Minor subgenres. Who decides the major genres of poetry?

The same who relegated some to the minors. It's been said confessional, rap, cowboy poetry and performance poetry are examples of the current subgenres. More discussion is required; even the page says so.


Food has its minor subgenres. Mayo cooking leaps to the forefront as does jello, and canned creamed soup sauces.

Magnum Opus. How does one recognize a poetic magnum opus?

The same as with a fine (and finely crafted) meal. The bowl again becomes empty. Perhaps an intake of breath at the first and last bites.

Silence.

Dialect rhyme. What rhyme does dialect play in a poem?

The poem is at the mercy of the hearer's mouth and what can rhyme or reason make of that.



Perhaps, out of that comes the salad. Tomatoes and potatoes are related by botany and song (as in the Great American Songbook). And here's a salad to go with --

avocado
sharp cheddar
cherry tomatoes
Persian cucumbers
cooked & cut red potatoes
carrots
radish
sliced honey tangerine
black olives or green or both
fresh cilantro
pepper
lemon
olive oil

Metapoem. Are poems truly about being a poem?

Self-referencing? The mirror always at the ready? Are meals more than the arrangement of food, ingredients? Yes, conversation -- actual and/or remembered. Even imagined. Imagine that!

Logorrhea. Can a very short poem suffer from logorrhea?

One sound too many is too many. One too many grains of salt, the dish gone woefully bad. Not to be confused with salty poetry, please.

Cliche. Does every poet invent her personal cliches?

Of course. Thus or it is perhaps, the poem wobbles into being. The parallel with the cook might be a heavy hand with pepper or persimmon or snap peas or pomegranate. Thus, the signature hue to the meal.

Majusculation. Are capital letters out of poetic favor?

Perhaps, poems are not sentences in the pure sense. In the impure sense, yup. Each sentence (except poetry: see above) begins with a capital letter. What begins every meal? Hunger and then those ingredients to satisfy.

Anachronism. Is everything but a question an anachronism in a poem?

Except or but -- that is the question.


Does the cook question the season that offers up the ripe? Does the bowl object?

Aphorism. How wise and pithy is poetry?

Yup. & Nope.


A soft-boiled egg in a bowl of steaming soup in which a potato has been languishing. Yes, both.

Abstract syntax. What is the meaning of the poem with abstract syntax?

Think abstract art. Think non-representational. Think sound as meaning.


Take for instance the sound of a salad (being made). Chopping, slicing, perhaps, cooking. The hand arranging a salad & the happy nod (& perhaps sigh) of the cook. For what is a salad if not abstract art. If written as recipe, please note its abstract syntax.

License. Is poetry all about license?

and the taking of. As with liberty of space & silence.


The license of breakfast; remember to occupy the mouth. Salads. For instance, today's.

Compelling Breakfast Salad for an Auspicious Day

avocado
walnuts
grapefruit
sliced radishes
blue cheese
pepper, olive oil
fresh thyme

If it were lunch, take the liberty of adding shrimp to the above.

Pure poetry? So, what is impure poetry?

The short & precise answer: non-lyrical.


Try this for pure taste:

Pure poetry w/cabbage (red)

shredded red cabbage
honey mango
mandarin splices
avocade
toasted pecans
lemon/lime/pepper
olive oil
a ton of fresh mint

mix purely but not, necessarily, precisely

Double talk. Is poetry aswim in double talk?

Aswim being the case in point. Perhaps, double-talk is two reading the same poem at the same time. Language, after all, is the speech of tongues.


There was a time when you thought a thistle, barbaric. How you gravitate toward artichokes. Steamed and sometimes chilled. Always pulled through teeth. Spring is aswimming in green.

Ethopoeia. Is the poem a mirror to the poet's ethopoeia?

Or is this a matter of physics? Never the parallel line shall meet?


Morally, I favor tapas. As in tapas salad. What is that, you ask. Small dishes added together until the color wheel spins. The mouth is no longer morally responsible. Yet gleeful. Tonight I will scrutinize the intersection of tapas salads with the prose poem. Will keep all findings to myself.

Confessional. Does poetry tip toward the confessional?

What is being confessed - grammar grievances? Seriously (though grammar be of weight & import), no matter how cloaked in the impersonal, can a poem be devoid of the poet's experience & feeling?
Robotic poetry? Artificial intelligent poetry? Science is being confessed.


From a meal can you derive a hint of the cook's joys. Of her sins. Sinful food; sinful poetry. The seesaw, stalled and, yet, the balance of the ripe weights impartially. & kindly

Lettrisme. When does nonsense make poetic sense?

Just like the French to laugh at words into non-words and the form so literary as to make you thirst for the reason of mussels & fries.

Dada in the kitchen? More than past & fancy. Mac & cheese. Frankly, mustard. Dogs & gods.