There is a thread of the rustic in much poetry-- possibly in too much poetry. As Spinks calls it, poetry of "brooks, brambles, and fields."
|photo by GL|
But not Cleveland poetry. Cleveland poetry tends more to be the poetry of the city, a poetry of cracked asphalt and battered garbage dumpsters and smoking a cigarette in the cold rain outside a bar in Ohio City, not rhapsodizing over a field of daisies.
Tom Chivers-- a London poet-- says
“The city resists nostalgic forms of poetry that have been handed down to us in various traditions. There is this energy and aggression and speed in a city that lends itself to poetry. We are surrounded by language, whether it’s place names, digital signs, advertising hoardings or the voices of market traders – it’s everywhere. Cities are built with language.”
--(and, on the subject of cities, check out the latest issue of The City Poetry.)