Statement of Poetics
As a poet, I try to follow the Golden Rule—writing for others as I would have them write for me. With that in mind:
I like poems that generate momentum, and hit hard.
I like poems that crackle with energy, even if it’s the energy of despair. I don’t like poems that droop with world-weariness.
I like to hear voices I’ve never heard before.
I like to see from fresh perspectives.
I like to encounter fascinating minds.
I like poems that renew not just the language but the world, and therefore, my life.
Imagination is an end in itself.
I like strangeness, unless it’s gratuitous, or not gratuitous enough. (Monty Python’s "Fish Dance" is gratuitous enough.)
I don’t like poems that won’t risk meaning.
I don’t like monotonous poems, even when the single note is a good one.
I don’t like poems that use their lines like well-made bricks tossed at random on a lawn; these poems never get off the ground.
I like to be swept up, carried away.
I like to laugh.
I don’t exactly like to cry, but I like poems that make me want to (unless it’s from frustration).
I like to be entertained.
I read for fun; struggling isn’t fun for me.
I’m willing to work hard reading a poem, but what I get out of it must be worth more than the effort I put in. I want a fair return on my investment.
I don’t like obscurity for its own sake—or, to tell the truth, for any other’s.
I like language masterfully used: "the best words in the best order." Great language is necessary but not sufficient for great poetry.
I like words that are fun to say.
I love good metaphors.
I don’t really believe that "progress" in poetry is possible, but I try to write as if it were. I care more about progress in understanding the human psyche than in the development of technique.
I shy away from writing called "experimental"; the term usually sticks to failed experiments.
I think all good writing is experimental.
A poem is like a shark (or like sharks are supposed to be): if it stops moving forward, it dies. Also, a strong one can eat you alive.
The cardinal sin of poetry, as of all art, is to bore.
*taken from poetrynet.org
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