I too, dislike it: there are things that are important beyond all this fiddle. <br /> Reading it, however, with a perfect contempt for it, one discovers that there is in <br /> it after all, a place for the genuine. <br /> Hands that can grasp, eyes <br /> that can dilate, hair that can rise <br /> if it must, these things are important not because a <br /> high sounding interpretation can be put upon them but because they are <br /> useful; when they become so derivative as to become unintelligible, <br /> the same thing may be said for all of us, that we <br /> do not admire what <br /> we cannot understand: the bat, <br /> holding on upside down or in quest of something to <br /> <br /> eat, elephants pushing, a wild horse taking a roll, a tireless wolf under <br /> a tree, the immovable critic twitching his skin like a horse that feels a flea, the base <br /> ball fan, the statistician -- <br /> nor is it valid <br /> to discriminate against "business documents and <br /> <br /> school-books": all these phenomena are important. One must make a distinction <br /> however: when dragged into prominence by half poets, the result is not poetry, <br /> nor till the poets among us can be <br /> "literalists of <br /> the imagination" -- above <br /> insolence and triviality and can present <br /> <br /> for inspection, imaginary gardens with real toads in them, shall we have <br /> it. In the meantime, if you demand on one hand, <br /> the raw material of poetry in <br /> all its rawness and <br /> that which is on the other hand <br /> genuine, then you are interested in poetry.<br /><br />Marianne Clarke Moore<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/poetry-13/
