you wouldn't think it
but poems that rhyme
are jealous of poems
that don't
those rhyme poems must
keep even time and space
their even ways across
the page or screen, in
ways that must seem oh
so strict and needless
to the meanings of their
words.
Rhyme poems can't relax
and be proud of their words,
no matter how hard they strike
home - because they are obsessed
with the thought of how much less
perfect a word must be, for having
been selected on the basis of sound,
instead of pure meaning.
And all poems feel very strongly,
that pure meaning is their object.
So the rhyme poem goes too hard, on
itself. Whether its words are perfect
or no, it can't credit them that. It can't
be proud of words so clearly, seemingly
chosen to fill and fit some arbitrary
artistic pattern. Its only choice is
to be proud of the pattern. To be proud
that it rhymes. Of how well the all-important
design was drawn, and filled in with blanks.
The rhyme poem has become cynical, its meter
its measure, though it knows it knows better.
When all poems had to rhyme, to be considered
respectable specimens, then it seemed that the words
could matter, could be seen as chosen and perfect.
Because there was no choice but to rhyme. Everyone
had to choose within that! But today, rhyming is
- let's be honest: silly. Quaint. And so how can any
poem say anything perfect and important, in rhyme?
How can any poem's words not seem a bit suspect,
when the impression has already been given that
the scheme is more important than what you are trying
to say? The only defense is to seem not to mean it.
While all the while, you sharpen your knife,
and scheme.
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