From April 1992: Another one of my unfinished sentences and assorted responses to it:
According to Andy Rooney, "Most poetry is pretentious nonsense." One poetic verse which counters this assertion, though, is...
...all of T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song Of J. Alfred Prufrock." (Paul I.)
..."Fire. Fire burning in my soul..." -Langston Hughes, "Fire" (Jonathan B.)
..."Daddy" by Sylvia Plath. Boy, she hates him. (Lisa G.)
..."Pamela Purse Said, 'Ladies First,'" by Shel Silverstein. In fact, anything by Shel Silverstein. Take a look at a picture of him; he looks like an escaped convict, yet he writes cute kiddie poems (although most of the kids in his poems get theirs.) If Rooney called him pretentious, Shel would probably eat him for breakfast. (Jenni S.)
...really, any combination of words that sets you dreaming, but for the sake of this--"Now, the war has come, bringing with it a new attitude. Youth has turned to gods we of an earlier day knew not. The younger generation, conscious of strength and tumultuous, has ceased with knocking at the door. They have burst in and seated themselves in our places. The air is noisy with their shouts." --W. Somerset Maugham, The Moon And Sixpence (Michael M.)
