Before the bananas ripe

let's meet at least once

lest the fog dampen passion

let's water our love

the sun is bright this morning 

and night's promising

let's meet and unfreeze winter

of years, drink some wine

restore warmth of faith and hope

and heal the breaches

without black goggles for seeing

let's  meet at least once

From: YOU CAN'T SCENT ME AND OTHER SELECTED POEMS, 2016

If we are going to understand what contemporary poetry is, we need to clearly define our terms and understand what we mean by them. In searching this out, I found one reference that put it quite well:

By definition of its namesake, contemporary poetry is considered poetry written within our lifetime, and includes poems written approximately from the mid-20th century to the present day. The various types of contemporary poetry do not differ so much from each other as they do from poetry of past eras, such as traditional poetry. Contemporary poems often share similar themes and writing styles.

                           ~~ Alicia Sparks, ©2016 Conjecture Corporation, wisegeek.com

So contemporary poetry is not a “school of poetry” or a “poetic movement” per se, like Modernism and Imagism would be, but it is more in reference to a time period and the consistent characteristics found in significant portions of the larger body of poetic work from that time period or era.

Thus, when we use the term “contemporary poetry” we are referring to poetry written in our lifetime. For most of us, that would be poetry written from the 1950s to the present. It does not necessarily mean the poet is still alive, just that they wrote some poetry in that time frame.

Taken together then, when we use the term contemporary poetry we are referring to common qualities and characteristics exhibited by a significant portion of the larger body of poetic work written in our lifetime.

Some of the confusion over the use of this term may have originated in the Modernist movement when T.S. Eliot wrote about the contemporary poetry of his day, which came to be known as Modern poetry, and so to this day, many universities offer courses in “Modern and Contemporary Poetry” which only serves to further blur the more precise understanding of what these terms mean.

The contemporary poetry of T.S. Eliot differs from the contemporary poetry of our day, though there is some overlap. However, the contemporary poetry of Shakespeare’s day vastly differs from that of our day.

Contemporary poetry is difficult to define because it is constantly modified by what is currently being written. So then, what are the qualities and characteristics of a significant portion of the contemporary works in the larger body of poetry being written today?

There are some definite fundamental characteristics of recent contemporary poetry that we can identify that distinguishes it from other poetry.

Contemporary poetry...

...is most often written in unrhymed or sparsely rhymed free verse.

...features lines that follow the natural rhythms of language rather than strict metric / accent patterns.

...is written in language that is accessible to the common reader.

...suggests ideas rather than blatantly stating them.

...is usually brief in form and style, especially in comparison to traditional poetry.

...is grounded in vivid imagery.

...invites the reader to see and experience the content the poem for themselves as opposed to telling them exactly what it is saying.

So now, when someone talks about contemporary poetry, you’ll have a better idea what they mean. ■

This article appears in the book, Dropping Ants into Poems. For a free sample of the book, click on the title.

One man in a thousand, Solomon says,

Will stick more close than a brother.

And it's worth while seeking him half your days

If you find him before the other.

Nine hundred and ninety-nine depend

On what the world sees in you,

But the Thousandth man will stand your friend

With the whole round world agin you.

Rudyard Kipling must have been speaking about people like my dear friend Barry. Kipling would have wanted Barry for a friend, no doubt about it. Barry was with me during some of the darkest days of my life. In the 40 years I knew him, I cannot once remember him complaining about the quick thrusts with a knife that life sunk into him. I don’t remember him assigning blame to anyone when his car was vandalized and set on fire. The same car he had saved for with his meager earnings for five years. Nor did he complain when the insurance company gave him only half what the car was worth in settlement. You see, Barry was one of those types of people you could easily run over and he wouldn’t complain. He just wasn’t the type of person who was confrontational. Was he a coward? No, I don’t see him that way. Nor should you. Barry was just a humble, gentle soul who never wanted any trouble. But, trouble always found him, no mater how much he tried to avoid it. He went through hell on this earth due to people seeing him as being “weak.” It wasn’t that Barry was “weak”. It wasn’t that Barry was of low character. It was just he basically had little or no confidence in himself for a variety of reasons.

Every time I ever saw Barry, he was always either broke or living day to day on whatever money he happened to earn at whatever odd job he worked at that day. He refused to take any money from me. That would infuriate me more than I could say. I could never get Barry to further his education when we were younger. It wasn’t that he was a poor student. Barry made better grades than I did in school. I remember how envious I was of him because he would make straight A’s with little or no study. I had to hit the books three or four hours a night just to get a B, if I was lucky. No, it had nothing to do with intelligence. It had to do, once again, with confidence. He totally lacked it. I told him this to his face many times and he agreed. I tried to get him to get counseling. But, I knew he would never acquiesce to this idea. He would have to face up to his failings in life. That is something my old friend could never do. I loved him like a brother. But, he made me so damn angry sometimes by his refusal to get help. And he needed help. God he needed help on so many levels. You see, confidence wasn’t Barry’s only problem. Alcohol and drugs were also a menace to him throughout his life.

I felt responsible for some of Barry’s problems. I talked Barry into joining the U.S. Navy with me back in May of 1970. We went on the “buddy plan” together. This meant we would both go to boot camp together and would be in the same company for training. Barry’s mother told him this was a mistake and that he should just go to college. In retrospect, Barry’s mother was right about that one. She knew what Barry was all about. I thought the only chance Barry had to grow and prosper as a fully functioning adult would be to get completely away from her. I was wrong and I have regretted it for many years. Barry didn’t last four weeks in the twelve week boot camp back in those days. He just couldn’t do all the basics expected of him. To be brutally honest, Barry couldn’t do anything right in boot camp. I tried to help him. But, I couldn’t do everything for him. He was chewed out over and over by his squad leader. Damn it, it wasn’t his fault and I tried to explain that to my company commander. I practically begged him to give Barry more time. But, he would not. Barry was given a medical discharge and sent home. He was devastated. And so was I.

Barry could have blamed me for pushing him into something he knew he wasn’t able to do. But, he never uttered a word about it to me. Even after I came home from ‘Nam, Barry was among the first to greet me and shake my hand. He told me how proud he was of me. But, I wasn’t proud of myself. I still am not. Barry always seemed to want to push me to the forefront of attention and make self-depreciating jokes about himself. That always made me uncomfortable. Barry was just always so down on himself. I could not reach him to drag him back up. He just preferred to always be in the background.

There wasn’t anything Barry would not do for you. I don’t mean just friends. I mean from the homeless man in the street to a bank president. Barry didn’t have a mean bone in his body. He never thought about himself. Barry always was thinking about others. In fact, the only time I saw him actually get angry, I mean sure fire bonifide angry was when I told him I slept a couple of nights in my truck after my divorce. He got mad at me for not letting him know I needed a place (although I had family begging me to stay with them). I just looked at him in shock…and smiled. Poor guy, he didn’t have much of anything. It was like that his entire life. But, he had a kind heart and gentle soul about him that few could ever match. And that proved to be his undoing in the world so many times. People would take advantage of his trusting nature. Barry always wanted to believe there was good in everybody. I am completely different.

I remarked to him sometimes how did we ever become friends being so different? Barry would always say, “Because you need Kiplings Thousandth Man.” I didn’t know what he meant the first time he said that to me. Hell, the first time he said it to me; I didn’t even know who Rudyard Kipling was. But, as the years rolled by and Barry was always there for me, I understood. I understood what it meant when it didn’t look like I was going to make it from a collapsed lung and internal bleeding from several broken ribs I suffered in an auto accident. In fact, the doctor told my family it didn’t look good for me. Barry immediately left that scene and came to my bedside ignoring the nurse that said he couldn’t be in there. Barry told her, “I’m his Thousandth Man. I have to be here.” She didn’t know what he meant. But, Kipling would have. Kipling would have understood. I already miss my old friend. I’m reminded of a line from “Shawshank Redemption” when Red said, “Still, the place you live in is that much more drab and empty that they're gone. I guess I just miss my friend.” I do too, Red, I do too.

We buried that kind, gentle soul today. It’s hard to believe that someone can be alive and then be buried just two days later. But, it has happened. I’m still in shock over it. I knew he had heart trouble. But, he told me himself just last week he was doing well and was starting back on his treadmill. I found out today he just told me that so I wouldn’t worry about him. That was so “Barry-like.” This loss…it seems to go through the heart and just penetrate your soul. It feels like when your leg goes to sleep and you stand up to get the blood circulating. Those little needle pricks you feel, in that situation, is what I feel in my heart of hearts today. I have seen too many friends and family die over the years. But, the loss of Barry hurts just as much or more. He was more than a friend. He was more than a brother. He was more than that big friendly guy who was always willing to help you and want nothing in return. He was more than that gentle soul that people would continually hurt. He was much more than all these things. I know now what he was and always has been. He is exactly what he claimed to be. Barry was the Thousandth Man.

His wrong's your wrong, and his right's your right,

In season or out of season.

Stand up and back it in all men's sight --

With that for your only reason!

Nine hundred and ninety-nine can't bide

The shame or mocking or laughter,

But the Thousandth Man will stand by your side

To the gallows-foot -- and after.