In the Interest of Poetic License . . . (Part 1)

I'm captivated by life, particularly what is written down. In spite of their inadequacy, words are a remarkably efficient way to collar all the elements of experience and distill them into a medium that can be deciphered, analyzed, learned from, appreciated, and perhaps every once in a while, enjoyed as an art form. Unfortunately, most of the time for most of the people, the art form comes without the enjoyment, as in the case of poetry.

As an English major, I've read my share of poetry, and to me there is nothing more disconcerting than being called on to explicate a poem in class that totally missed the mark when it was agonized over in the privacy of my own room. I mean, for goodness sake, people don't use phrasing like 'Bacchus and his pards' anymore, and in the twenty-first century, most of us don't recognize one-tenth of the references that Dante uses in The Inferno, which is why the other half of the book is endnotes.

This semester, however, I've learned how to throw out the bathwater while still keeping a firm hold of the baby, thanks to a truly talented professor of literary analysis. I may not be completely sold on John Keats or Dante Aligheri, but I've actually read some poetry I've enjoyed, and I've learned to think about what I read. (She must be good, because--have mercy--after one semester, I can actually stomach poetry readings, at least in small doses.) Every time I wander past the poetry section in Barnes' and Noble, I hear the battle cry of the last few months: Poetry is to prose as dancing is to walking. It's an aquired taste. It takes talent to create it, time to understand it, and true love to stick with it until it becomes enjoyable. Like a photograph of Ansel Adams', or an etude by Chopin (since my brother tells me he's a genius), true art is never easy. It comes from some place deep within the artist, where life is filtered through their particular medium and given a voice.

So, because I've got poetry on the brain, and becaue this blog happens to be a reflection of what I read about, watch, listen to, and think about, this series on poetry was conceived. For the sake of those who dislike poetry, I hope this phase doesn't last long. But stick with me . . . who knows, you might just learn to dance a little.

"I was working on the proof of one of my poems all the morning, and took out a comma. In the afternoon I put it back again." --Oscar Wilde