What is Contemporary

Contemporary poetry…what does that exactly mean? I am not even sure I could give you a working definition of contemporary and how it applies to literature/poetry. I know it deals with what is currently happening and everything that is going on at the time. But when is the cut-off? When is something no longer contemporary or current? When does it become “old” or outdated? Hmmm?

When I think of contemporary poetry I think of Billy Collins. We live in a society that believes the best approach to things is to lay it all out on the line. With all of the “isms” there really isn’t time to beat around the bush concerning your thoughts and feelings. There is no reason to dabble in falsified beauty when reality can create the beauty for us. This is how I see contemporary poetry.

Of course there are the poets (surrealists) who do not give the answer up front. They in turn give you some obscure idea and let you create the image. Although Billy Collins is quite different from these poets they do take on a similar approach. They take the idea of nature and realistic events/people and tell their story in as close of a depiction as possible.

Contemporary poetry doesn’t seem to romanticize ideas. Maybe that is why our current society is so messed up. We have forgotten about love…

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints!---I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!---and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
(Elizabeth Barrett Browning)

And replaced it with Roy.
Roy could move a lot of sheep.
He moved them off the mountain
with his arms outstretched
at forty degree angles.
Roy never spoke.
He wore navy corduroys.
This annoyed some of the guys.
He walked like a foster child
stepping carefully
and sometime robotically.
The sheep respected this.
They kept their mouths shut
for once, and flowed down, down,
in a tight and docile band
over the uneven terrain,
because of Roy.
(Michael Earl Craig)

With this being said I personally think contemporary poetry is real. It can be touched and experienced-it is accessible. It can be heard and enjoyed. It is healing yet not sappy. It is obscure yet imaginative. It is our reality…the messed up junk of contemporary society.

Now looking at the poets for this week.

Mary Oliver, (I could not find the “Black Vietnam Vet”) represents her subject intertwined with nature. I am not quite sure how you discuss poetry with nature. I am sure there is some proper way.

If it is your nature
to be happy
you will swim away along the soft trails

For hours, your imagination
alighting everywhere.
(“The Morning Poem” by Mary Oliver)

This poem struck me as fascinating. She connects the subject’s imagination to a winding trail with endless possibilities. All of her poems did this exact thing. Whether the subject is being related to wild geese or the earth it takes on the physical characteristics of nature.

Sylvia Platt takes on an entirely different approach to nature. Similar to Oliver her characters do become one with nature but in a very different way. They become nature in its darkest possible way.
I shall never get you put together entirely, Pieced, glued, and properly jointed.Mule-bray, pig-grunt and bawdy cacklesProceed from your great lips.It's worse than a barnyard.
She makes no attempt to beautify the image but keeps it very real and visual; leaving no true need for interpretation. It is what it is.

I crawl like an ant in mourningOver the weedy acres of your brow