Jacke Wilson

Some thoughts on the Terrible Poem Breakdown series, which continues to be one of our more popular sets of posts here on the blog.

Even though I try to make it clear that the poets have expressly consented, it seems I risk being viewed as too negative. Readers, I get it: poets deserve our empathy, not our scorn. I’m not here trying to tear anyone down! I believe the impulse to write poems – even terrible ones – is a praiseworthy endeavour.

In our last installment, which was a poem about fatherhood, I had some special empathy. I’m a father myself and know whereof the poet speaks. I spoke of sentiment. I may have used the word “goopiness.” I stand by my critique.

And for anyone who objects that either a) I was too harsh on poets for writing about Death, and b) I was not sufficiently sensitive to the idea of a father’s epiphany about parenting, let me just point out that this was essentially a poem in which a father celebrates as a sign of growth his child’s realization that we will all die.

The critic rests his case.