David Cherry's blog

Poetry for Hispanic Heritage Month

Photo: Dia de los Muertos by Glen Van EttenIn this day and age when so many people, myself included, are cut off from the worlds from which their families came, we should celebrate all those who have kept and are keeping those ties alive.

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I Have Seen the Future, And It's Not Half Bad. (An open letter to poets)

Whazup y’all,

Israeli Postage Stamp: The Prophet Jonah-catalog #301, c. 1963 part of the Festivals 5724 (1963) series. Design by Jean David/Photo by Karen HortonIf you’ve been reading this blog at all regularly, you’ve probably picked up on a certain pessimistic tone regarding the current state and future of poetry. This is nothing new; Eliot and

Jim Carroll (1949 - 2009)

Stairwell at CBGBs, Circa 2003 Photo by bettyx1138 via Flickr Creative CommonsIf you're of a certain age and have a bent toward a certain kind of music, then you probably ground the grooves flat on your copy of Jim Carroll's "People Who Died." It wasn’t an anthem (which by definition excludes); it was something purer than that: a coyote howl of mourning--not for those who had gone (because they had reached something permanent, if only the void), but for those who remained, those who were forced to go on with one more ragged hole in their lives where a person once had been.

All that, and the song just flat out rocked.

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In Praise of Futility

Photograph: Old Keys Upclose by Laineys Repertoire via Flickr.com Creative CommonsWhat’s a guy gotta do to get some reaction around here? In last week's post I more or less said Emily Dickinson--had she not found poetry--would have turned out to be a serial poisoner and that Walt Whitman could have been a darn fine used car salesman, and I didn’t hear even a grandmotherly tsk tsk tsk.

Have we really reached the point where any schmo with a keyboard can slag two of the purest of American literature’s saints, and it doesn’t even warrant lukewarm pique?

I, frankly, am outraged.

Not really.

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Haiku, or: It Takes Me More Than Seventeen Syllables Just to Get Out of Bed in the Morning

The formal requirements of the haiku may be as stringent as an IRS form, but a good one is pithy, sometimes revelatory and, occasionally, just flat out funny.

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