RSSBirds in the Backyard
Apr 04
Poetry, Reading, Uncategorized, Writing daniel hall, national poetry month, on wings of song, taking wing, this is why I love teaching, yay 1 Comment
Precise, clean, supple language. That is what I find in today’s poem by Daniel Hall which was featured in the collection On Wings of Song, edited by J.D. McClatchy.
The poem, called “Short Circuit,” is the portrait of a moment. I’ve actually written about it here once before, but only in a brief exclamation of love for the words. Today I’m going to look at it a bit more closely.
In the first stanza, we find an image of chaos, tightly written. With the words “For no reason, / all at once,” Hall pulls his readers in, leaving us wanting to know what it is, exactly, at what is happening.
Then he gives us the contrasting image of the dove and jay, a continuation of the chaotic mix alluded to earlier. We imagine the quiet, delicate dove next to the raucous, bossy jay, watch them as “all at once” they swerve and land on the line and set the drying clothes to dancing. Ultimately, what we are given here is beauty out of dissonance, something that we can find in everyday life.
But perhaps what I prize most about this poem is something I only realized tonight: Hall is willing to be in awe of something, willing to express joy and amazement at the world around him, even with his tightly controlled and well-honed words.
The reason for this new-found appreciation at the willingness to wonder is that I opened my class this evening by explaining to my students that it was National Poetry Month. Then I asked if anyone in the room liked poetry and was met with a resounding wall of “no.” I pushed them to explain why. “It’s cheesy,” said one student. “It sounds pretentious,” added another. A third rolled his eyes at me and said, “You don’t even want me to explain.”
The consensus was that poetry was worthless, too hoity toity or goofy to be taken seriously, and that it existed only as a black-clad, beret-wearing, cigarette-smoking cliche. I must admit that none of this was surprising to me–I’ve been met with that response before–but I soldiered on and read them Hall’s poem, doing my best to keep it down to earth. One student even snapped for me, coffee-house style, at the end. Then he asked, “What does it mean, Ms. Purvis?”
I shared with the class the interpretation I’ve given here, ending with my thought that Hall’s main point is that opposites can come together to create beauty. By the end of my mini lecture, the tone in the class had shifted, almost imperceptibly, but it had shifted nonetheless. One student nodded knowingly as she said, “You just described most marriages.” The student who asked for the explanation nodded too and said, “I see what you mean.”
That brief exchange, those few minutes at the beginning of class, made me look at myself and my art a little differently. I could have told you, would have willingly lamented that many people can’t find the value in poetry, that they find it intimidating, that they can’t see past the surface to what is really there. I’d have likely added that we poets sometimes even hurt our own cause when we get wrapped up in our art and scholarship and let a gap grow between us and anyone who doesn’t have the same love for poetry. We forget what it feels like to be on the other side of poetry, especially for those who have to work harder to find the joy in it.
But what I realized tonight is that the problem is far deeper than a misunderstanding of art. There’s a fear of awe, of looking at something and saying out loud, “that’s beautiful, that’s amazing, I can’t believe how lucky I am to be here, seeing this.” We are afraid, it seems, to be enthusiastic, to seem naive or innocent, to be cheesy in our appreciation of the world around us. How often have you heard someone offer their praise or admiration of something with a disclaimer: “I know this sounds cheesy, but,” or “I don’t want to sound over the top, but…”? I’ve done it myself, even within the last day or so.
And yet, what I saw in my class tonight is that when we work to bridge that gap, when we build an environment where it’s okay not to “get it” right away, when we tell one another that it’s okay to be in awe, then we open the door for conversation about and maybe even enthusiasm (at least a little) for poetry.
So I’m left with just one question–which poem will we read on Wednesday?