Often we think of poetry as focused on expressing the emotions and experiences of our individual lives, immediately, intensely, distilled to the essence of the experience we recall. Poetry can do that. But it can do other things as well.
Lately I have been thinking about genre fiction. You know, those persistent subcategories of fiction, each with its loyal following: romance, science fiction, fantasy, horror, mystery, thriller… There’s more, and subdivisions of each as well.
We tend to categorize Poetry by form (sonnet, sestinata, blank verse, etc.), by period (Romantic, Post-Modern, etc.), or by Poet’s origin (American poetry, German poetry, Japanese poetry). Sometimes by poet’s gender. Occasionally we subdivide further by subject or other categorization element (love poems, elegies), but those tend to be opportunistic groupings that depend on the subject at hand.
We tend not to focus on the general subject matter as a defining or categorizing force. But maybe we would use genres if we could imagine how they would work. Simplify them enough. The fiction genres are a good start. The implication is that one can write science fiction poems. Do you agree?
I say it can be done. Remember Dante, writing his tour guide to the circles of hell, was effectively writing an early version of epic fantasy. There is plenty of precedent for genre poetry.
More importantly, great poetry often contrasts the what-if with the what-is, what-was, or what-will-be. Science fiction fits right into the what-if. Science is changing our world so rapidly, we can’t help asking what this implies for the future. It’s happening everywhere you look.
Here’s an example. You might have seen some news articles regarding the networking of rats. Meaning, a rat on one continent was networked to a rat on another continent. Implants in each communicated via satellite. Rat One and Rat Two were more like one mind than two. Now play that forward. The mechanism required for linking might be different, the rats might be people, the distances might be much further. In response to this idea, here’s my poem:
***
After My Brain Was Yoked
to the collective, everyone out there
got a good look
at everything back here.
On-line all the time.
My hopes, my skin, more,
bare for so many. Who knew
one rat networked to another
would grow a galactic web?
I replay memories I’m not sure
are mine. Skyscrapers, rottweilers,
a park I’ve never visited,
a meatloaf I made & ate last night.
Or remembered eating.
All so those who brave the long stasis
homesick might find recourse.
I didn’t realize I’d receive. Always
behind my eyes now, that too-yellow light.
In my throat, what they call
potatoes, like mush. They feed back
we miss you, and apples, and please
tune to news of Jo’burg or Houston.
Desires I didn’t expect
rest in my heart like my own.
Coffee, they suggest. Chicory.
Wander by the cathedral windows.
For us. Stroll riverside.
Herons still fish, we hope.
The fainter it all grows, the fonder.
Had we known you before,
we’d miss you even more.
***
So there you have it: a self-proclaimed science fiction poem. Do you agree Poetry can make effective use of the traditional genres? Or not? Is this a good example or does it fall short of science fiction?
As always, all comments are welcome. I’m traveling the next couple of days on business, so while I want to respond to any comments, it may take a little longer than usual.