Language Speaks Us

I tend to be both exuberant about and defensive of poetry. It sometimes feels like befriending the red-headed stepchild or an act of justifying my life choices, but if you know me, then you know that I believe in the power of words.

As my husband is fond of reminding me, his personal hero, Martin Heidegger, said, "Language is the house of being." I may get tired of hearing that phrase, but I have to admit that I think about it often. I also admire the fact that Heidegger believed poetry to be not just another form of art, but a way of opening ourselves to being. He even wrote a book about it called Poetry, Language, Thought.

Here's an excerpt that I think comes from the BBC documentary "Human, All too Human." You can watch the part about Heidegger here, but I like this brief clip.

I also recommend this lecture by one of my favorite contemporary poets, Mark Doty. He happens to be a great lecturer and essayist, and I agree with his take on why poetry matters.

When I think of people thinking about poetry, I generally imagine someone reading a poem and viewing it as a riddle or a crossword puzzle--something with a koan-like answer to be sifted out. I understand why this happens, especially because I think we're often taught (at least in our younger years) to treat poems in this way.

When I write a poem, the last thing I'm trying to do is hide meaning--on the contrary, I'm saying something that I don't think can be paraphrased or said in any other way, and every little "the" or "it" counts. I want you to feel the meaning of the poem, not just ponder it. I think it's extremely rare to find a good (good!) poet who is purposely trying to en-maze (I just made up a word) their meaning.

Here I leave you with a bit of wisdom by former Poet Laureate and funny guy, Billy Collins:

Introduction to Poetry

I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem's room
and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author's name on the shore.

But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.