Having not read much poetry in my life, I approached our first assignment with more than a little trepidation. And, as it turns out, for good reason. I’ve often been skeptical of people claiming that they have “liked” a painting or a poem. When I have inquired as to why they liked the given work, more times than not, I have heard the response, “ I just do.” No remarks were given that might have reflected a basic understanding of the specific art form, its history or the poet’s or painter’s. No appreciation of standards was proffered; just a general feeling of appreciation. This bothered me.
Just as I was when instructed to read several disembodied poems for this class, and then submit my observations. Not wanting to sound like those folks I found offensive, I could not bring myself to comment on what I read. Like I said, I do not have the background and hence the authority to do so. The best I could possibly do is perhaps list those poems that I best comprehended — which in no way would reflect my appreciation of them. I did not appreciate them. I could barely make sense of them. And in my view making sense of poetry entails an understanding of the poetic technique, its form, and how that form reflects or fails to reflect the lived history or experience of the poet'. Then one can proceed and maybe debate the merits of a poem that is in fine form versus another that aptly captures a given moment of a poet’s experience, his or her lived history. Personally, I might add, I would tend to favor the latter; although a truly great poem might encompass both elements.
I once commented that I thought art, if nothing else, is a means by which a person expresses his or her feelings about, or attempts to capture an aspect of, a lived or imagined reality that cannot be adequately articulated in a traditional linguistic fashion. In other words, what we normally refer to as media are inadequate. Something more is needed. Other forms of media are required. Media, of course, are, for all intents and purposes, filters by which the outside world is conveyed to us. And they take various forms, none of which, I would argue, truly apprehend “reality” as it authentically “exists.” We are only privy to representations. Art, it seems to me, is yet more attempt at representation — another means of perception. The question that interests me at the moment is related to this notion of whether or not art’s representational claims are in any way still legitimate, given its politicization, its instrumentalization and corporate co-optation. And if it could be said that certain forms of art are still authentic, still reflect what critics have termed “negativity,” then it would be interesting to analyze those art forms in light of these claims.
In our day and age, the muses no longer muse poetically but instead musically. With few exceptions, rock lyrics are the medium of the masses. Poetry falls on deaf ears, when it falls at all. If we are to appreciate the work of a Milton, a Yeats or an Eliot, we have to work. We have to work to ascertain the work’s context, as well as its form. We might want to familiarize ourselves with the work’s context, as well as its form. We might want to familiarize ourselves with the work’s author, his times, his thoughts. Or how about analyzing the work from the standpoint of viewing it as part of a movement? What about that movement? In other words, to be critical entails developing standards by which one can appreciate a work. It means moving beyond feeling to thinking, and ultimately to understanding.
