Why I think poetry matters?
Poetry matters for many different reasons, but two of them stick out to me the most. One of these reasons matters specifically to the poet, while the other is beneficial to the reader. As a poet, writing poetry can be like an escape; a release of all the burdens that a person may carry. A work of art is then created, which is a treasure to the reader. Someone who can read poetry and enjoy it earns the privilege of being able to experience someone else's emotions. It may invoke empathy in the reader, which seems to be a dwindling trait in today's electronic society. If nothing else, the poem becomes a piece of eye candy. It is something for people to look at, to read, and to simply enjoy. In my opinion, that's a treasure in it's own. It seems like there are so few things that are "simply enjoyed" without complications or consequences.
Parini's summary:
Part of Parini's love of poetry comes from his bitter disapproval of the chaotic world of television screens and iPods. Poetry actually demands something from its reader. It's an activity that isn't mindless, like so many other distraction this world has to offer. In part, that is why poetry matters to Parini. It also matters because it teaches people the ways of metaphor. Without metaphor, a person would be lost in the hubbub of sarcasm. With a knowledge of metaphor, that same person can begin making comparisons and understanding the world a little better. Poetry is also a doorway. With so many electronics, a person may lose touch of the real world that surrounds them. Poetry will lead that person back to nature, whether they seek it for inspiration or because they have already been inspired.
Here's an excerpt from a poem I read this morning. It's In Cabin'd Ships at Sea by Walt Whitman.
It is only the middle of the poem, supposedly spoken through the sailors' words, and the italicized section is Whitman's interjection. I just love how the rhythm of the poem matches the meaning of the words: undulating, pulsating, ebb and flow, endless motion, liquid flowing, melancholy rhythm.
Enjoy.
"Here are our thoughts, voyagers' thoughts,
Here not the land, firm land, alone appears, may then by them be said,
The sky o'earches here, we feel the undulating deck beneath our feet,
We feel the long pulsation, ebb and flow of endless motion,
The tones of unseen mystery, the vague and vast suggestion of the briny world, the liquid flowing syllables,
The perfume, the faint creaking of the cordage, the melancholy rhythm,
The boundless vista and the horizon far and dim are all here,
And this is ocean's poem."
