Prose and Poetry

I don't read a ton of poetry, though I've written some (this one is my fave). But I recently enjoyed this poem, which I recommend (note: you'll need to turn the page, so to speak).

It reminded me of how poets, the lucky bastards, are released from responsibility to fill it all in; to connect all the dots; to support their statements and explain every iota. They're free to flout linearity to forge an effect - a musical, rhythmic wash of intimation - far more important than any literal takeaway. They illuminate puzzles without always solving them. That's the difference of poetry.

The main criticism of this Slog - from others and also from myself - is that I often fail to fill it all in; to connect the dots; to directly explain every iota. I flout linearity to forge an effect; a musical, rhythmic wash of intimation. I illuminate puzzles without always solving them.

And this only seems odd because (yet another example of "being" versus "seeming", aka the hollowness of Form) I happen to write the prosiest of prose, gurgling with goofy vernacular informality. Every last phoneme hollers "Not Poetry!!!" Rarely do I offer the haughty throat-clearing and affected tenor which signal readers to sit up straight and ingest the poem.