An Analysis Poetry, and of the Poet

A class I find myself taking this semester has opened my eyes to a different perspective of the writer--particularly, I suppose, because it is a writing class.

However, we now find ourselves venturing into the often strange and foreboding world of poetry. This is a topic that appears to frighten my fellow classmates. Poetry is confusing to most of them, and it is easy enough to understand why.

I have been a poet for as long as I can remember. I began writing poetry at the age of ten, though I only saw it as sentences describing my moods. I didn't know the intricate details of what it took to create a poem, nor did I care.

See, one of the keys to being an effective poet, in my opinion, is the flow.

Poetry is simply one of those things that cannot be forced. Unlike prose, the poet is inspired by the voice inside telling the story--often from a very stream-of-consciousness point of view. There is often a beat involved, there is often a sort of rhythm ebbing from some unnamed place inside.

The freedom of poetry is something that also separately identifies it from prose.

I was somewhat disturbed by my professor's comments concerning some of my own poetry. Though he called it "rendering", "compelling", and even "psychologically complex"--things that every poet wants to hear--he also mentioned that my imagery was ambiguous, and that at points I didn't give a "clear" visual of what I was trying to get across...

I asked him if he ever wrote poetry.
He said no.

Aha. There is the reason.

See, it is different being a reader of poetry, than being a writer of poetry.

When I visualize the differences in prose and poetry, I clearly see the different things I am wanting to receive from both. I see and respect their differences, and I look to identify their separate qualities.

The way I see it is this: When prose steps forward, poetry steps back.

Prose is the loud guest in the room, the individual that is mingling and introducing themselves. Poetry is the quiet, aloof figure in the corner on a settee--watching the room with a very peculiar glimmer in their eye.

The beauty of poetry is the room the author gives us in order to draw our own conclusions about what it might mean. In my understanding, I have never read any poet--Keats or Eliot or anyone in between--that wanted someone to read their work once and never pick it up again. As a poet, my job is to have you sit and stay a while. I want you to meditate, mull over, and analyze what the voice on the paper has to say.

As a poet, I want you to re-read. I invite you to re-read, I beg you to! I want you to be confused at first. I want you to think--what the fuck?
I want that! Because that means that you want to figure it all out. That means you're confused, and because you're confused it means you're wondering.

Any great poet probably smiled when someone came up to them and said "I have absolutely no idea what you meant by that..."

I bet you want to say it to Plath or Dickinson right now, as a matter of fact.

Prose hands us the meaning on a platter, offers it to us with willingness to understand.
Poetry sits and waits to be understood.