Recently in Poetry Category

Five boxes of stuff arrived in my house from my hometown last week, and I finally got to unpacking them today. Great hilarity ensued as I unearthed baby photos, letters from pen-friends, poems I'd written...

I am fast coming to the conclusion that I wrote some very bad poetry in my teen years. But it's funny too -- odes to crushes, laments about exams, and paeans to friendship.

I especially like this one, written to a pen-pal of mine who was taking an inexcusably long time to reply my letters. It's very aptly titled 'Sarcasm To A Pen-Friend':

 
Sarcasm To A Pen-Friend

I hope your fingers will heal real fast
So you'll be able to write neat indeed
I hope you recover from your tests quick
So your brain can function at its normal speed
I hope you've rested well and long
To replenish your lost strength
I hope your memory starts to improve
So you'll remember me, at length.
I hope your self-imposed quarantine will soon end
So you can communicate once again
Above all, I hope what you have isn't catching
And it isn't causing you THAT much pain.

Most Malaysian bloggers, having experienced difficulties with the country's main ISP at one point or another, will identify with this piece. Inspired by Romeo and Juliet:

Shakespeare in Desperation

Oh Streamyx, Streamyx!
Wherefore art thou, Streamyx?
Deny thy TM Net and refuse thy moody connections;
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my monthly payments,
And I'll no longer be taking so bloody long to upload my pictures

'Tis but thy non-connectivity that is my enemy; -
Thou art thyself though, not a bad broadband brand.
What's a brand? It is nor software, nor hardware,
Nor wires, nor bytes, nor any other part
Belonging to a telecommunications company.

O, be some other phone company!
What's in a phone company? That which we call a bandwidth.
By any other word would upload a post as well;
So Streamyx would, were it not Streamyx call'd,
Retain that dear perfection which it owes
Without that title: - Streamyx doff thy brand;
And for thy reliability, which is no part of thee,
Take all my future posts.

 
This is one of those works that gives you the Damn, I wish I had written that! feeling. Credit goes to my fellow Malaysian blogger, Cirnelle -- what a lovely romantic-sounding name!

Poetry, when read aloud, ought to be more than a string of words put together. I realised tonight how fascinating it can be to hear a poem's inherent drama spring to life. Francesca Beard on stage is constantly in motion, conveying the essence of the poem with her whole being. Never insipid, never droning, never merely reciting, and definitely never reading.

Watching and listening, I was humbled. For I realised that modern poetry — the free verse I so detest and rarely read — is the form that lends itself best to performance. Ordinarily, I have no patience with free verse; one sentence broken up into two or three lines or more — anyone can write that kind of 'poetry'. I prefer the beauty, the orderliness, and the sheer challenge of the rhyming quatrain or sonnet. Yes, I am a poetry snob.

I may never be able to fully appreciate free verse in written form, but I could never tire of watching it performed. Not read, mind you, nor recited; performed.