Mina Loy: self-indulgent masturbatory cunt of a "poet"

The BBQ Pit
1

I’m sitting in my girlfriend’s room as she reads aloud a ten-page “poem” by a clearly schizophrenic woman named Mina Loy. She claims she needs to read poems out loud to understand them.

I wouldn’t have a problem with that but this is no poem, it is an unending STREAM OF GIBBERISH. I can’t stand retarted, pretentious “modernist” poets who think that all the horseshit that was racing through their drug/syphillis-addled brains was clever or deep. It’s not poetry, it’s SHIT.

Rises from the subconscious
Impression of a cat
With blind kittens
Among her legs
Same undulating life-stir
I am that cat

Rises from the subconscious
Impression of small animal carcass
Covered with blue bottles
— Epicurean –
And through the insects
Waves that same undulation of living
Death
Life
I am knowing
All about
Unfolding

The next morning
Each woman-of-the-people
Tiptoeing the red pile of the carpet
Doing hushed service
Each woman-of-the-people
Wearing a halo
A ludicrous little halo
Of which she is sublimely unaware

HORSESHIT. HORSESHIT. HORSESHIT.

Nobody should subject people to horrible “poetry” like this!!!

2

Well I liked it.

[sub]then again, I like dental injections[/sub] :wink:

3

She’s not, by any chance, a Vogon?

4

Now come on. There is no objective way of measuring the quality of art. Does your girlfriend like it?

That said, in my subjective opinion, it’s not just horseshit, a big steaming pile of self-indulgent adolescent horseshit.

5

Why?? by jjimm

If I die
Will anyone
Care?
Why does nobody
Love me.
Love me!
Love
me.
Please?
They think they’re
So cool.
Too cool for school.
Call me a dork.
Dork.
I shelter
My sensitive face
From the laughing eyes.
Nobody knows the
Pain
Behind my smile.
But one day
They will
Learn.
I’ll show them.
They’ll be sorry
One day.
When I’m
dead.
Then they
Won’t laugh
Anymore.

6

I wanna meet the woman-of-the-people.
She sounds constipated to me. (the poet, not TWOTP).

I call this kind of stuff snivelly drivel. Hey, it rhymes!

7

Stream of consciousness stuff. It’s an amusing peek into the rattling’s of the poet’s mind. I like it!

8

I love cats and I hate bad poetry.

9

Hmm, a little Google reveals she was writing this stuff in The Old Days™, which makes it historically interesting, since she was probably one of the people who invented the form. Doesn’t make it any better, though, IMO.

10

Dork.

You just wish you had blind kittens flitting around your legs, admit it.

11

LOL - thank you for that!

12

Eh, at least it’s short. I think it would be funny if it was printed on a poster with a bunch of Anne Geddes-style cats wearing haloes and hiding inside blue bottles.

13

Check to see if you’re hemmorhaging anywhere. Then you will know for sure.

14

Declawed?

15

Oh, you haven’t seen bad poetry till you’ve seen bad Goth poetry.

The Knife!
Sharp smooth steel
Slicing my wrists
My tears mix with the blood
That dries and stiffens
in my black lace sleeves.
Oh, sorrow, sorrow,
The Knife, the Knife calls to thee!

16

Pussy.

17

A friend of mine gave me some poetry to read that she wrote when we were both back in high school. It was a seriously disturbing description of the tar and crap coating a smoker’s lungs and how it makes them sicker and sicker. It was actually pretty good and I complemented her on it.

Her response?

She called me an idiot, told me the poem was really about how her tortured soul was too pure for this world and then went on some idiotic diatribe about how tough her life was. (Trust me. Her life was cake and her “tortured soul” was so much attention whoring)

So to this day I got nothing against poetry, it’s the poets that I can’t stand. 99% of them are twits.

18

Thank you so much for putting me onto a new mine of amusement. This is a particularly rich seam.

(On the subject, and for anyone who doesn’t know the works of Philip Larkin, this is how to write proper angst.)

19

Sister, have you got that right! That made me think of this (unintentionally) hilarious song a friend of mine sent to me.

Anyone else familiar with “My Ruin,” by Terror? It’s classic stuff. I just looked up the lyrics, and here’s a sampling:

“Fucker!” constitute’s the song’s refrain. It’s a masterpiece of high school goth narcissism.

20

Whatever you think about Mina Loy’s poetry, though, you can’t really call her a modernist-in-quotes. She was born in 1882 and died in 1966, and published mostly in the 1910’s and '20s. She wasn’t a “modernist”, she was a Modernist, a bonafide member of the early 20th-century Modernism movement.

So if you don’t enjoy her poetry, whaddya think of her art? Personally, I find Consider Your Grandmother’s Stays kind of nifty, but I like that sharply-defined ink-drawing style in general.