Of course, Dickinson is not my first encounter with what may possibly be one of the most difficult types of literature to read. However, after having read numerous poems, I often still find myself completely at a loss, scratching my head and wondering, “What did I just read?” Furthermore, pinpointing exactly what is causing my complete lack of understanding is as difficult as the actual material. I can never seem to name precisely who the culprit is, and soon everything—from the language, to the structure, to odd punctuation—becomes suspect. Why does poetry seem to be some foreign language only a select few can comprehend?
One trouble I have noticed not only in myself, but also in others who have voiced opinions in my literature classes, is that the major problem is not the poem, but rather, it’s the lazy reader who wants the answers right now. This laziness is in large part the fault of today’s instant-gratification society. Now is a time where magazines have replaced books, only to be replaced by blips and clips posted on the internet. The average reader has become an impatient reader who does not want to work for the information. Still, noting this one dilemma does not completely account for my personal problem with poetry. I am well aware of my own laziness, and am willing to overcome it by putting forth the work, however, I still find myself stuck in a bog of ignorance when trying to discern the ultimate meaning to some poems. An example is probably the best way to show what I mean:
Emily Dickinson’s poem #1163 [1138] begins well, and I am happy to say I completely understand the entire first stanza. Clearly she writes, “A Spider sewed at Night / Without a Light / Opon an Arc of White - ” (1-3). It’s a phenomenon I’ve witnessed in my own backyard, noticing fascinatingly intricate spider webs materialize overnight. With the first part a success, it is time to undertake the next stanza. Here the lines start to climb the scale of mysteriousness stating, “If Ruff it was of Dome / Or Shroud of Gnome / Himself himself inform -” (4-6). The old, lazy reader I was would give up at this point, deciding if the author wants to be obscure, then I will gladly let her, but the determined me is curious. My best guess says that Dickinson is trying to convey images of what the web looks like. Ruff could be describing the pleated collar popular in British fashion, or it could also be referring to the thickened fur or feathers some animals carry around their neck. In either case, a “Ruff” is a decorative touch much in the same way the web of a spider is a decorative dome. The last line tells of how the outward appearance of the web is actually an informant, telling of who the spider inwardly is—the web is a physical manifestation of the spider’s personality. As for the middle line, I am truly at a loss, for the word “Gnome” only conjures up images of lawn decorations or Travelocity commercials.
With two stanzas down, there is only one left, but it is composed of the most confusing, and frustrating, three lines in the entire poem: “Of Immortality / His strategy / Was physiognomy -” (7-9). As many times as I read those words, and as much as I understand the meaning of each (since the book so kindly provides the definition of “physiognomy” in the footnotes), I cannot devise a consequential conclusion. At best I guess the spider wants not to literally live forever like the typical definition of immortality implies, but rather, if one interprets immortality to mean “being famous,” or living on in memory, then of course it makes sense he creates an amazingly unforgettable web to show the outside world who he is (physiognomy). Then again, what is the larger implication? I am sure it is some insinuation as to the cosmic order of the universe and the true meaning of existence, but I have trouble making such connections to my conclusion. As a result, the spider’s secret is safe, and I am all the more wary of poetry. It leads me to believe that the best poetry is that which has some ambiguity, but is still accessible, able to speak to those of any reading ability, sharing its message with the masses and not just a few (unfortunately, I believe I just created criteria only Dr. Seuss could fulfill).
Dickinson, Emily. "1163 [1138] A Spider Sewed at Night." The Norton Anthology of American Literature Vol. B. 7th ed. Ed. Nina Baym. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, Inc., 2007. 2589.
5 comments:
Actually, a very nice job here; how about the "immortality" of the web becoming the "immortality" of one's poem (or story or novel or painting) the spider's work is every bit as artistic as the painting or poem. Nature's work doesn't get the same amount of artistic notice as humans' works do, but it is every bit as beautiful---this tends to tie in with Emersonian works like "Nature" also. Don't know if this makes it to cosmic significance, but close enough for me, I think!
You raise an interesting point when concerning the state of poetry these days. While I cannot admit to being a poetry fan (I am in the narrative camp, personally), it is unfortuante that societal conventions of literature today pretty much discourage poetry. As you said, the answer is not as apparent as the antecedotes we typically read online are (some poems are relentlessly analyzed, sometimes without an actual answer, even to this day). By nature, poetry is abstract and at some points obtuse; the reader needs to expect that ambiguity is just something that is inherent with poetry instead of treating a poem like an actual narrative in information piece.
I have to agree with you that I find poetry to be difficult to understand and pick apart some times... I think there is probably much more than I can understand and I don't know if I'm reading into the short sentances as the writer meant them to... but I do think that poetry is beautiful in its elevation.
I agree with Matthew's point. So much focus put on breaking a poem down and analyzing it piece by piece. If this is done constantly over time I think the poem loses its original appeal. What i love about poetry is that you can make out of it whatever you want. Something you might find deeply symbolic and have a different meaning to the next person. That is the beauty of poetry.
Its interesting to see how poetry as form of literary expression has been replaced today. You raise alot of interesting points, and I think the dependence of the internet is one reason for this. Because the internet is all about communicating information in the easiest way possible. That goes entirely against how poetry tries to show the beauty of rehtoric
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