verse Poems are interdependent They need you The bad poems
don’t think they need anyone They’ve been raised badly
to respond only to masters Send them from the room with a good kick
in the ass
The most meaning
in the fewest words—that’s what a poem is. That’s
the problem. Concentration. Ours. Its. We’re easily stared
down. There is nothing wrong with the poem’s concentration,
per se. Don’t blame the poem without walking a mile in its
shoes. Word density can disorient. Think of the poem as a small
gift and start unwrapping. Poems with too many layers of wrapping
may be returned for exchange or refund.
Take poems off
their cushions and play with them. Poems have feelings too Adopt
a poem and help stamp out Verse Aversion everywhere.
And one last
thing--Beware of poems dressed in prose clothing.
Adrian Hoad-Reddick