Welcome to our weekly column offering perspectives on lit mag publishing, with contributions from readers, writers and editors around the world. Contemporary writers are more than familiar with navigating the cultural minefield that is the modern literary scene. But what would happen today if a writer tried to subvert a particular style of poetry by fooling a significant publisher into taking seriously a work that parodies that style? Thereby hangs this true tale that includes an obscenity trial and the CIA long the way.
I love it! As a poet myself, I want to be understood, to use vivid language and metaphors that everyone can understand. I teach poetry. I am appalled at some contemporary poetry that prides itself on being difficult to understand and "fresh" and "new". Give me Robert Frost, Elizabeth Bishop, Billy Collins, Adrienne Rich, Dorianne Laux and dozens of others, whose language enriches the heart and touches the soul.
David Baker offered advice to poets suitable for T-shirts. For example, “Don’t be afraid of being clear.” But I think another good T-shirt slogan might be “Don’t forget to have fun.” These poems are definitely fun, and the methods used to construct them sound fun too (and maybe not so different from how Eliot constructed “The Waste Land”). Perhaps also a good way of writing something when blocked or weary of writing about oneself.
We could probably use more poetic parodies. Conscious ones are not all that common, maybe because fewer people would recognize the work being parodied than, say, a song (Weird Al) or a novel (Shamela) or a play (Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead). Writing a parody is also good exercise. For example, try writing a parody of the first five lines of Tennyson’s “Ulysses” (https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45392/ulysses), which in our post-heroic age sounds dangerously close to parody.
The one poem I've seen parodied hundreds of times is WCW's This is Just to Say. I don't know why it lends itself to parody so well, but it does! I've also seen parodies of If.
Yes, Joy, that was the intentional pun in his first name. His last name 'Malley' was a take on The Mallee, a semi-desert area in the north-west of Victoria, Australia. :-)
Fascinating post! I rather like some of the poems - the 'authors' used what is now considered a legitimate technique, and I think the resulting poems have some rather splendid images in them. I'm reminded of a hoax 'prize poem' that I wrote, containing what I decided were the components of a prize-winning poem. It won first prize and £150 for me in a poetry competition. - like the poems of 'Ern', though, - it wasn't bad. Parodies can be better than intended!
Ha! Here's my formula: some aspect of nature + an elderly relative who is ill or dying + an exotic location + 2or 3 good images. The result was 'Groot Otters', which won me £100 (not £150 as I remembered it - apparently my memory has inflation!) in the Writers Forum Competition for February 2014. Here's the poem:
Groot Otters
We have come to a full stop on the estuary bridge
when my eye catches a pair of apostrophes,
slick and tumbling and then settling into speech marks,
side by side: groot otters at play as the sun sets
like a dropped cig on the Cape Peninsula.
Here the air is clean and easy,
the pace smooth and unrippled, unlike the sterile panic
of the ward where staff are rushing ghost uniforms swishing by
and there is nothing to do but watch Bahati's breath go
in - out, in - out, as difficult as life.
She fought so hard for music, justice, compassion
- everything except herself.
We hold her hand and offer the usual blistered words
of comfort. She looks at us with nothing.
I tell her of the otters.
She makes no sign to suggest that she has understood.
We look out for them regularly after that; it's a way
to delay the excruciating visits. Sometimes there's
just the odd flourish and ripple as they ballet off
to hunt mullet. But at dusk they wrestle like kittens or puppies
on the whiskers of the shore. I tell Bahati all about them;
it's a habit I've got into; it's something to say.
One evening we go early to watch, hoping to stay
long enough to see them nap in pairs,
holding paws like hands. It's a tiny human behaviour,
enchanting us.
But there's a rrup of dog and a slam of gun
and hunters have come, striding and strutting
as if they own all the experiences for miles around.
Brilliant. Worth very pound and more. Love 'my memory has inflation'. Reminds me of sports people (and fishers) whose achievements grow greater in their minds with every passing year.
Wait!? Somebody already took Angry Penguins as a name for a journal? And, all the way back in 1940? Well shucks, I'll have to cross that off my list, lol.
In all seriousness, I kind of like that excerpt from "Petit Testament." But, then again, I've a soft spot in my heart for absurdist art.
You could probably still use Angry Penguins as an ironic nod; it's probably well out of copyright by now. :-) And Ern's poems certainly qualify as absurdist art. Many thanks for the compliment, Johnny. Always appreciated.
I have discovered that you may have to tread carefully with the Angry Penguins name. :-) Max Harris's daughter, Samela, is very much alive and has a blog called Angry Penguin. She also has an Ern Malley site https://www.ernmalley.net/ which I wished I'd known about while writing the piece.
Great post - fun and informative historic dive
Thanks, Mark.
I love it! As a poet myself, I want to be understood, to use vivid language and metaphors that everyone can understand. I teach poetry. I am appalled at some contemporary poetry that prides itself on being difficult to understand and "fresh" and "new". Give me Robert Frost, Elizabeth Bishop, Billy Collins, Adrienne Rich, Dorianne Laux and dozens of others, whose language enriches the heart and touches the soul.
So, Michael, did you find any of Ern's poetry that met those criteria? :-)
yes! the last part of Sybilline
Bravo! That was definitely worth reading and confirms some private prejudices.
Thanks, Donna. Naked emperors abound when people are afraid to say what they think.
David Baker offered advice to poets suitable for T-shirts. For example, “Don’t be afraid of being clear.” But I think another good T-shirt slogan might be “Don’t forget to have fun.” These poems are definitely fun, and the methods used to construct them sound fun too (and maybe not so different from how Eliot constructed “The Waste Land”). Perhaps also a good way of writing something when blocked or weary of writing about oneself.
We could probably use more poetic parodies. Conscious ones are not all that common, maybe because fewer people would recognize the work being parodied than, say, a song (Weird Al) or a novel (Shamela) or a play (Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead). Writing a parody is also good exercise. For example, try writing a parody of the first five lines of Tennyson’s “Ulysses” (https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45392/ulysses), which in our post-heroic age sounds dangerously close to parody.
May I recommend Chel Owens' 'Terrible Poetry Challenge' to get you started. :-) https://chelowens.com/category/contests/terrible-poetry-contest/
I love your entry, Doug - we say 'bum' to mean 'bottom' here in the UK too!
The one poem I've seen parodied hundreds of times is WCW's This is Just to Say. I don't know why it lends itself to parody so well, but it does! I've also seen parodies of If.
Here's a Poe parody:
https://www.newyorker.com/humor/daily-shouts/poems-edgar-allan-poe-wrote-while-lost-in-a-corn-maze
Of course what they wrote as Ern is art. Call it satire but there are probably some great lines, great images even in an Earnest satire.
And therein lies the rub.
“Art is made when the painter’s brush slips”. Zero Mostel
So, is Ern's work art? :-)
Yowza! This was a worthwhile read. Thank you.
Thanks, Mark, much appreciated.
Wow! Especially about that last poem written by Ern - as in Ernest?
Yes, Joy, that was the intentional pun in his first name. His last name 'Malley' was a take on The Mallee, a semi-desert area in the north-west of Victoria, Australia. :-)
Fascinating post! I rather like some of the poems - the 'authors' used what is now considered a legitimate technique, and I think the resulting poems have some rather splendid images in them. I'm reminded of a hoax 'prize poem' that I wrote, containing what I decided were the components of a prize-winning poem. It won first prize and £150 for me in a poetry competition. - like the poems of 'Ern', though, - it wasn't bad. Parodies can be better than intended!
Wow, Cathy, that's interesting you did that! If you ever want to write about that for the site, please consider a piece! I'd love to know more.
I'll second that.
How many words would you like?
Hilarious and instructive, Cathy. I'd love to see the poem. 'Ern' lives! :-)
Ha! Here's my formula: some aspect of nature + an elderly relative who is ill or dying + an exotic location + 2or 3 good images. The result was 'Groot Otters', which won me £100 (not £150 as I remembered it - apparently my memory has inflation!) in the Writers Forum Competition for February 2014. Here's the poem:
Groot Otters
We have come to a full stop on the estuary bridge
when my eye catches a pair of apostrophes,
slick and tumbling and then settling into speech marks,
side by side: groot otters at play as the sun sets
like a dropped cig on the Cape Peninsula.
Here the air is clean and easy,
the pace smooth and unrippled, unlike the sterile panic
of the ward where staff are rushing ghost uniforms swishing by
and there is nothing to do but watch Bahati's breath go
in - out, in - out, as difficult as life.
She fought so hard for music, justice, compassion
- everything except herself.
We hold her hand and offer the usual blistered words
of comfort. She looks at us with nothing.
I tell her of the otters.
She makes no sign to suggest that she has understood.
We look out for them regularly after that; it's a way
to delay the excruciating visits. Sometimes there's
just the odd flourish and ripple as they ballet off
to hunt mullet. But at dusk they wrestle like kittens or puppies
on the whiskers of the shore. I tell Bahati all about them;
it's a habit I've got into; it's something to say.
One evening we go early to watch, hoping to stay
long enough to see them nap in pairs,
holding paws like hands. It's a tiny human behaviour,
enchanting us.
But there's a rrup of dog and a slam of gun
and hunters have come, striding and strutting
as if they own all the experiences for miles around.
We don't see the pair of otters again.
At the hospital I clutch Bahati's hand
and cry estuaries.
The in - out, in - out, is curiously reassuring,
unlike the cruel surf in the False Bay,
and seems stronger, more even than before.
She fights on.
Brilliant. Worth very pound and more. Love 'my memory has inflation'. Reminds me of sports people (and fishers) whose achievements grow greater in their minds with every passing year.
Wait!? Somebody already took Angry Penguins as a name for a journal? And, all the way back in 1940? Well shucks, I'll have to cross that off my list, lol.
In all seriousness, I kind of like that excerpt from "Petit Testament." But, then again, I've a soft spot in my heart for absurdist art.
Great article, btw.
You could probably still use Angry Penguins as an ironic nod; it's probably well out of copyright by now. :-) And Ern's poems certainly qualify as absurdist art. Many thanks for the compliment, Johnny. Always appreciated.
I have discovered that you may have to tread carefully with the Angry Penguins name. :-) Max Harris's daughter, Samela, is very much alive and has a blog called Angry Penguin. She also has an Ern Malley site https://www.ernmalley.net/ which I wished I'd known about while writing the piece.
As a coda to Ern's story, comes this one about an author faking their own death and then returning. Curiouser and curiouser. tinyurl.com/7cehy2r5