A Good Poem Or Poet …

A good poem or poet
is like a good cigar or a
good whiskey. Everyone
Has their own preferences.

~ R.M. Engelhardt ©2023

On T.S. Elliot & The Death of Poetry. Another Opinion – R.M. Engelhardt

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

On T.S. Elliot & The Death of Poetry.

The Lost Poems From Nod. R.M. Engelhardt 2003

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 ©

Talking Political Writing, Post-Pandemic Arts, and Finding Home with R.M. Engelhardt

*An Interview With Thom Francis of The Hudson Valley Writers Guild.

https://www.mediasanctuary.org/stories/2022/talking-political-writing-post-pandemic-arts-and-finding-home-with-r-m-engelhardt/

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 By R.M. Engelhardt

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

The Common Man

~ R.M. Engelhardt
©2022

Coming In June DMITRY WILD AT INVOCATION OF THE MUSE POETRY OPEN MIC ALBANY

DMITRY WILD AT INVOCATION OF THE MUSE POETRY OPEN MIC

DMITRY WILD AT INVOCATION OF THE MUSE POETRY OPEN MIC AT LARK HALL
Sponsored By Dead Man’s Press Ink Albany NY

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

www.deadmanspressink.com

On Poetry, Witchcraft & Spells

~ 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 …

What Is An Invocation?

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~ A Poem By R.M. Engelhardt

We Rise Like Smoke Poems Psalms Incantations by R.M. Engelhardt

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

Opening For The Dust Bowl Faeries 08.19.21 At The Linda In Albany NY

ATTENTION:
PERFORMANCE RELEASE:

Dust Bowl Faeries

August 19th, 2021 At The WAMC Linda

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).

https://youtu.be/LNJ4hYICrbA

http://www.dustbowlfaeries.com

R.M. Engelhardt
We Rise Like Smoke Poems Psalms Incantations

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.

We Rise Like Smoke Poems Psalms Incantations by R.M. Engelhardt

*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

www.gentlemanoutsider.com