I hate poetry
April is apparently National Poetry Month, and each week Bobblehead has featured a selection of his favorite poetry on Churchill’s Cigar. So on this final day of National Poetry Month, I thought it was high time to publicize my visceral hatred of poetry.
I hate poetry. I despise it and refuse to read it. One look at a page of verse makes my bowels quake with anger and hostility. I want to rip and tear and throw and stomp and scream “FUCK POETRY!”
Why? I think it is a combination of instinct and rebellious defiance. Poetry has never appealed to me. I am pretty sure I dug nursery rhymes (who didn’t?), but sometime in elementary school I developed a deep, passionate hatred for poetry. It was forced on me and I was expected to like it. (“You’ll read poetry AND LIKE IT!”) Screw that. Poetry lessons and units seemed to last forever, and I always got the impression that the teachers — perhaps covert agents for some kind of demonic cult of poetry scheming worldwide domination — were laying it on really thick to make a positive impression. Their conditioning did not work on me. I loved reading and writing prose, but poetry chafed every fiber of my artistic soul.
The inculcation continued through junior high and high school. Friends even went out of their way to turn me to the dark side. “But poetry is so beautiful. It’s so inspirational and powerful. Blah blah blah blah blah…” I stood strong and defiant in the face of adversity. I was even unfazed by the fact that my literary idol, Hemingway, wrote poetry. (I considered it one of Hemingway’s faults.) In the creative writing classes I took in college, I patiently stewed during the sessions focused on poetry. When required to write and submit poetry for workshop, I wasted as little time and thought as possible, hammering out total nonsense just before heading to class. One of the reasons I stopped registering for creative writing classes was to save myself from the weeks-long poetry units. I opted for fiction and nonfiction courses, both of which were free of poetry.
I am happy to say that I have enjoyed a poetry-free life ever since. The Odyssey is next in my reading queue, but I am making an exception for that; as far as I am concerned, it predates the horrors of modern poetry.
Now, I have no problem with other people reading, writing, and loving poetry. They can enjoy it all they want. All I ask is that they respect my hatred for poetry and STOP TRYING TO GET ME TO LIKE IT! They need to save their time and read their beloved poetry instead, because I sure as hell am not.
I hate poetry. I despise it and refuse to read it. One look at a page of verse makes my bowels quake with anger and hostility. I want to rip and tear and throw and stomp and scream “FUCK POETRY!”
Why? I think it is a combination of instinct and rebellious defiance. Poetry has never appealed to me. I am pretty sure I dug nursery rhymes (who didn’t?), but sometime in elementary school I developed a deep, passionate hatred for poetry. It was forced on me and I was expected to like it. (“You’ll read poetry AND LIKE IT!”) Screw that. Poetry lessons and units seemed to last forever, and I always got the impression that the teachers — perhaps covert agents for some kind of demonic cult of poetry scheming worldwide domination — were laying it on really thick to make a positive impression. Their conditioning did not work on me. I loved reading and writing prose, but poetry chafed every fiber of my artistic soul.
The inculcation continued through junior high and high school. Friends even went out of their way to turn me to the dark side. “But poetry is so beautiful. It’s so inspirational and powerful. Blah blah blah blah blah…” I stood strong and defiant in the face of adversity. I was even unfazed by the fact that my literary idol, Hemingway, wrote poetry. (I considered it one of Hemingway’s faults.) In the creative writing classes I took in college, I patiently stewed during the sessions focused on poetry. When required to write and submit poetry for workshop, I wasted as little time and thought as possible, hammering out total nonsense just before heading to class. One of the reasons I stopped registering for creative writing classes was to save myself from the weeks-long poetry units. I opted for fiction and nonfiction courses, both of which were free of poetry.
I am happy to say that I have enjoyed a poetry-free life ever since. The Odyssey is next in my reading queue, but I am making an exception for that; as far as I am concerned, it predates the horrors of modern poetry.
Now, I have no problem with other people reading, writing, and loving poetry. They can enjoy it all they want. All I ask is that they respect my hatred for poetry and STOP TRYING TO GET ME TO LIKE IT! They need to save their time and read their beloved poetry instead, because I sure as hell am not.
