(Poem #1113) The Age Demanded The age demanded that we sing And cut away our tongue. The age demanded that we flow And hammered in the bung. The age demanded that we dance And jammed us into iron pants. And in the end the age was handed The sort of shit that it demanded. |
(1922) This is precisely the sort of tough, hard-hitting, no-nonsense poetry that so many poets attempt, and so few get right. Appearances to the contrary, a keen sense of moral indignation does not by itself make a great poem - the missing ingredient, which today's poem possesses in ample measure, is *craftsmanship*. This craftsmanship is something that shines through in most of Hemingway's work and makes his poetry a pleasure to read. The concept is sadly disparaged by a certain class of 'poets', who make sniffy remarks about craft versus Art, and blindly repeat phrases like 'spontaneous overflow of emotion' to justify their unwillingness to *work* at a poem, but the fact remains that a good poem needs as much work as it does inspiration. Note that this is not a structured versus free verse rant - I've seen some very finely crafted free verse (and some truly sloppy structured verse, for that matter) - it's more a reaction to the attitude that shaping a poem spoils its artistic purity. No, I don't understand it either. Like 'Chapter Heading' [Poem #976], today's poem is spare but not minimalist. The terseness is never allowed to get in the way of the smooth flow of the words, but Hemingway nevertheless manages to convey his point with a remarkable economy that I find very refreshing. martin Links: http://www.library.utoronto.ca/utel/rp/poems/heminw1.html has a couple of notes on the poem
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