John Cage famously defined the experimental as “an act the outcome of which is unknown”.

Of course, any half-decent poet knows that true of any poem. Except that there are certain conventional strategies that have always been known to work and will always produced something similar to (but never equivalent to) poetry that has been produced before. This means that you can be comfortably assured that the poem will be recognisable as a poem.

An experimental poem may not look like a poem at all. It may be in prose, or be visual, shaped, concrete or just a series of noises. Or it may look like a poem visually, but be doing odd things to syntax, to logical order, may not make conventional sense.

An experimental poem may be written using chance or aleatory processes without any attempt to put it in a logical order.

It may be confrontational; but that isn't always the case, and isn't always the purpose even if it seems to be. Dadaists and surrealists all wrote to confront; but many poets are just exploring ideas and techniques for themselves, to see what happens.

"Experimental" isn't always a good word to use for it, hence people use words/phrases such as "innovative", avant garde, linguistically innovative, modernist, post-avant etc...

A "failed experiment" is merely a bad poem. As is a "failed sonnet". It probably wouldn't get out of a decent poet's notebook; and if it, it wouldn't last long.

There are many experimental poetries, not just one; which is why "I read an experimental poem once..." isn't an excuse for not engaging with it.

It's as elitist to like experimental as it to prefer the Fall to One Direction. That is, it's a matter of personal choice, and while Fall fans probably look down on One Direction fans, merely prefering one thing to another isn't elitist.

Nevertheless, experimental poetry is of course superior to every other poetry... (joke!)

Good on ya Steven. So it's not that 'experimenters' lack the skill to write proper poetry then? ;) (joke)

Now for some examples of written experimental poetry please - some good experiments, which would be subjective of course. And I'm lazy and time pressured - so some direct links would be great :)

Hi Steven,

Thanks for posting this. I have a couple of questions - if that's OK?

"An experimental poem may not look like a poem at all. It may be in prose, or be visual, shaped, concrete or just a series of noises. Or it may look like a poem visually, but be doing odd things to syntax, to logical order, may not make conventional sense."

So what makes it a poem?

"A "failed experiment" is merely a bad poem. As is a "failed sonnet". It probably wouldn't get out of a decent poet's notebook; and if it, it wouldn't last long."

How (or indeed who) decides whether it is a success or failure?

"So what makes it a poem?"

The poet says it is.

"How (or indeed who) decides whether it is a success or failure?"

Who decides whether a poem is a success or failure anyway? Firstly, the writer: who presumably will or will not send it out for public consumption. If I write a bad poem, I just leave it in the file.

Then there's the reader who may or may not like the poem. Both these are very subjective, though we all have our own standards as to what is a "good" poem, both as readers and writers.

The problem is that what you like I might not like; and popularity is no guarantee of quality. Justin Beiber is popular; Leonard Cohen is a better songwriter.

To a certain extent, I think we have to get beyond 'success' of 'failure'. If a poem works for you, it's a success for you; but it might not be a success for me.

I've deliberately left out 'posterity' as a guage too, because things do get lost for all kinds of reasons. I've also left out 'critical reception' because, as Frank O'Hara says, critics are 'the assassins of our orchard.

Anyway, tomorrow I hope to post an example of an 'experimental poem' from the past.

I had to come back to this Steven, especially as your "bait" was so obvious!

"So what makes it a poem?"

The poet says it is.

So, from this blanket and unsupported statement we are to believe that anything - be it object or script, becomes poetry at the creater's assertion? Therefore ANYTHING can be called poetry and should be accepted as such, merely because the "artist" states that this is the case.

I admit, quite freely here, that half-way through composing this response I hade to take what is politely referred to these days as a "comfort break." I shall now, as your assertion rightly entitles me to do, label that sequence of sounds (the raising/lowering of the seat (yes I do lower the seat - for I am a gentleman!)the unzipping and re-zipping, the carefully aimed gentle splashing sounds and the mandatory washing of hands) as poetry - and no one may dare to gainsay that it isn't.

You have often referred to the belief that popularity is no gauge of quality; an idea with which I have some sympathy. I would state that for many people the "idea" of being a poet may also be seen as quite a popular attribute - not that I would label myself as such; that accolade, for me, is one that by default lies in the gift of the reader.

If all those wannabee poets out there are asserting that everything they write/create/do is poetry what does that then say for the overall quality of poetry?

It reminds me of the old joke:

A man goes into a cake shop and asks for a slice of "gattux."
"Don't you mean gateaux sir?" the assistant enquired.
"Very well," the man responded "How much is your "gateaux?"
"Five pounds a slice sir." she replied.
"Well bolleaux to that then!"

I make poetry every second of every day : )

Point well made, Anthony.

Do you have a medical condition Francine?

Very funny! (made me laugh)
You know quite well I was referring to 'everything they write/create/do is poetry' !!!!!

I have just tried an experiment.
I have read some of these posts backwards....interesting, some sound like Yoda.

Anthony - if you want to call your peeing a poem that's fine by me. You can also call it music or sound art if you want. At least one artist has already boxed up his faeces and called it art (it's in the Tate collection.)