Jip, die volgende struktuur sal die Prosagedigstruktuur wees. Terwyl ek werk daaraan, los ek hierdie gedig wat ek op die internet raakgeloop het hier vir julle om solank aan te kou.
Brooke Horvath
Definition
A prose poem should be square as a Picasso pear, or paragraphed like that same pear halved, then halved and halved again — free as air, palpable as an air crash and as final, yet somehow not all there.
A prose poem should be neither short nor long and somewhere between a snort and song. It should be dense and chaotic as a World Series crowd, yet open and orderly as the game being watched. It should be loud as the nameless lost are loud, quiet as a mugger in moonlight, magical as the maniac's ghostly knife, mundane as the victim when finally found. A prose poem should be shocking as the unspeakable when spoken is shocking — and as familiar.
Its feet all thumbs but with every line justified, marginal because it knows where the margins are, intimate with disinheritance, the prose poem's job is to follow its nose, accepting all comers, admitting defeat.
The porcine prose poem speaks: "waste not, want not" and "learn to live on garbage and in mud" it tells us straightforwardly when it stops you in a crooked street to hand you a slippery pearl, a bitter sweet.
In Streetcar Named Desire, the prose poem plays Stella. And BIanche. And Stanley. In My Fair Lady, Eliza Doolittle: make of me what you will, it says; make me and I'll make you, it thinks.
For all its history and intellect, a few dirty secrets and neglect. For love, the French.
Not equal to or better than or worse; neither prose nor verse; perhaps not for you or me.
The prose poem should not be defined but let be.
