The only poetry I’ve ever written is humorous stuff, and in the Robert Service meter that he uses in The Cremation of Sam McGee. It’s a nice meter (if that’s the proper term) for a guy to write in. Rhythmic, masculine, and dumb probably. But it’s just the right level for me.
Anyway, I was just at Google’s book site and searched on Poems by Robert Service…
…which brought up an array of books - some with Service’s stuff, some by other poets. Then if you scroll down, you’ll see there are 10 more pages of poetry books. Access a page or two and the page count goes to 19.
This site lets you read all kinds of books free; books, that is, which have passed their copyright dates.
The thing about demanding people is that they always push you to do better. They can be insensitive, boorish and a pain, but if your goal is constant self improvement, and an external motivator is necessary for you to stay on path, then you may require a demanding personality as your match. Is this the case with you? Be honest with yourself and ask this question. Do you like that he always requires more of you? If so, then stop getting upset when he’s doing his job.
If that’s not the case, then it sounds like the two of you need to have a Talk.
This can indeed be an awful feeling, and I agree with Clothahump; sit him down and tell him VERY CLEARLY what’s going on with you, that he’s hurt your feelings, etc. No need to be aggressive, but there is a need to be direct and explicit.
And I can sympathize. I finished a short film a few months ago, and sent DVD copies to the actors, some friends and family members, etc. Of the maybe 15 people to whom I sent copies, exactly two did so much as let me know they’d received them, and no one made any comment on what they’d thought of it.
I finally started asking people point blank, “Did you get the DVD?” “Oh, yeah,” they’d say, “I really liked it!” Or: “Yeah, but I didn’t like it much, and here’s why…” Or (most commonly): “Yeah, but I don’t get it.”
I was glad for all the input, even (or especially) the negative; much of it confirmed some of my own reservations about the film anyway. What pissed me off was that some folks ignored it completely.
An actor named Stephen Fry has recently published a book for fledgling poets, entitled The Ode Less Traveled. It was reviewed with high praise in the New York Times yesterday, and if you have the requisite access, you can read this critique at
Then, if you’re still interested, read the reviews at…
…and then maybe buy the book.
I get the feeling this book should be in every poetry writer’s library.
This reminds me of my sister. What’s the point of me making music if I’m not going to try to sell it? Why have all this stuff if I’m not going to make money at it? It’s still an oddly contentious topic whenever it comes up. I was flipping through pictures on my camera with her and a pic of my acoustic guitar and bass came up and she went off about why do I still have so many guitars. “I like to play them” doesn’t ever seem to be a valid point.
My sister has a CD of my band I gave to her five or six years ago that she hasn’t even taken the shrinkwrap off of yet.
I don’t resent her for any of this since there’s so much other stuff we have to deal with together. It’s just a part of my life that’s pointless to share with her. So I don’t.
I have two friends that write poetry and share their efforts with me.
Their poems are in my obviously not so humble opinion astoundingly mediocre at best.
However, as they do it for their own pleasure, I can always find a line to praise without feeling like a complete hypocrite.
It makes them happy and who am I to rain on their parade?
Write a first person prose piece on the pain someone feels when they have presented an example of their work to a loved one, only to have it discarded. Be passionate, and work on it real hard. Revise it a few times, after leaving it alone for a day or two. If it doesn’t make you cry, keep at it until you do. Make it at least several pages, introducing the characters, and making them real, and the emotions, likewise.
Give it to you husband. Tell him “Please don’t say anything at all about this. I just think you should know what it says. I don’t want to know if it is good, or even important to you. I do want you to understand it.”
Don’t let him tell you anything about it. Be firm. Tell him that ship has sailed. (You don’t have to mention the fact that it ran aground on a reef, and was lost with all hands.) I feel pain that I believe is as yours is, and I think you need to find a receptive audience away from the hostage situation your personal art is now suffering in. My siblings (five of them) were recalling all the fine characteristics our parents showed. My youngest sister added, in a quiet voice, “Too bad they never once told any of us that we had done something well.” The moment of silence was profound.
