
A good poem or poet
is like a good cigar or a
good whiskey. Everyone
Has their own preferences.
~ R.M. Engelhardt ©2023
Poet Writer Albany NY
A good poem or poet
is like a good cigar or a
good whiskey. Everyone
Has their own preferences.
~ R.M. Engelhardt ©2023
So apparently this article has been moving around a bit in Facebook groups. The writer is not the first to coin the term ” Poetry is Dead” or for that matter the poetic viewpoint that T.S. Elliot was the game changer. What is your idealism or belief? This is not so much a critique as merely a viewpoint ( *please read first). To me, as a poet his viewpoint is interesting but what he has seriously forgotten is that Elliot wrote Wasteland in a drastically changed world only a few short years after WW1. Hence why the poem & title “The Wasteland”
I see Elliot’s poems as the new siren, the almost near dead, broken muse attempting to somehow comprehend a vast amount of death & destruction in a new world trying to recover 100 years ago. This was the very beginning of our times. A fearful world which now after 2 world wars and the fear of possible nuclear war which we were born into. The old world of our humanity & our full relationship to the natural world disappeared in the fire. The constant is again the word ” Fear” which we still live with in our subconscious every single day. So it is of little imagining as to why we are poets of politics & protest, dark, brooding rebellion and of end times. Eliot was just the first victim grappling with this destitute reaction to a nightmare made reality and its horrors.
Simply put? The event of World War, destruction & the death of thousands was merely a razorblade cutting into the poet’s soul and the realization that we would all never be whole or the same ever again.
We are still broken.
We just don’t realize it.
~ R.M. Engelhardt
Twenty years ago I wrote a chapbook called Nod. 2003. These were some poems based on the experimental style of EE Cummings & George Oppen Many of the poems were published on now long gone poetry journal internet sites and as we know many online journals don’t last forever. Here are a few poems. Hope that you enjoy them.
~ R.M. Engelhardt
HEDROGLOSSIA
LOOK
If I can’t find the meaning well then at least I’ve found you
And that being that is much more than ever being and much
More than ever merely needing a touch, a voice, a word or a
Feeling, something to be or not to …
SEE!
There I’ve done it again!
Hyper and not hedroglossia!
Too many words asking me to listen
Too many voices only mine repeating
Being two when I’m with you when this elusive thing they call time stands still and these days of our lives are suddenly & distinctly becoming entangled
Moving much too fast for even Captain Zoom & his paisley rocket ship to fathom
And sleeping beneath these quiet dreams of unspokeness
And hearing all of these voices at once and yet, at times being so alone.
So I guess this is what they call hedroglossia,
The wanting of a voice now gone, the hearing of a song
The fear of not knowing possibly what belongs In these arms of poetry and dusk.
WRECK
(oh no Jock Cousteau, please help me salvage this heart.) because she who thinks she knows who thinks she knows knows nothing.
says so long because his song has been sung. (and being a wreck, invisible)
he sinks, drinks her false fear un-emotion and her ice cold seas into oblivion
and sends out one last beacon for her in the night
that she will never answer.
and lost at sea even she knows that he cannot comeback from the dead.
for it was she who sunk the ship before it could even reach its destination
Crea en el amor y en yo¶ll siempre cree en usted
MEMENTO
Better to feel
(Than be)
Blood rushes thru veins
And the heart beats,
Only one-day to complete its duty
While eventually earth and gods shall all come
Crashing down
And kingdoms & civilizations fade.
And so please, I ask you only this;
That when I leave to let me take these
Few things with me;
The moon, the sun and the stars,
And the small traces of light which
Once reflected in your eyes
That I can no longer see
NOTES TO AN INSENSITIVE UNIVERSE
So what do you know about What is or is not to be?
(Hmmm … perhaps it is we)
Moving, living and struggling as if we think the very existence of the universe depends upon these things
But the universe (dam dark void)
Will be quite fine without us
& our ³Feelings´
Poor universe
And without love
Sadder still for not
Knowing what it wants
Or what its here for
POEM TO PAST SELF IN FUTURE TENSE
Yours is a beauty of monstrous pro-
Portions with the world
Spinning randomly into
Oblivion where the leaves are all
Dying all of the time off of the trees,
Where misery makes its way into every small tissue stealing.
Yours is a world where
Beauty has fled and has left town
For greener pastures, has drowned its-
Self into the sea of angst & tears and
Has mixed its-self with alcohol &
Cigarettes, sad poems and
Indiscriminate men & women who
Already know that beauty has left
The scene,
(And they no longer care to find her)
And yet it is good that beauty has
Finally found you and that beauty is not
Dead
But was only merely sleeping
On the sofa of your dreams
WHAT SHE SAID
She said;
³If you ever tell me that you love me I’m afraid that I’ll have to leave.´
So not wanting to ever lose her he bent down, got close and softly whispered in her ear;
³Lust … .Lust …Lust´
WAR FILM
Buddhist hope cow.com of love transcending the dialect of
gloss & loss & gloom to the mysterious mysticism of the time machine
of ³when?´
Oh how I love thee, mammals of flesh and blood and candy. Let me count the innocent waves, the waves of psychotic
emotion, measure my ass for caps and my heart for meaning
less
³gestures.´
(And please; screen my phone calls for truths, religions, promises & AIDS.)
For selective in our service we the
brave and the free will send out our hippie-bred children into the
Man swarm and the cities of their destinies, their lives as
Instantaneous as eighteen-year-old twinkies and our reasons as contrived as an
oily eagle
³fart´
Captain Zoom may send you to your doom as happy as a
rectal thermometer but the smiling mortician man grim will
dress you up in green who spills & spells out
F R E E D O M
³Horizontally´
with a capital
D.
ALONE
Alone in a room with-
Out you is alone, alone Without you is alone.
Alone without you is like
The moon without the stars,
The world without the sun
Shining upon it.
Good days or bad
With you I’m never sad
But without you in a
Room I’m alone.
I KNOW
There are certain things I know don’t know, feel don’t feel & see don’t see.
I am a blind
Man with the near
And the far, I am a
Baby bat that grasps
And squeaks to all
Things sad & mean all
Past & future present past
In the worship of your heart.
Sacred life of words
Unspoken by man
Knowing truth
Is truth.
*All poems From The KotaPress Anthology 2003
R.M. Engelhardt ©
*An Interview With Thom Francis of The Hudson Valley Writers Guild.
R.M. Engelhardt started sharing his poetry at local open mics in the early-90s and has since been a driving force in keeping the poetry and spoken word alive and well in the area. He has hosted a number of readings and events over the years and continues to welcome writers new and old to the stage.In this clip, Engelhardt reads “DeGeneration” at the Borders Open Mic on January 25, 1995. This poem was recorded for the CD, “Volume: A Compilation of Poets, Live”, produced by Mary Panza and Steve Clark chronicling the poetry scene at the time at such venues as the QE2, Margarita’s, and Borders.We talk about political poetry, what the arts community looks like in a post-pandemic world, and how he landed at Lark Hall for his monthly open mic.
THE COMMON MAN
The Common Man
Sits in the workplace
Breaks his back in
The factory & writes
Poetry
On the side
Doesn’t give
Two shits about
What the big wide world
Thinks too busy
To deal with those
Who have superiority
Complexes
Issues
& Destroys them
All with a mere
Sentence
Moves on
Keeps writing
The Common Man
Sees what is & what
Could be
Could’ve been
Celebrates
Life & freedom &
Lives in the moment
Doesn’t have time
To deal with other
Writers writing issues
Theories, speculations
Negativity, anger
And Just writes
Just lives
For himself &
Whoever with his words
Might find
Touch
Don’t like what he says?
Doesn’t matter
To him
He just writes
Just cares about
The voices in his
Head that say
“THIS”
Because he
Knows, realizes
That poetry is
Spiritual poetry is
That which is a part
Of the mystery
Of being human
Without compromise
Without explanation
Because
The Common Man
Or the Common Woman
Has more to say than
Those who cannot perceive
Cannot connect
From all walks of life
From all colors, religions
Places & souls
For these are the real voices
From the real world
In which we live
~ R.M. Engelhardt
©2022
DMITRY WILD AT INVOCATION OF THE MUSE POETRY OPEN MIC
INVOCATION OF THE MUSE:
MONDAY JUNE 6TH With Our Featured Poet
DMITRY WILD ( Of Dmitry Wild & The Spells)
With HOUSES IN MOTION (Beats + Electronics)
ALBANY, NY’s OPEN MIC FOR POETS, WRITERS, POETRY & THE SPOKEN WORD AT LARK HALL!
*Join Us For Our Monthly Open Mic At
LARK HALL 351 Hudson Avenue , Albany NY
*7:30pm Sign Up
8pm StartTime
*$5.00 Donation Requested*
Sponsored By
DEAD MAN’S PRESS INK ALBANY NY
Hosted By R.M. Engelhardt
~ R.M. Engelhardt, The Last Cigarette: The Collected Poems Of R.M. Engelhardt 1989-2006
2001
Words are powerful. Words make a difference. They can create and destroy. They can open doors and close doors. Words can create illusion or magic, love or destruction. … All those things.
INVOCATION:
An appeal made by a poet to a muse or deity for help in composing the poem. The invocation of a muse was a convention in ancient Greek and Latin poetry, especially in the epic; it was followed later by many poets of the Renaissance and neoclassical periods. Usually it is placed at the beginning of the poem, but may also appear in later positions, such as at the start of a new canto. The invocation is one of the conventions ridiculed in mock-epic poems: Byron begins the third Canto (1821) of Don Juan with the exclamation ‘Hail, Muse! et cetera’. In terms of rhetoric, the invocation is a special variety of apostrophe.
THIS NIGHT, INVISIBLE
an
invocation
a
trance
at dusk
the souls
wander in
1 by 1
in a procession
of
tragedy
faith
&
loss
where the clocks
all time
has stopped
and
the dance
begins which
never ends
moves beyond
the flesh
your gods
as
sound –
words –
voices-
writhe-
wound –
annihilate
worship
a once empty
space
a void
S
C
R
E
A
M
M
M
M
M
M
M
I
N
G
maniacally
through the
vast & vaulted
air
as the
music endures
plays
on
where
there is
no kingdom
no glory
no power
false angels
or starflecked demons
the life after
ever after
where
there is only
you & I
in this night
invisible
this night
unseen
and so
in my grief
my sorrow
& as a friend
I invite you
with all love
and all respect
imperfect
and un-true
as always
in whatever mirror
conjured
this night
all beautiful
all living
or dead
you are
desired
you are
loved
without
end
~ R.M. Engelhardt
It’s Arrived.
Now Available on Amazon
2nd Paperback Edition
ATTENTION:
PERFORMANCE RELEASE:
Just received the great news that I will be reading/performing some of the poems from my new book ” We Rise Like Smoke Poems Psalms Incantations” and opening for the band ” THE DUST BOWL FAIRIES” On THURSDAY, AUGUST 19TH 8PM AT THE LINDA WAMC
*Tickets can be purchased thru Eventbrite*
I’m looking forward to seeing all of you there and I hope that you can make it.
DUST BOWL FAERIES is a dark-carnival band from the New York Hudson Valley. Their eclectic repertoire of songs draw inspiration from circus, post-punk and Eastern European folk music. Accordion, singing saw, ukulele, lap-steel, acoustic guitar and percussion combine to create the Dust Bowl Faeries otherworldly sound. The band was founded by Ryder Cooley (faerie queen) and her taxidermy spirit animal Hazel the Ram. Ryder and Hazel are joined by Jon B. Woodin (rocket faerie), Rubi LaRue (feisty faerie), Liz LoGiudice (river faerie) & Andrew Stein (time faerie). Dust Bowl Faeries released a new album, The Plague Garden, in 2020. Previously, they released two EP’s, Beloved Monster and The Dark Ride Mixes, as well as their self titled debut album, produced by music critic Seth Rogovoy, featuring Tommy Stinson (Replacements) & Melora Creager (Rasputina).
http://www.dustbowlfaeries.com
R.M. ENGELHARDT is an American poet, writer & author who over the last 25 years has published several books of poetry including “Where There Is No Vision, Coffee Ass Blues & Other Poems”, “The Last Cigarette: The Collected Poems of R.M. Engelhardt”, “The Resurrection Waltz”, “Dark Lands” and others. Through his ideas and visions he has helped to create a large amount of the Upstate/Albany, NY spoken word~poetry scene and is the former host of the long running “School of Night” An Open Forum-Mic For All Poets. Co-founder of the group Albany Poets and the creator of the annual poetry event The Albany WordFest. He currently lives in Albany, NY.
*His new book of poetry is entitled “We Rise Like Smoke” Poems, Psalms & Incantations 2021 now available on Amazon.com through DeadMansPressInk.
https://www.amazon.com/RISE-LIKE-SMOKE-MYTHOS-R-M-ENGELHARDT/dp/B099BYN9T3