There’s a
kind of poetry that’s making
its debut these days. One that doesn’t necessarily
hold figurative language or extended metaphors
in its
repertoire, that leaves words like
translucence out of it, that eschews stanzas
and the old poetic double act,
alliteration and onomatopoeia,
and it’s title will be universal enough-
like Seeing my dead mother in Tescos
or The boy who nearly won the Texaco Art competition.
Needless to
say rhyme will probably not perform either
though it
may sneak its way into the show by means
of, dare I
say, backstage manoeuvres like internal resonance,
and hopefully there will be an overall theme which
though it ambles from line to line
will culminate in a climax and evoke
just one ah moment of epiphany
before resolving into a neat
or not so neat denouement
which you,
and perhaps even the poet,
may not
have foreseen…
