Ted Kooser is our country’s 13th poet laureate. In typical midwestern demeanor, he has regarded this honor as the reason he no longer publishes poetry. He lamented last night that even the worst of his poetry would be published.
He is the first native of the Great Plains to be appointed and I believe that to be a good thing. The East Coast can sometimes become consumed with being too sophisticated (my poetry demonstrates this very well). I am not qualified enough to generalize the other coast’s poetry, though I imagine it to be pretenious by comparison.
Ted said last night that his poem generally take a simple object and uses only one metaphor. You can read some samples here. Like all good poets, he can evoke emotions ranging from bemusement to sadness. Unlike others I have read, he does this without describing his feelings at all. I especially liked two poems last night. One was called Urine Sample, a humourous look at going to the doctor and another about telling his mother’s cousin, Vera, about his mother’s passing. I wish I could remember the title of the latter. I don’t want to say too much about the former because describing it would basically ruin it. The latter, however, is long enough that I can mention a cetral image that doesn’t spoil enjoying it.
Basically, Vera is seeing people that she knows are not there. She is 91 and in poor health, but otherwise mentally sound. These people are going through the house cataloging her things. I thought it was an odd image, but apparently it is a common ocurence. Ted’s friend, a psychologist in NY said that Vera was not psychotic because she knew that they weren’t real. The psychologist said that it frequently happens among the elderly that are close to death – the phantoms seem to somehow prepare them for it. In any case, it was something to think about.
Ted believes that poetry has been ruined by schools that used dense poems where the teacher had the only right intepretation. To get people interested in poetry, he encourages sharing more accessible poems. I get the sense that he believes it should be a part of life, but not the center of life. It’s a sentiment that I share, though I am not in a position to promote poetry beyond my circle of friends and they already love poetry.
Anywho, just wanted to ramble a bit about that. I neglect my writing sometimes – not in the sense of essays, but in poetry and stories. It feels good to think about poetry again.