The Aesthetics Of Anger… Poem

The Aesthetics Of Anger

When said the moon to the stars in the sky
A small boy was born upon the day his mother died
Upon his 30th day did also rise
An only son in September.

And when he was young and death did follow
Him like a bird and left him hollow
At five & twelve & 13 lives
A trail of tears & unspoken goodbyes
That made him all like quiet

And dead to him-self, inside.

The solitary boy who learned to read big books
Who found all the poets, verses & hooks
And who lived in a mind of his own.

And the boy got in trouble, the boy he got in fights
Stood up for the weak ones
And blackened bullies eyes, broke their noses
And bloodied their tries at being the toughest kid
And he never, lost a fight.

But it was’nt out of cause that the boy became bad
And it was’nt cause he had ever had
A reason to ever hurt anyone else
At all.

It was just all because of the matter, and
The Aesthetics Of Anger

And the will to hurt all
Those who hurt others, and deserved it as well,
To kill, hurt and keep the inevitable its self,
The oncoming years from coming
To destroy that which one cannot see
Something that comes to both you & me unceasing.

Stealing his love, and stealing his friends
One day, at a time.

And many years passed
And many things changed
Many lives left
And many hearts came
And softly entered into
The procession of his life

And the boy, now a man finally
Figured out what he was
And was finally meant to be,

Not a doctor or a wraith
Or a quiet man of hate, the shaman or a slave to all those
Who want power over the masses or to be the best

For he was only born to be
hardcore troubadour, a poet
And a man of words incarnate
Using his voice, and words as weapons
To fight & to defeat
All those who would try to
Kill the spirit that dwells within

With versus
And sarcasm
Truth & history
New images & myths

And that’s why he was born.

To be the hand up Mona Lisa’s dress,
To be the heart within your chest
The voice that beats and holds you close
And says the things you want the most
That you can’t say yourself.

To become the dark
And become the light
Tween’ both worlds
He’s traveled this night
And wrote & brought back
Something that
Another never could

For you see? It’s not his fault,

For it was just all because of the matter, and
The Aesthetics Of Anger

That you & the forces that be
Created themselves

The words, now his weapons

And the boy has been beaten, bloodied,
Stabbed &
Knocked down

But has never lost a fight yet,

And never “Will”

The Aesthetics Of Anger... Poem

____________

R.M. Engelhardt  2011

A Review Of “Versus” By R.M. Engelhardt

“Versus” by R.M. Engelhardt

"Versus" ~Poems By R.M. Engelhardt 2010

Friday, June 25th, 2010~

Reviewed By Lynn Alexander * Full Of Crow

“Versus”, R.M. Engelhardt

Pushing verses

Past their limits

R.M. Engelhardt acknowledges that there is a difference between the passive participant and those who live a passion-driven life, but can often be seen in “Versus” wondering if there is a difference in the end. Passion clearly perpetuates the creative  imperative, manifest in poets like Engelhardt as non-negotiable, but to what end? There comes a time in the life of the poet where this question has to be dealt with. It is one thing to accept the terms of “the muse”. It is another to toil in the direction of some outcome, some goal. What, beyond that yielding and succumbing, is the poet desirous of? Fame, significance, appreciation, relevance? 

The poet succumbs because he or she must, but it doesn’t end there. The poet is driven to more just as the living are driven to interact in this world beyond survival. We do more than eat and breed and sleep, there is something that pushes us. But why?

In the years that I have been aware of Engelhardt’s work, it is this willingness to examine these concerns head on and in a surprisingly candid manner that I think captures my interest the most in his work, which often gets into the problematic terrain of ego, and the ways that we relate to one another through not only our life’s work but through love and community. He states rather directly in “Versus” that poetry is dead, he comments on the state of popular culture and asks the obvious questions about the poet’s role in it. Why bother, and why persist?

Persistence, I think, is the theme in Engelhardt’s work that prompts people to characterize him as “romantic” as many of the poems convey a sense of pining, portraying people desirous not only of love but of transcendent relationships. “She believes in something unseen”, (8, “Perhaps”) “I’m just sick of passing romances”. (“In Cleopatra’s Eyes”, 9)

In ‘Versus”, we see that relationship between the speakers and both issues: wanting to do more than write, wanting to do have more than a date on a Saturday night. (“toys”, 6, “More than just another dance”, 2) This idea of wanting more, wanting to believe in and have faith in that but at the same time considering one’s observations and wanting to be rational.

Persistence then is challenged by cynicism, both inner and external:

“The time for poets has passed”

“And someone once told me that honest people don’t exist anymore in the 21st century”

“And someone once told me ‘That love…is dead.”

Do we persist, press on anyway? In “Naïve”,  Engelhardt describes the urge to avoid the trainwreck. In “Truth” we see people opening boxes, digging through metaphorical “boxes” of expectations mingled with mythology. What happens when people confront truth? Some thrive, some perish, some vanish immediately in the sight of their realizations. This brings us back, again and again, to the questions in “Versus”. What are we after? And can we get there?

‘We all grow older/Still trying to find our way/Like children” (“Any Day Now”, 11)

Many poets grapple with a maturing phase not unlike the point around mid-life when one begins to really take stock about where to put energy, what to be concerned with and what to let go of. Some describe it much like finding their way, having gone through what some describe as a period similar to the honeymoon phase of a relationship. There are burdens in the poet’s world, choices about resources and time and energy and in the beginning there can be a sense of eventual payoff that in later years we learn can be quite elusive. There’s no denying that Engelhardt has love for the craft, but he pushes us to consider what that means, and to perhaps distinguish between the love of writing and the expectations. In some instances, the object of love can be easily interchangeable with “the muse” as both are subjects in these poems of that transcendent longing. The love that leaves for the man who promises everything, the “angel” who vanishes, the losses are connected: the poet wants to believe in more, wants to have faith in more, but life can be a series of losses, followed by grief.

Engelhardt closes “Versus” with a shout-out to those who persist, who don’t give up, who keep searching and don’t give in, who stay true to the realm of dreams.

A Review Of “Versus” By R.M. Engelhardt

A 21st Century Dirge For America

A TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY 

DIRGE FOR AMERICA
"Don't Tread On Me"


Another dead song for a dead man

A dead art in no man’s land.

“CENSORED”


For Being REAL
As they stop the world,
Judge and destroyall that which theycannot make
Or see.   

FOR WE THE PEOPLE BELIEVE IN


Anarchy Archery Douche-Beggary38 Flavors & Fifty Stars Officially
And nothing more.
For to say the least  it’s yourApathy Banality AbsolutelyAn Analogy, Abruptly. America SoBlow MeFrom Sea to Shining Sea &Lovingly Bitterly Swallow Me

In Poverty


“Amen”


Or ? You can Literally Be, Continue In The Middle OrSee-Dream OfVespucci, Liberty With SymmetrySynchronicity or Being

True.


So Are We Truly  Free? 
Re-discovered or The Undiscovered CountryLand Of The BraveThat Has Never Truly Ever Seen


DEATH.


“Up-Close” 


So America I ask you beg you Please;

To 
Tax Me Take Me Fuck Me Love Me And Then Silently Leave Me
In The Dark.
But Please,Don’t Use Me, Tread On MeAbuse Me or Ever Break My Heart
“Again”
For NowLady Liberty is walking the streets & Looking To Make A Buck, & Is   Saying  “Heeeeeeeyyyy Chhhhiiiinnnna”
How Are You?
While, like an angry lover, Jealous, she watches your 
EVERY 
“Move”
And Domestically, MajesticallyAnd Carefully
She says ever so softly; PAY UP.
So,
Democrat Republican Soccer Mom White or BlackWelcome to the Homeland The Tea Party & The Land Of The Numb


WHERE WE THE PEOPLE, ONCE BELIEVED


Once …

BELIEVED
In This, This World 


 IN FREEDOM

And Not Merely
The Dead Sound, Dull Thud Of It,As It’s Soul Is Bleeding Out.

(Don’t Tread On Me)


________________


R.M. ENGELHARDT 2011

_________________





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