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Hi,

I'm very interested in the idea of whether it is possible to have a split identity as a poet. Does gender and race really matter? How does not knowing the gender/race affect a poem (such as in the case of anonymous authors or people writing under different names even). Does knowing the race/gender/religion/political standpoint/sexual preference/etc. change the meaning of a poem? Does it add to it or take away from it?

Hi all,

I forgot to blog last week so I'm doing a quick "combo-blog" if you will for this week. Since last week I've been thinking a lot about the music that was used in the "Digging" presentation. I read the poem before class that day and I liked it; but when the Irish music was used with it, I got a different feeling from it. I don't mean, necessarily, a strongly emotional feeling, but a stronger sense of "Irish-ness". Does that make sense? I don't know whether to think that this reaction is strange or natural. So my question for all of you is: how did the music affect your reaction to the poem?

I thought the PAT article by Randall Jarrell was interesting. I'm a big fan of Romantic poetry; I've spent a lot of time with poets such as the Shelleys, Wordsworth, Keats and Blake as well as some time with Byron, Yeats and Colerage. While I have nothing against Modernist poetry, I haven't spent a lot of time working with it. The idea that Modern poetry isn't a revolutionary idea, but an evolution of Romanticism is a new twist on an old way of looking at the two forms of poetry. Personally, I've always considered them very different. I don't know that I'd go as far as to say that Modern poetry is "evolutionary" (here is an example of the popular argument over language!) because that word leaves me with the impression that evolution equals improvment; I don't think that Modern poetry is an improvement of Romantic poetry. Although, I would consider the argument that it is progressive, that is, Modernist poetry is a continuation or an addition to the poetry genre, I would not say it's evolutionary in the sense that it is an improvement.

I don't have much to say about the Perloff article. I thought she began to develop an interesting argument, but it got boring and wordy. I found myself amusing my own ego by translating the French poem before reading her translation. I eventually forgot what her point was supposed to be and I began to flip through the pages of wasted printer ink for a while. She did catch my interest again at the end when she started to sum up her points about free verse. I probably lost a lot in all of my page flipping, but I think I would have gotten more out of her writing if she had either organized it differently or had said more with less wordiness. I don't want to end my opinion of her article on a bad note so I'm going to say that I appreciated her point about lineation. I don't believe that a poem is a poem because it does not run from the left margin to the right margin.

Have a good day, everyone :)

The argument that the sound of poetry is equally, if not more, important than the interpretation of the words is not new to me; however, something in Lowell's essay for the reading tonight triggered in my brain for the first time an embarrasing revelation. While I never believed that the sound quality of poetry was non-existant, I never completely understood why people made such a big fuss over it; I always thought that hearing a reading of a poem, or reading it aloud myself, was a "treat" so to speak--far more than I ever thought it was essential.

I consider myself a critic more than a creative writer or simply someone who thinks "books are fun--YAY!" and sought to make a career of it; therefore, for me anyway, digging into the meanings of poems is the most rewarding experience. The chemical reactions inside of my brain as I read Lowell's essay left me feeling at least a little ashamed of myself for having such an indifferent attitude towards how a poem sounds rather than only how it reads... one of the most interesting aspects of literature, in my opinion, is how much "stuff" can be packed into the shortest literary works that extends beyond the field of literature; I'm amazed how the literary world can bring together virtually anything--math, history, science, emotion, feeling...everything! Literature is the only field that can teach so much to an individual that pertains to the greater things in life (philosophy, empathy, religion, morality, etc.). Extracting all of the lessons behind works is fun and enlightening for me... it's rewarding as well... but despite all of it, it's lacking because I have failed to appreciate something very important--the sound of it.

I can't help but agree with Lowell when she says that musical notes on a page cannot be read by anyone, but must be interpretted by highly qualified musicians in order to be appreciated by the average Joe or Jane. I neglected to appreciate the talent of those who can take silent strings of symbols and create magnificent musical masterpieces. I must admit I have a new attitude towards the reading of poetry; I can't quite explain why this one essay out of several that I've read in the past has made me look at poetry with not only my eyes, but my ears. I think critics are often consumed with the desire to solve the problem of interpretation that the more we are educated in doing so--and doing so well--the more we fail to remember what attracted us to literature in the first place: the joy of "experiencing" it--not only visually or intellectually, but auditorily.