Dan Beachy-Quick's Poetry Off the Shelf Podcast: On Memory, Originality, and Influence

          Poetry Off the Shelf had an interesting podcast the other week. Host Curtis Fox interviewed poet Dan Beachy-Quick about his proclivity for memorizing poems he admires. This topic alone is one I find intriguing. These days, I’m not aware of much poetry memorization that goes on outside of a classroom setting, and the podcast mentions a trend that I’ve also noticed and found interesting – how the process of memorization in general has gotten pushed to the margins in the age when so much information is easily accessible via the Internet. Thus just to hear a major contemporary poet speaking of his habit of memorizing poetry is reason enough to check out this podcast.

          But what really interested me most was when Beachy-Quick describes the reasons why he memorized poems. He describes a process of assimilation that takes place during the procedure, through which by setting the poems to memory, they become a part of him (hence the title of the podcast installment – “Inscribe the poem on yourself”). He likes having every little bit of these memorized poems incorporated inside him so that whenever he feels he needs some bit of the language or sentiment, it’s readily accessible. (Listen to the podcast and you’ll hear that Beachy-Quick does a much better job describing this process; my paraphrase is butchering it here.)

          One tangent my thoughts took after hearing this podcast was to musing about Harold Bloom’s influential and well-known 1973 poetic theory work, The Anxiety of Influence, one of the few theory works I actually remember by name. Before proceeding, be forewarned that I’ve never actually read the work in its entirety and only know the basic gist of it. But from what I understand, Bloom’s premise is that poets are inevitably influenced by the writings of their predecessors. Since their work is consequently derivative, the originality of their poetic visions are automatically compromised. Only the strongest poetic voices of each generation is able to survive and demonstrate a truly original poetic vision, and the rest becomes merely white noise. It’s an interesting theory, and the logic behind it does make some sense. I feel at some point in my life I’ll need to read Bloom’s book fully to learn the details and see to what extent I agree with him. . .

          At any rate, you can probably see now where I’m going with this. I think it’s interesting to compare Bloom’s theory side-by-side with Beachy-Quick’s comments. No matter how you feel about Bloom’s critical thoughts, most of us would probably think it’s safe to say that poets as a whole prefer to focus on their originality more than anything else. Thus, it’s refreshing to hear about a major poet speaking of willingly incorporating others’ works so thoroughly into his psyche, where he may, on occasion, pick up little snippets of influence to work into his own verse either intentionally or unintentionally.

          Of course, based on the few poems I’ve read by Beachy-Quick, it seems clear he’s a confident and original poet whose work does not, to my eye, risk falling headfirst into derivative imitations. Maybe it’s this confidence that allows him to so fully incorporate the thoughts of others into his subconscious without subsequent anxiety as to their influence encroaching upon his own originality. However, I prefer to think that he welcomes whatever influence may come. After all, poetry in many ways is an ongoing conversation, and if it is not building upon the past, then there is only so far originality can take us.

          Well, yet again, here’s another random post that doesn’t really bring us to anywhere in particular, but which nonetheless contains a few interesting thoughts that have popped into my head. I’d be interested to hear somebody else’s thoughts on the topic.

Finally, a brief side note to anyone in the area – Dan Beachy-Quick is scheduled to give a reading in Alabama this upcoming spring (in Tuscaloosa on April 5). I’m hoping I’ll be able to see it – we only have a few readings of that stature that take place in the area each year, so you have to take advantage when you can.

Grappling with Dylan Thomas

          You may have started to pick up on it in my post a couple weeks ago, but I was not overly enthusiastic about Dylan Thomas at the time. I’ve actually had this volume of his poems (New Directions' Collected Poems 1934-1952) for about 15 years or so, and I’ve tried a couple of times in the past to read it only to put it down after a few poems in frustration. I decided a few months ago to try again, and knowing what to expect this time, I was determined not to permit the unfinished book to continue hanging over my head like the sword of Damocles (as you can tell from the analogy, leaving books unfinished does not sit well with me). I’m happy to say I made it all the way through this time. I can also say that, as with most things, a little more familiarity did breed a fair bit more appreciation of the poems. And while I still can’t quite call myself a Dylan Thomas fan, I have at least come to the point where I can admit a grudging admiration for the man.

          A good portion of my way through the book, I actually decided to look up a little information about Thomas. Typically, I avoid doing this, preferring to let my first reading remain as unbiased by outside sources as possible, but I couldn’t help myself in this case. I consider myself a fairly good reader of poetry, and the frustration I felt reading Thomas was beginning to wear on me. Luckily, it didn’t take long for me to realize such a reaction is by no means uncommon. In fact, I ran across Elder Olson’s 1954 review of the Collected Poems (originally published in Poetry), which opens, “There is some evidence that even well-equipped readers have found the poetry of Dylan Thomas difficult; and one would be surprised, considering the nature of his work, if the case were otherwise.” Olson then spends the remainder of the lengthy opening paragraph explaining some of the various reasons for this difficulty. Suitably relieved to find it wasn’t just me, I toughed it through the remainder of the volume.

          The consensus on Thomas’s poetry more or less tends to be that it’s full of powerful, unique language that can captivate the reader, even while some of its exact meaning remains clouded beneath surreal and fantastic imagery. I tend to agree with this assessment. In fact, it seems Thomas wishes more to engage with the reader on an emotional level and is not overly concerned about his poems’ literal interpretation. When Thomas’s confident voice and striking imagery and rhythm all work together, the result is some fantastic poetry, as in one of my favorites, “All all and all the dry world’s lever,” which opens:

                   All all and all the dry world’s lever,

                   Stage of the ice, the solid ocean,

                   All from the oil, the pound of lava.

                   City of spring, the governed flower,

                   Turns in the earth that turns the ashen

                   Towns around on a wheel of fire.

                   How now my flesh, my naked fellow,

                   Dug of the sea, the glanded morrow,

                   Worm in the scalp, the staked and fallow.

                   All all and all, the corpse’s lover,

                   Skinny as sin, the foaming marrow,

                   All of the flesh, the dry world’s lever.

It’s moments like these I really enjoy in Thomas. There’s a vitality and originality to the language and imagery that sticks to you. Even if you have trouble getting your exact bearings at any one point in this poem, the piling on of images in this section and the ones that follow make it clear Thomas is describing the simultaneous fruitless and regenerative processes of the mortal world.

          Unfortunately, for every poem I found like this, I also would find one along these lines:

                   And from the windy West came two-gunned Gabriel,

                   From Jesu’s sleeve trumped up the king of spots,

                   The sheath-decked jacks, queen with a shuffled heart;

                   Said the fake gentleman in suit of spades,

                   Black-tongued and tipsy from salvation’s bottle.

                   Rose my Byzantine Adam in the night.

                   For loss of blood I fell on Ishmael’s plain,

                   Under the milky mushrooms slew my hunger,

                   A climbing sea from Asia had me down

                   And Jonah’s Moby snatched me by the hair,

                   Cross-stroked salt Adam to the frozen angel

                   Pin-legged on pole-hills with a black medusa

                   By waste seas where the white bear quoted Virgil

                   And sirens singing from our lady’s sea-straw.

This is a sonnet from the sequence “Altarwise by owl-light,” an often-discussed Thomas piece that has to deal with religious experience. I found it frustrating, as was often the case in this book.

          As I typically do when encountering a difficult poem, I relied on subsequent close readings of this and other poems like it to try and open the door to Thomas. Sometimes these subsequent readings led to epiphanies, but often they didn’t, and that is where my main frustration with Thomas stemmed from. I enjoy challenging poets, but when their works are too obscure for me to confidently form any sort of interpretation, I get annoyed. At this point of opaqueness, the verse becomes less a mystery to be unlocked and more an intellectual puzzle to be solved. As a result, I find the lyrical rewards of the verse are greatly diluted – one is too distracted by the challenges of meaning to focus on anything else.

          But again, when Thomas hits the right balance and has everything working – music, imagery, originality – he is quite a poet, particularly when he doesn’t go over the deep end of obscurity. He does so in poems like the aforementioned “All all and all the dry world’s lever,” as well as others like “A saint about to fall,” “We lying by seasand,” and “Into her Lying Down Head.” It’s the promise I see in poems like these that I think frustrates me that he can’t demonstrate it more consistently throughout his work.

          All the same, I have to admit I’ve come a long way with Dylan Thomas. As I was nearing the end of the volume, I originally thought I would probably just pass it along to charity or something when I was done. But I have to admit, there’s a haunting quality about Thomas’s verse, and it really sticks with you. Now I don’t think I’m quite done with Thomas after all. I think I’m going to hang on to the book for a while and maybe one day revisit it. There may be some poems I skip the second time round, but the fact that I’m willing to give it another shot at all is a sign of how things have changed.

5 reasons I'm not buying an e-reader just yet

          OK, it’s not exactly a topic about poetry, but since I’ve written some in my short time here on technology and its effect on the written word, I thought it would still be relevant.

          We’ve come now to a time where more and more of the stalwarts who once stood beside me by the gates of the city have fallen to the onslaught of the new promising technology offered by readers such as Nooks and Kindles. They’ve stepped out of the line, deciding to forego their substantial tomes for lightweight, elegant handheld devices. Still standing guard, but now with only a few in front and around me, I can clearly see the flashing lights and sensuous functionality that tempted away so many a brave warrior. I waver. . .

          But I stand firm. Here, in the end, after some contemplation, is why I decided against jumping on the e-reader bandwagon just yet:

1. I still love books. It’s one of the arguments made most strongly by those not yet willing to make the jump to e-readers, but oddly, it’s probably the argument most difficult for them to defend. But yet, there is something to it.

Yes, I know that it’s what’s written inside a book that matters and that that part will stay the same regardless, but still. . . I’ve devoted a large part of my life to books and I’m just not quite ready to make the jump. Plus, without books, scenes like those displayed here – bookshelfporn.com – just wouldn’t be possible.

2. I’m a late adopter when it comes to technology. Particularly considering the speed with which it changes nowadays, I prefer to wait it out on the sidelines a bit to see where the dust settles. I’m also not one who burns through different models or versions of the same technology – so once I finally get something, I plan on sticking with it for a while.

I was tempted to get an e-reader this year because it seemed like maybe it had come to a temporary stopping point where I was comfortable – i.e., it had made great jumps in the technology and the price had come down considerably. However, it seems like many more things might still occur in the next couple of years. For example, the lighting on the color readers might improve, making a purchase of a color reader possible without the annoying glare. Perhaps more importantly, I see the line between reader and tablet continuing to blur, so that in a short time one might get much more functionality out of a very basic reader (capability for email, apps, etc.) than one does today.

3. Hmmmm. . . I can think of no other way to put this one.

In my own personal circle, the few people I know who own e-readers at this time are not the ones I’d most like to emulate. In fact, they can be kind of annoying. I actually know very few very dedicated readers who own e-readers at this point. Most of the people I know who own them are actually more casual readers who are interested in technology. Once that dynamic starts to shift, I think peer opinion might bear more weight with me than it does now. Of course, I think this has much more to do with my limited sample than anything else, but still, it does have some bearing in my own personal decision.

4. Some of the most appealing aspects of an e-reader to me are its benefits to the environment and the reduction of “stuff” in my own personal space. I can save both trees and space.

A nightmare of clutter or a dream come true?

Well, thinking along those lines, there’s still plenty I can do without the aid of an e-reader. Over the course of the years, I’ve gathered many a book from friends, thrift stores, and bargain bins that I have yet to read. Many of these are books I’ll probably just read once and then be willing to pass along to charity. (Not to mention there are some books I’ve read in the past that I’ll likely never read again; I could jettison these as well, if I could just get over my biblio-attachment to them.) By making an effort to read and donate some of these, I can still be doing some service both environmentally and personally.

5. I tend to read some of the more specialized titles (as demonstrated in my interest in poetry). Many of the books I’m interested in are not currently available in e-reader formats, so switching to a reader would not benefit me in these instances. This trend is obviously going to be changing swiftly in the coming years, but for the present, a reader wouldn’t do me much good for many of the books I wish to read.

On a related note, my local library is surprisingly eclectic in its tastes and does often have these volumes on hand in a traditional print format. Thus, by utilizing its criminally underutilized resources, I can read many of the books I want and still be doing my “green” duty.

          I think that about covers the major points of my reasoning. I should point out that this is not a dig at e-readers. On the contrary, I think I’m finally caving to the fact that at some point in the future I will be acquiring one. In this post, I didn’t really say anything about the many benefits of these devices (such as their increasing functionality, the thousands of classic titles available free, the increasing library support of electronic formats, etc.), but maybe I will whenever I get to that point when I decide to purchase one.

          However, that point has not yet arrived for me. I’ll continue, for now, to stay true to my print books. Traditional, yes, but exciting nonetheless.

The Relativity of the Difficult Poem

          The best volume of poetry I read this year was probably Ben Lerner’s 2010 book Mean Free Path. I must admit that – though I was intrigued enough to buy it in the first place – I was somewhat surprised by how much I ended up liking it. To put it simply, my tastes tend toward the more accessible and less experimental in poetry, and Mean Free Path has a definitive lean towards the other end of the spectrum. It thrives on loose ends, disruption, and recursion (though this disjointedness is put together in a surprisingly musical manner). I was thus pleasantly surprised when I found it to be one of my favorite books of poetry I’ve read in recent years.

          Now fast forward to the present. I am currently struggling through Dylan Thomas’s Collected Poems and finding myself quite frustrated on occasion. There are poems I just can’t make heads or tails of, no matter how many times I re-read them. I don’t think such a reaction on its own is surprising. Opaqueness of meaning is a trademark of many poets coming out of the Modernist era, and Thomas with his surreal imagery and remarkably dense language is no exception. However, when I started thinking of my reactions to both Lerner and Thomas, it did make me start to wonder about what makes a difficult poem difficult, and if there are any peculiar circumstances that makes certain poets even more difficult to individual readers.

          While most of the points I’m about to discuss are off-the-cuff and not strictly scientific, I do think there is something to this line of thinking.

First, and this is a somewhat elementary point, one needs to consider that poets are writing from a particular time and place. The more alien the time and place may be from the reader, the more difficult it is to understand the poet’s meaning. In the case of Thomas, the culture and language of twentieth-century Wales is not so alien as to make writing from that period difficult, but when one adds his occasional foreign-sounding word choice on top of his already thick poems, it certainly doesn’t help.

But to develop this point further, I think one needs to consider how personal the poetic vision might be when considering a poem’s difficulty. Thomas’s vision seems to me intensely personal, and his poems are laden with symbols and meanings that are originating out of this vision. If one compares this to the poetry of one of Thomas’s contemporaries, say T.S. Eliot, then perhaps what I’m saying becomes a little more evident. To my eyes, Eliot, another “difficult” poet, is much easier to read then Thomas. I think one could argue that part of this is due to Eliot’s verse dealing more with issues of broader cultural impact. Overall, I believe it’s much easier to relate to such verse and find points of access by which one can interpret the poetry.

          Now to return to Lerner. Not only am I reading poems by a contemporary whose peculiar cultural references are more or less familiar, but I believe he is also writing from within a certain zeitgeist to which many people can relate to – i.e., his writing overall deals with larger, more cultural themes than they do with uniquely personal visions. Even though stylistically Lerner might be difficult in many ways, he is writing on a peculiar fragmented, pre-packaged, and marketed culture that many of us can relate to. Personally, this was enough to give me a point of entry into the poetry, while I frequently found such an entry lacking in the verse of Thomas.

          Obviously, this discussion is only looking at a couple particular poets in very broad terms, and rereading it now, I’m already starting to think I'm somewhat off-base. I’m sure there are many exceptions to these points that can poke very large holes in whatever kind of theory I’m trying to craft here. If anyone has wandered over to this post and has any thoughts to share on the topic, please do so.

Poetry: Is There an App for That?

          There’s only one poetry podcast I really listen to regularly, and it’s the Poetry Foundation’s Poetry Off the Shelf. A few weeks ago, they had an interesting installment where host Curtis Fox and guest Tess Taylor took a look at Faber and Faber and Touch Press’s new release of an app for T.S. Eliot’s classic poem The Waste Land. I had never heard of an app for a particular poem, so I was a bit intrigued to hear how publishers are adapting new technology to attract a new generation of readers.

Page from Eliot's original manuscript, with Ezra Pound's handwritten edits.

          I have to admit the discussion left me feeling somewhat underwhelmed. All in all, the product did seem to be loaded with extras – the poem itself (with or without additional notes), the original edited manuscript, commentaries by such luminaries as Seamus Heaney, and video readings by several esteemed actors – and I’m sure there will be diehard fans of the poem will find plenty to enjoy (even if the app was being sold at a hefty $13.99). However, for me at least, nothing really stands out about it. I remember in the 90s when poetry CD-ROMs loaded with similar materials were being touted as a step forward, and I doubt now that many people even remember them now. I don’t really see what will make these apps that much different.

In a way, this app reminds me of DVDs: we initially get wowed by all the included commentaries, the deleted scenes, the outtakes – when all we really end up caring about in the long run is the film itself. And nice, I’m sure, as The Waste Land is in tablet form, the poem by any other name would still be as sweet.

What intrigued me more about this particular podcast was the discussion Fox and Taylor had after they were done reviewing the app. Fox said he could see a time in the foreseeable future where apps became a standard delivery system for poets publishing their works. Taylor countered that she felt people who read would continue to turn to the printed page as a unique ecosystem to escape from all the screen time we are spending increasingly in our lives.

As in most discussions in this vein, the jury is still out on what’s really going to happen. Certainly, longstanding predictions of the demise of the printed book have been greatly exaggerated. And yet, the inroads that have been made by electronic media in recent years simply cannot be ignored. Even somebody like me, who for years has been a luddite defender of the printed page, am starting to cave to the ever-cheapening temptations and advantages of devices like e-readers. In fact, I’m beginning to realize that in some ways, our devotion to the printed page is out of character with many poetry enthusiasts. As a whole, we’re a conscientious bunch – shouldn’t we be sprinting to the “green” pastures of electronic media? What’s stopping us?

I obviously don’t have the answers, but I think part of it lies in what I was implying in a post a couple weeks ago. As we continued to be drowned by this age’s flood of information, we’re fearful of those words we hold dearest to us becoming nothing more than mere information. Poetry holds language sacred, and any change that seems to potentially cheapen that sacredness must be confronted. Perhaps holding to the poem or book as artifact is a way of doing this.

And yet, as I was saying of The Waste Land above, isn’t a poem in any format just as sweet? I suppose it’s debatable, but essentially, the text of the poem remains the same in any media.

Overall, Fox may be on to something, and I believe poetry must come to grips with technological change, particularly if it wants to stay at all relevant to new generations of readers. There may be a time in the not-so-distant future where new volumes of poetry turn increasingly to formats like apps. If so, what are the implications? Would a poet by necessity need to be a better performer for any audio/video functions? How much extra marketing and design would need to go in to make the final product appealing? Or would the poetry itself be enough for those wishing to read it?

It is this last question that makes me pause. I do think readers of poetry will continue to come for the poetry itself. And while poetry may have to come to grips with electronic formats, I think the words are enough to stand on their own. Any extras that might be delivered in something like an app will likely not be what attracts poetry readers.

But enough rambling fence straddling. These are strange and exciting times. Let’s just see what happens.

An Old Favorite: Robert Frost's "My November Guest"

          Like many people, I associate many of the things I like with certain times of year. Most of these associations are your fairly predictable American standards; for instance, I’ll find myself craving hot dogs with the opening of baseball season, candy corn in October, meat loaf in winter. Each November, however, is when I find myself suddenly yearning after one of my few poetic associations related to the calendar – Robert Frost poetry.

          It’s not completely inexplicable. However, November does seem a bit early for the man who wrote such memorable depth-of-winter classics as “Storm Warning” and “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.” I believe the association for me came from a used vinyl record I picked up during my teenage years of Robert Frost reading some of his poems (I still have the record actually, though my terror of a cat chewed through the wire of our record player several years ago and it has yet to be fixed). I remember one of the first times listening to it was actually on a cold, bleary November day, and on the record, he does a very good recording of “My November Guest,” which is one of my favorite Frost poems and, to me at least, captures perfectly the essence of the month. From that point on, it seems, Frost and November have been inextricably locked in association in my mind.

          The poem is short and, like much of Frost’s work, deceptively simple:

MY Sorrow, when she’s here with me,

  Thinks these dark days of autumn rain

Are beautiful as days can be;

She loves the bare, the withered tree;

  She walks the sodden pasture lane.

Her pleasure will not let me stay.

  She talks and I am fain to list:

She’s glad the birds are gone away,

She’s glad her simple worsted gray

  Is silver now with clinging mist.

The desolate, deserted trees,

  The faded earth, the heavy sky,

The beauties she so truly sees,

She thinks I have no eye for these,

  And vexes me for reason why.

Not yesterday I learned to know

  The love of bare November days

Before the coming of the snow,

But it were vain to tell her so,

  And they are better for her praise.

          It’s technically an autumn poem, but it’s decidedly late autumn. Most poets traditionally set their autumn poems earlier in the season, when the trees are all lit up brightly with dying leaves, making them a perfect literary symbol. Frost’s poem takes place after that, in the “dark days of autumn rain” when the trees are already “bare.” While the poem does deal with the classic autumn theme of finding inspiration in dark times, the times are definitely darker than usual in Frost’s take. Indeed, if one were to compare it to the classics of Keats, one would find it has much more in common thematically with “Ode on Melancholy” than “To Autumn.”

          I love the poem’s personification of Sorrow. An abstraction – yes – but who hasn’t known somebody like her? I grew up with girls like her. They wore thrift store clothes, they liked picnics in cemeteries, they were only happy when it rained. Like the Sorrow in the poem, they were even a little snooty and pretentious about their dark artistic tastes, thinking others had “no eye for these.” Frost’s characterization of this realistic abstraction is enough to make one wonder if she’s actually based on a real-life companion.

          The opening line of the poem perfectly sets the tone for all that is to come: “My Sorrow, when she’s here with me.” The temporal element does a couple things. First, it sets up this melancholy described in the poem as a peculiarly seasonal sensation, one captured only during that gray, rainy part of late November. More importantly, it sets up the tenuousness of the speaker’s time with Sorrow. This is due not only to the natural seasonality of Sorrow just mentioned, but because Sorrow brings the speaker pleasure and thus by definition she cannot remain Sorrow. Frost is describing one of those delicate and fleeting times that is difficult to capture in words. It is perhaps because of this fleetingness that the speaker chooses not to tell Sorrow he does indeed understand the beauties she thinks he fails to see, but prefers to revel instead in her appreciation of such matters.

          The tone of the poem is quintessential Robert Frost. It is a direct, matter-of-fact tone, formally structured around elegant unforced rhymes and used to communicate much loftier and complex sentiments. In this particular poem, the form really matches the subject matter, which likewise portrays a barren landscape that belies a more sublime, understated beauty.

          Even living in the South, where the weather stays warm enough that November is more often than not really just the beginning of autumn (this year is a good example of that), I still know exactly the kind of cold, gray late November days Frost is describing, and I understand, too, the beauty he sees in their stark and muted scenes. For me, “My November Guest” captures all this – both the physical landscape and one’s emotional response to it – to a t. It’s just one reason that each year as the seasons start to turn from fall to winter, Robert Frost lines suddenly start popping in my head.

What a great poem.

Love Among the Ruins: Reading Poetry in the Information Age

          These past tumultuous few decades, we have witnessed the rise of the personal computer, the rapid dispersal of the World Wide Web, and the emergence of whatever they’re calling this 4G wireless craziness now. Several different monikers have been applied to this time period – the computer age, the digital age, etc. – but the one that’s always captured my imagination the most is the information age, an apt name for a period that has seen such a dramatic proliferation of data. Long gone are the days of depending solely on such quaint resources as libraries, bookstores, TV, and radio for our information. For those of us lucky enough to have access to what is now fairly basic technology, we now have access to a huge universe of information sources in a wide variety of formats.

          One trend that’s always fascinated me about this age is its effect on our reading patterns. 10-15 years ago, experts were already predicting some of the changes that have indeed begun to take place as a result of being alive in a world awash with data. Gone are the days when an individual’s ability to recall information was held in such high esteem (think of the Medieval monks in the pre-printing press days, whose ability to recall large amounts of tracts were invaluable to the preservation and furtherance of knowledge at the time). The paradigm is shifted. Information now is readily reproduced and easily stored. Our memories have been automated. What’s much more important now then simply recalling information is information literacy – i.e., how good we are at navigating and retrieving stored information. As a result, quantity has begun to replace quality, as people are focusing less on a slow analysis of the individual text and more on a rapid sort and search of huge waves of data.

          All of this is a long-winded way of introducing a topic I’ve been wondering about – the effect of the information age on poetry. In so many ways, poetry is antithetical to the trends coming out of this age. For poetry to be effective, it requires a slow reading and absorption. It does its art on a word-by-word basis, with each individual piece composing an essential part of the completed effect. This is in contrast to current trends that encourage the rapid navigation of large amounts of information in order to comprehend the most essential parts.

          This might all sound like a stretch of a point, but I do believe there’s something there. Overall, reading patterns have been changing the past couple of decades. Trends indicate the overall percentage of people reading books – and literature in particular – is steadily declining. Meanwhile, those people who are reading are more frequently turning to a digital environment and looking at multiple sources. I haven’t seen studies for this last point, but I’m also willing to bet that the art of scanning (as opposed to more focused reading) is on the rise. Personally, I know with all the articles or links I come across or are sent to me just during a normal working day that there’s no way I can read them all and still get any work done. And so I scan.

          In a world that was already turning away from poetry, such trends can surely not help. As Ezra Pound famously said, “Concentration is the essence of poetry.” Controversial as Pound could be in many ways, he was on to something with this point. And though he was speaking of it primarily from the writer’s point of view, to fully appreciate and understand poetry, concentration and focus are required on the reader’s side as well. Why did the poet choose such-and-such a word? How does each word work together? Why break the line here? Why this structure? In everyday writing (that prosaic prose), analysis on such a small scale is not as essential – it’s certainly not a bad idea by any means, just not as essential.

          Speaking of poetry in the information age is interesting because poetry, at its best, is not merely information. It’s attempting to communicate something beyond its surface meaning. As we steer more and more towards consumption of larger quantities of information, are we as a culture losing our ability to fully understand and analyze such deeper meanings in writing?

Or perhaps I’m simply reading too much into this.

          Regardless, there always is the opposite viewpoint to consider. To those who read it, poetry offers a welcome respite from the data glut of the information age. Much as the subject matter in poems is often used to make the reader slow down and think about everyday things in a different light, the language of poetry is such as to bring the reader into a meaningful engagement with language. That same language that the reader slings around thoughtlessly in everyday life is suddenly reinvigorated with a deliberation and intensity that gives one pause. Poetry reminds us that language can be so much more than mere information; it can do wondrous and strange things. . . if only one takes the time necessary to concentrate on it.

          Perhaps there isn’t much to all this. Long before the advent of computers, poetry had already been in a steady decline, and poets themselves have oftentimes appeared to even purposefully isolate themselves from a general readership (one thinks of certain Modernists). There does, however, seem to be some trends in the information age that are poised to hasten this decline. There will always be people who read poetry and are moved by the mysteries of its language, but is there even reason to hope that poetry will ever reverse its trends and achieve more than a small, specialized readership? The cards are stacked against it, at this point. Yet it will be interesting to see how poets and various organizations intent on just such a tide change attempt to stay relevant in a world seemingly intent on making it less so.

A Pleasure-Dome Decreed

          So why poetry?

Why write poetry? Read poetry?

Or perhaps more to the immediate point, why another blog about poetry? Surely there’s enough of those going around to meet the limited demand.

Granted, in this already overpopulated blogosphere where even very well crafted blogs die every day from lack of attention, I know the odds are stacked against a blog of this sort.

And yet still I persist in sending out another blog to the merciless online world and dedicating it to a topic that continues each year to crawl ever further into a dark corner of obscurity. A chorus in a Greek tragedy could not more clearly foretell the doom that is sure to occur.

Why do this to the poor thing?

But despite all the reasons to the contrary, the impulse remains. It is an impulse of this sort that drives many poetry enthusiasts. Something that can only be described in vague terms. Perhaps an undying belief that, contrary to the sentiment from Auden’s poem, poetry can and does make something happen. It can move us. It can make the ordinary extraordinary. It can allow us to say things that simply couldn’t be said in any other way. It can, indeed, bring meaning to our lives.

Poetry obviously is not alone in these pursuits. One could just as easily turn to the other arts, the sciences, philosophy, religion. Personally, being one of those poor souls who’s forever tortured looking for purpose and meaning in life, I’ve turned to all these fields and more. Other than religion, however, I’d say poetry is probably the one place I turn to the most consistently and which has done the most for me. For me, it is something of a spiritual pursuit.

I love the interactivity of poetry, how the individual reader’s perspective brings its weight to bear upon a poem, making each interpretation unique. I feel almost as if reading poetry is a great conversation, where I am suddenly put in touch with individuals from throughout history who have likewise thought deeply about life, and in their musings, they have felt so compelled that they have set down many of their innermost thoughts in writing. You don’t often find conversations like this in everyday life. Much as people today turn to online communities to find some of those like-minded individuals who aren’t so common in their immediate neighborhood, I turn to the poets. I want to hear what they have to say.

And it is this yearning and enthusiasm for poetry that is my main reason in starting this endeavor.

I’m afraid, however, it’s not the only reason.

You see, in recent years, I’ve suddenly found myself missing some of that original magic that attracted me to poetry in the first place. Oh I still enjoy it and appreciate it and everything, but much as one can go devoutly to church for years only to one week find that they’re going through the motions of creeds and prayers without even remembering the meaning beneath it, I’ve recently found myself merely going through the motions of reading poetry. Yes, I understand when I think a poem is good or bad. I can still be impressed by a poem. But some of that original inspiration and feeling that first attracted me to poetry has been lacking.

So one might also consider this a middle-aged retreat at the beach for me and poetry. We’re heading there to rekindle a spark. The fire’s still smoldering there – it just needs a quick blow on the flames. I’ve been selfish and not realized how much she does for me. I need to make it up to her. I’m doing this in part to show I still care. . .

But that’s enough about the whys. Maybe now a little more about the hows (or would it be the whats?). Anyway –

Initially, I have only some rough visions for what I might do with this forum. Maybe some irregular posts of my thoughts on the usual poetic subjects – the cultural impact of poetry, occasional book reviews, looks at individual poems, links to interesting poetry sites, yada yada yada. But perhaps it will all go in a different direction; I suppose part of the charm of blogs is that they’re so organic and have a way of taking on a life of their own. I’d just prefer to see where this thing goes.

I would love to foster some discussion, so if you’ve found your way here, please feel free to comment and stick around. I understand, however, it’s difficult building an audience for a venture like this. Yes, reader, I’m realistic in my views and know that this is likely to be a solitary pursuit. But I hope you, in turn, understand that I need to do this regardless.

So welcome to any of you who may have stumbled upon my little corner of the world. If there’s any lesson I wish to impart, it’s please don’t take your poetry for granted. Happy reading.