The Lost Hotels of Paris
by Jack Gilbert
Ferrick Gray
Comments concerning Five Verses
Ginsberg came to my house one afternoon
and said he was giving up poetry
because it told lies, that language distorts.
I agreed, but asked what we have
that gets it right even that much.
I remember receiving the poem, The Lost Hotels of Paris through a mailing list for poetry. Mostly the poems that are sent to me are dull and uninspiring, but this was different.
I recall at the time (many years ago) that I had not heard of Jack Gilbert, and as a result had not read any of his poetry. This does not surprise me at all, somehow poets at the time vanished or seemed to disappear to a remote place on the earth to write, and nothing much was heard from them. It is very different now, and as it happens now I get sent all manner of things pretending to be poetry from people. No Gilberts or Ginsbergs in those.
Enough of the reminiscing, these five verses I found very satisfying. Why, I am not really sure. However, there is something not only refreshing but truthful regardless of what Ginsberg may have said. Mind, that element of truth may be hard to swallow for some poets, because they do not understand where their poetry comes from, or what it means, or they are not poets at all.
It is easy to become disillusioned with poetry. We may be expending too much time and effort trying to please others when it is actually for ourselves we are writing. In other words to produce what and how we feel in the written form. The attempt to impress with what we think others will like becomes the lie, and yes, the distorted truth.
How often do we stroll through the fields of negativity? Possibly more than we care to remember. Does what I have written make sense? Is it any good? Will people take the time to read it through carefully or just give it a casual glance? Perhaps the poet is discouraged by what they read. The current proliferation of nonsense. Why is what we commonly read so different to what we are writing? Why am I different? There are a whole host of questions, all difficult to answer.
Ginsberg is strolling through this field and yes, it is understandable. I think Gilbert is sitting on the fence watching and listening. In essence he agrees, but what else does he have? Anything poetical, mostly, is better than prosy dribble. It is so easy to believe that we will never be appreciated or accepted. So rages the poet!
Poetry must be meaningful and emotive, but the words must be carefully chosen. As Pound stated, we need to charge our poetry with meaning, not use a stream of meaningless adjectives with the hope that one will hit the reader between the eyes.
The fact that language distorts is a natural consequence of how we write. The reason it sounds more so in poetry, but not all the time, is due to the emotive nature of poetry. No matter what type of poem, the emotions emanate because this is the way it is. Sometimes controlled, other times uninhibited or inchoate.
I may even be tempted to say that poetry is its own worst enemy. This needs some consideration. Think Bukowski, is it that we try too hard to create something? Are we forcing ourselves to do something that is not natural, at least for ourselves? Is perfection what we desire or require? What would perfection sound like?
I think that perfection would sound somewhat artificial if we were to happen upon it. The same effect as (perfect) strict iambic pentameter with its monotonous rhythm. Perfection is not what we want to hear or read. At times we need to be raw and spontaneous, but we need to be honest and genuine. In some cases, due to our own imperfections, the words sound wrong and the language becomes distorted. Ha! But what have we got that is better? Nothing at all. If it cannot be poetry, what will it be? ... Nothing at all!
Perhaps poets are too sensitive. I believe this must be true, especially in the writing, they need to be sensitive else we feel nothing, but not oversensitive. That will not work. Now, sensitivity ... How was that?