I enjoy old books about the craft of poetry. My favorite, which I refer to often, is The Winged Horse by Joseph Auslander and Frank Ernest Hill from 1927. I have recently been reading The Order of Poetry, a 1961 text by David Silver.

In these old texts about poetry’s craft, I like the unequivocal language, the arrogance of intent: We are writing about the most important thing in the world, the dedication to specific words within a poem, the love of . . . a pervasive yet maligned art.

Silver just gave me a new way of explaining the difference between metaphor and simile (it seems so trite, so inadequate just to say that one is direct and one uses “like” or “as”—it’s like a kindergarten definition, isn’t it?). First Silver is highfalutin: “The differences between metaphor and simile are in grammatical procedure, in the degree of demand on the reader’s imagination, and in psychological effect, but not in kind.” Hmmmm. But he gets clearer: Continue reading “Identification or How To Tell If You are Dead” →

Musings

Not Meaning

August 15, 2013August 15, 2013 ROMPoetry

The public radio show State of the ReUnion will be at our museum this Friday, Aug. 17, to interview me and others as part of a community story about Tulsa and surrounding areas. Since this show is not in our local NPR station line-up, I had not listened to it, but on the show’s website, you can hear all of its shows, plus see photos from the interviews.

I wonder what I will say . . .

I wonder where my poetry will be . . .

I wonder what the other people they interview will say . . .

I wonder where their poetry will be . . . Continue reading “Not Meaning” →

Poems

Your Wild

August 7, 2013 ROMPoetry

Most nights, after I am asleep
You go out with your flashlight
And review things seen in day
Transformed like words spoken
First by someone you love,
Then by someone you don’t, Continue reading “Your Wild” →

Poems

Sand Handle

July 31, 2013 ROMPoetry

We pulled on the handle
And went down to live with the crabs,
Burrowing in four-feet deep
To crusty water, the smell
Of ocean death and pincher,
Taste of ancestors crowding darkness,
The message of being sunk
Foundering us in the brine.

I have always wanted
To know what would happen
If I opened that door.

–Shaun Perkins

Poems

The Meaning of Grasp

June 20, 2013June 20, 2013 ROMPoetry

The debris of white paint flecks in the golden hair
Of your arms is the garbage of love and light
–garbage whose original meaning was a “handful,”
A “grasp.” So I will grasp your arm, your hand,
Your chest, your body, and decorate myself
With your leavings, with your day’s work, and
Fill the nighttime world with the rubbish of worth.

–Shaun Perkins

Musings

Poems for Tornado Victims

June 1, 2013June 1, 2013 ROMPoetry

Some very well-meaning people are soliciting poems for a poetry anthology to sell to raise funds for Oklahoma tornado victims. Please don’t.

Material Reason

Say you manage to sell 100 of these books. The cost of making and shipping them will take up the biggest percentage of the money you get for the books. For a $15 book, you might make a profit of $1. Believe me—I know—I’ve done a lot of self-publishing. So, if you sell 100 books (very lofty goal), you will make $100. Continue reading “Poems for Tornado Victims” →