Just got back from a week in Oaxaca. Beautiful place. And while sitting in the plaza there one mid-afternoon I thought about how much Travel Poems bother me.
I mean the Travel Poems written by beginner or intermediate poets. This is how it usually goes. A poet goes on a trip. He or she sits in a plaza, or by a castle, on the banks of the river, etc-- he or she has some deep thought he or she's only vaguely aware of. Jots down some notes that either's the poem itself or with a few revisions will be. The title of this poem invariably references the plaza or castle or river and definitely the exotic and mysterious city, town or village in which the poet finds him- or herself.
So, in my journal right now I have a couple of poems entitled "Oaxaca." And I'm confident in saying that these poems are not like the ones I'm chastising. And I may even keep the title(s) "Oaxaca."
I'm feeling a bit Silliman-esque as I write this. So, dream about me.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
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