Brothers, today a tip for tackling poetry:

Ignore line breaks
Ignore the capital letters at the beginnings of lines
Read in sentences, not in lines. Emphasize punctuation
Ignore rhymes
Be prepared for long thoughts - ideas that develop over many lines.

Look at this poem by New York School Poet Frank O'Hara entitled "1951":

Alone at night
in the wet city

the country's wit
is not memorable.

The wind has blown
all the trees down

but these anxieties
remain erect, being

the heart's deliberate
chambers of hurt

and fear whether
from a green apartment

seeming diamonds or
from an airliner

seeming fields. It's
not simple or tidy

though in rows of
rows and numbered;

the literal drifts
colorfully and

the hair is combed
with bridges, all

compromises leap
to stardom and lights.

If alone I am
able to love it,

the serious voices,
the panic of jobs,

it is sweet to me.
Far from burgeoning

verdure, the hard way
in this street.

Now do this instead:

Alone at night in the wet city, the country's wit is not memorable. The wind has blown all the trees down, but these anxieties remain erect, being the heart's deliberate chambers of hurt and fear, whether from a green apartment, seeming diamonds or from an airliner, seeming fields. It's not simple or tidy, though, in rows of rows and numbered; the literal drifts colorfully, and the hair is combed with bridges, all compromises leap to stardom and lights. If alone I am able to love it, the serious voices, the panic of jobs, it is sweet to me. Far from burgeoning verdure, the hard way in this street.

Understandably this is still difficult. It's a hard poem. But doesn't taking out the line breaks and adding a couple commas make a huge difference?

Try it yourself with this poem by Robert Frost:

A Late Walk

When I go up through the mowing field,
The headless aftermath,
Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
Half closes the garden path.

And when I come to the garden ground,
The whir of sober birds
Up from the tangle of withered weeds
Is sadder than any words

A tree beside the wall stands bare,
But a leaf that lingered brown,
Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,
Comes softly rattling down.

I end not far from my going forth
By picking the faded blue
Of the last remaining aster flower
To carry again to you.

For tomorrow, brothers, change this into prose and analyze. 50 words.