RSSReading poetry on the light rail
Apr 05
Poetry, Reading, Uncategorized, Writing G.C. Waldrep, national poetry month, okay so writing's pretty good too, poetry for breakfast, reading is the best thing ever, the comfort found in the rolling lurch of a train No Comments
If you know me, you know that I am famous, of late, for my car troubles. So when an awful, terrible, no good, very bad grinding sound started in my car yesterday, it meant that I’d be delivering my beloved Buick LeSabre to my knight in shining armor, or, more aptly, my mechanic. Which in turn meant taking the light rail in to work.
For all its hassles, the ride this morning gave me a chance to begin working my way through G.C. Waldrep’s Goldbeater’s Skin, which I’ve owned for quite some time now, and I thought I’d use that extra time to choose a poem to write about this evening. But, as chance would have it, I wound up coming up with a different idea altogether. Instead of writing about the book or any of the particular poems in it, I want to share, as best I can, what reading poetry is like for me.
I think that, basic mechanics aside, everyone reads and interacts with poetry differently. It’s not something I’ve put a lot of thought into before now, but this morning I found myself acutely aware of what was happening in my mind as I worked my way through the book.
I started out a bit frazzled, my mind still hopping around from place to place and refusing to just calm down and pay attention. But then I could feel my focus deepen, and I began to underline favorite phrases, write down questions and notes in the margin.
By about the seventh poem in, I was fully absorbed, chewing over the sounds of the words in my head, letting myself rest in the line breaks and careen ahead down long lines. I began to notice things I might not have noticed otherwise–the full bodied sound of the word “thrum,” the under-appreciated perfection of the word “roiled,” the genius substituion of “ripe” for “ready” in the phrase “like a jet / that’s ripe for landing.” I fell in love with the work-a-day words we so easily ignore like “scuff” and “linoleum.”
I found myself re-reading poems just for the chance to see the words again, to form the images in my mind. And then I realized that words and images of my own were clamoring to be written down, and so I set the book aside and pulled out my journal, wrote a few lines, gathered together a rough draft of one full poem. As I looked down at what I had written, Waldrep’s influence screamed out from the page–my lines had drifted longer, I’d incorporated terse commands, used repetition for emphasis and rhythm.
Had I not found myself with that unexpected block of time, had I instead picked up the book from time to time and read a poem or two, I don’t know that I would have found such joy in it. I don’t know that it would have pushed me to pick up my own pen and write. I do know that I wouldn’t have been so attentive to what was there in front of me.
I don’t know if those commuter scribblings will ever see the light of day, but it was a reminder to me of how crucial it is for poets to read. Other writers can serve as teachers and as the source of inspiration, letting us refocus on our work or even get back in to it if we’ve been away for awhile. Reading other poetry specifically to search for guidance and ideas can break stale habits or encourage us to try something we hadn’t considered before. And ultimately, we can take that inspiration and tutelage and re-channel it into our own writing practice, into further developing our styles and voices.
I’ll leave you this evening with a few lines from Waldrep’s “Heave-Ho,” which were my favorite find of the day. I hope you’ll enjoy them, and then tell me, how do you read poetry?
We could stand very near water and pretend to be bridges,
then others would spraypaint news of their own affections on our thighs
in bright colors. You think I’m joking. But in my dreams
someone is always cutting bolts from my back.