April 2016
E. Martin Pedersen
martinpedersen1255@gmail.com
martinpedersen1255@gmail.com
I left my hometown of San Francisco, California, in 1978 for a long hitch-hiking trip around the Mediterranean, ending up in Messina, Sicily, where I still live. I teach English at the local university. My poetry has appeared in Frigg, Strong Verse, Ink Sweat & Tears and others. To relax, i play the banjo, follow baseball, take summer walks on the PCT and blog at www.emartinpedersen.com.
Editor's Note: When, in my ignorance, I asked Martin for the meaning of "The Fence," he replied, "The Fence" is a spoof of Sir P. Sidney’s “Defence of Poesy” objecting to the elitism of poetry in a perfect villanelle. The second poem is, of course, also a joke."
The Fence of Poesy
The Fence is what they advocate,
To separate along the seam –
I find that hard to tolerate.
When poets writhe and ruminate
Conclude that life is but a dream,
The Fence is what they advocate.
The bent to over/understate:
Obnoxiousness in the extreme,
I find that hard to tolerate.
Would bring a hand to strangulate
Elitist word-twist academe –
The Fence is what they advocate.
These "honest" bards just obfuscate
With lyre and rose, the pale moonbeam;
I find that hard to tolerate.
What need for them to complicate?
I'd rather have some peach ice cream.
The Fence is what they advocate,
I find that hard to tolerate.
[If it's the sonnet]
If it's the sonnet you wish to cultivate
Because it might look good on your résumé
Iambs from trochees differentiate
Like Mrs. Edna St. Vincent Millay
The brain - but more the ear - must be employed
Count feet, scan line, fill-in, apostrophize
Not lusty hand or lofty head avoid
Be careful not to intellectualize
Express a plain thought that cannot be misconstrued
With a theme such as "Life is a Cabaret"
And a neat rhyme scheme of abba dabba doo
To send out this urgent communiqué:
Lastly, to write a verse extraordinary
You will need a rhyming dictionary.
Last Poem
Last words —
In heaven there is
No beer
No language
No facial expression
No need
We get one chance
To fail
To express
In a code
Secret to ourselves
Who wrote it?
Then the bear
Eats your soul
The crow
Your eyes
The worms
Your tongue.
Pity the Poet’s Heart
...When you tell me to come, I will come, by the next train, just as I am.
(from a letter by Edna St. Vincent Millay to Wynne Matthison)
Fear the poet, rightly so
Focus on art at arm’s length
Dash of passion, folly we think,
Beware the force of letting go;
Broken chairs and plates on the floor
Women women and men in love
Meanly giving the blind a shove
Hear the mutts at hell’s gate roar.
You heap with praise to win the prize
That touch too tender, a fragile being
I want you though I can’t help seeing
The look of madness in your eyes.
If we be wise, stay far away
From the edge, where we our hearts display.
Statement of Purpose
Poetry,
you are mine
if I can find you with my fingers
before the dial-tone becomes a busy-signal –
bright Roosevelt dime in a pocket of loose foreign coins,
lifesavers,
kleenex,
keys . . .
The Fence of Poesy
The Fence is what they advocate,
To separate along the seam –
I find that hard to tolerate.
When poets writhe and ruminate
Conclude that life is but a dream,
The Fence is what they advocate.
The bent to over/understate:
Obnoxiousness in the extreme,
I find that hard to tolerate.
Would bring a hand to strangulate
Elitist word-twist academe –
The Fence is what they advocate.
These "honest" bards just obfuscate
With lyre and rose, the pale moonbeam;
I find that hard to tolerate.
What need for them to complicate?
I'd rather have some peach ice cream.
The Fence is what they advocate,
I find that hard to tolerate.
[If it's the sonnet]
If it's the sonnet you wish to cultivate
Because it might look good on your résumé
Iambs from trochees differentiate
Like Mrs. Edna St. Vincent Millay
The brain - but more the ear - must be employed
Count feet, scan line, fill-in, apostrophize
Not lusty hand or lofty head avoid
Be careful not to intellectualize
Express a plain thought that cannot be misconstrued
With a theme such as "Life is a Cabaret"
And a neat rhyme scheme of abba dabba doo
To send out this urgent communiqué:
Lastly, to write a verse extraordinary
You will need a rhyming dictionary.
Last Poem
Last words —
In heaven there is
No beer
No language
No facial expression
No need
We get one chance
To fail
To express
In a code
Secret to ourselves
Who wrote it?
Then the bear
Eats your soul
The crow
Your eyes
The worms
Your tongue.
Pity the Poet’s Heart
...When you tell me to come, I will come, by the next train, just as I am.
(from a letter by Edna St. Vincent Millay to Wynne Matthison)
Fear the poet, rightly so
Focus on art at arm’s length
Dash of passion, folly we think,
Beware the force of letting go;
Broken chairs and plates on the floor
Women women and men in love
Meanly giving the blind a shove
Hear the mutts at hell’s gate roar.
You heap with praise to win the prize
That touch too tender, a fragile being
I want you though I can’t help seeing
The look of madness in your eyes.
If we be wise, stay far away
From the edge, where we our hearts display.
Statement of Purpose
Poetry,
you are mine
if I can find you with my fingers
before the dial-tone becomes a busy-signal –
bright Roosevelt dime in a pocket of loose foreign coins,
lifesavers,
kleenex,
keys . . .
©2016 E. Martin Pedersen