Poetry Should Be Strange
A defense of the art form, and the reason we should always take a closer look.
When an email with the subject line “Remembering Poet Leslie McGrath” hit my inbox, I’m not sure why I opened it. I didn’t know who Leslie McGrath was, and the sender was a publication I’d only looked at once or twice. Maybe it was an accidental click, or maybe I just opened it out of boredom. The journal in question — The Common — had published a poem by her, and an editor briefly discussed McGrath’s legacy and recent passing. As I thought about the things we leave behind — correspondences, children, cars and whole houses filled with stuff — I began to think about poetry not as the chronicle of our lives, but of our souls.
I am all too familiar with the resistance to poetry. It has a reputation. Poetry is too flowery, too esoteric, too personal. Too cheesy, too preachy, too sentimental. And then there’s everything it’s not. Not straightforward enough, not important, not worth the time it takes to dissect it and dig the meat out from its shell. There are so many attacks on poetry that sometimes its only function seems to be defending itself and its right to exist.
There are books out there with titles that will resonate with non-believers — Don’t Read Poetry, The Hatred of Poetry, Why Poetry — but I’m pretty sure naysayers would be disappointed to open the covers and find out these volumes are actually trying to convert them. Poets have long been aware of this unfortunate obstacle connected with their work. “There’s nothing more embarrassing than being a poet, really,” quipped Elizabeth Bishop. Marianne Moore clears the air by beginning a poem aptly titled “Poetry” with a rather upfront confession: “I, too, dislike it.” The it, of course, being poetry.
A shot of Julie Mehretu’s HOWL, eon (I, II) (2017) on display at SFMOMA, taken by Hebert Lucio.
Poetry is as controversial as abstract art, and I’d argue they raise red flags much for the same reasons. The qualities that underscore their beauty — the embodiment of emotion, the potential for interpretation — can be polarizing. Too specific to be relatable, too open-ended to be definitive.
But the most beautiful part of poetry — and art in general — is its ability to excavate our minds, to make visible the things we rarely see, to provide a new look at this old world. Poetry is possibility, purpose. It’s strange. Poetry should be strange — life is strange. Poetry should mystify. It should make you laugh. It should make you remember the things you never thought you’d forget. It should speak to you, and ask you questions. I didn’t think twice about the poems I read as a child, but now they are like my lungs or fingers; I don’t consciously consider how they work or how often I need them, but they function as a part of me every day.
Reading “The Dodo” by Leslie McGrath, I saw a glimpse of someone’s inner workings. I saw words that were carefully considered, connections that were uniquely formed and turned into a tight, sparse composition. An expression that the author felt needed to be shared with the world. McGrath left a piece of herself in that poem, as all poets do, and after I read it I wondered how many mirrors I had looked into. I saw life, experience, research, revision, and a chair with a desk, or maybe a couch. Long days and longer sleepless nights. Questions and no answers. I read it and wondered if I was examining her soul or mine.
Exterior Explorations
An edit of things to click on and mull over.
For Society’s Sake, Write a Postcard by Martha Cheng (Flux Hawai’i)
The simple pleasure of sending a note has turned political. But that doesn’t make it any less romantic.
Home Cooking, a podcast by Samin Nosrat and Hrishikesh Hirway
I’ve been obsessed with Samin Nosrat ever since I saw her Netflix show Salt Fat Acid Heat. Listening to her laugh and talk food with her friend and co-host is cathartic. I like to tune in when I’m making dinner.
The Three Rules of Coronavirus Communication by Sanya Dosani and Chai Dingari (The New York Times)
What do drones, art and TikTok have in common? They’ve all been effective tools used to spread awareness and save lives.
Currently reading… 📖 I’m almost done with Sula by Toni Morrison, The Stacks’ August book club pick (oops, hi September!) and am catching up so I can listen to last week’s discussion with Brit Bennett, author of The Mothers and The Vanishing Half. I am also diving into the new poetry collection Fruit by Bruce Snider. I’ve only read the first poem and am already feeling more whole as a human being.
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Catch up on past installments of interior monologue: