How To Read A Poem

There are a number of key elements to reading a poem, possibly--if not certainly--alien to would-be poesy spelunkers. While the initial steps are universally general, it is pertinent to review them prior to embarking on a more complex venture. After cracking the book or scrolling the web-thing, and the scent of must or burning ozone excites your olfactory faculties, the reader's eyes should be placed on the page. You should not allow yourself to be distracted by other miscellanea such as foot notes, end notes, head notes, class notes, or titles: only allow your rolling orbits to focus on the primary text itself. In doing so, you are subscribing to the structure that the poet has probably arrayed for you. Do not worry so much about reading comprehension at this point, as that will hopefully occur later. Rather, get a sense of the poet's cadence. Sometimes, when the meter is right, I apply the poem to a rousing musical score in my mind: I have noticed that Metal works especially well. However, when the meter breaks, ensure that your brain does not take the Crazy Train and continue with your head-tune rather than the poet's rhythm. When riding on the river of poetry, you will hit rocks--incorporate them into your understanding of the poem. Essentially, you are coping a poetic feel for the piece, allowing yourself to lay the groundwork for a deeper reading the next round.

You probably should wonder what I mean by a "deeper reading"; measuring poetic understanding in fathoms, meters, or other such units suggests an exercise in archaeology, not literature. If you made an interpretation of what I meant by perception measured in depth, then you already grasp a key element poetic understanding. Humans tend to think of "things" in comparison to others--our minds, in a way, participate in a solipsism of the species. For example, dictionaries are maddeningly circular: sets of definitions are predicated on other words that share those same descriptions. Language is symbolic and arbitrary. Our pens and word processors do not tell us that they are, in fact, those things by which we name them. I certainly would be very distressed if my laptop spoke out of turn, much in the manner of a depressive neighbor mowing long over-due grass, saying "I am a Laptop, thought you should know." Our metaphors give us means through which we can understand the potentially alien, or interpret something with a different set of senses and perspective. Otherwise, one word with one meaning would suffice.

Even though they are both inextricably linked in poetry, how the poet says something trumps what is being said. You will go through many tunnels of meaning, and pass into many different lights if you go where the poem does. Your own perspective is just as important in the interpretation and assimilation of the poet's words as the poet's writ. The poet is filtering meaning through you, though arrayed amongst silt and other grains of meaning. This meaning counts on your interpretation for its existence: words on the page certainly do not speak for themselves.