The intensity of words is never
So strongly felt as when read –
Black and white, I mean.
Depth of emotion is only
Truly expressed within certain confines –
Line by line, of course.
The purity of basic thought is always
Most easily drawn out by witty craftsmanship –
Word after word, unquestionably.
The brightest spark of epiphany is surely
More readily fueled by strict instruction –
Syntax and diction, I say.
Dare not to mock the intellectual,
For he shall surely be found right
In the books he preaches
By the men he praises.
Certainly?
Author notes
Ugh. This poem, written in about 10 minutes (as most of my works tend to be), is nothing like I had in mind. I sought out on a quest to praise the craftmen of words. I intended on expressing some gratitude for the masters of language that provoke my mind to work in ways that are new to it. However, once I started typing, I found myself feeling cynical - how is that these men (and women as well) "speak" to me the truths that I should be learning from living - not reading.
I'm not meaning to put down reading in anyway, it has become a new love for me, I simply needed to release the frustration that's been building. Reading has begun to spill out secrets of life that I hadn't learned yet for myself. I feel as though some friend has accidentally spoiled the plot of some movie I had hoped to see.
Ah well...this is far too long. I hope no one actually read it.
Written February 27th, 2005
What did you think
Comments
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I was thinking Dostoyevsky had to fit into it somehow---he's becoming your life.
RUN from the damned book, Beck! Don't ever look back!
Okay, so when reading this (trying to NOT think of you leaning over Crime and Punishment) I thought about poets who write poems about poetry (what it is). And I thought (as I'm not too fond of really thinking deeply), this is about meter, diction, rhyme, and reason. Is there really any good reason for poetry? Even after giving in to my inner poet, I still believe there isn't a good reason.
---well that's what I thought when reading (trying to not think of your Dostoyevsky---and YES I'm saying his name in my head while typing it).
Knowing now that you're not on poetry, but on larger things---more important things to society and human growth---I would now like to say, 'yes.' I feel you're saying that reading intellectuals go on about other intellectuals is sort of like listening to Tori Amos talk about her songs (the lyrics). You don't really want to listen to her TALK. You want to hear her sing (well, not you, but I do).
I love how you sound like those intellectuals in the last stanza---so cheeky, Beck. And I'm aware that the first stanza is the intellectuals.
-K (good enough?)
Edited on Mar 01, 2:43 p.m. because 'of editing'. -
I am not surprised!
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Thank you so much for taking the time to comment. It's funny that you should mention literary criticism because I'm in the middle of writing a critical research paper on Crime and Punishment (Dostoyevsky) and all of these essays I've read on it have kind of taken the spark away from the novel itself. Anywho. Thanks so much.
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I liked the theme of this poem. It has potential. The logical progression of the poem needs to be re-thought. For instance, the narrator seems to be mocking the intellectual (by saying don't mock the intellectual), yet the narrator says
"The brightest spark of epiphany is surely
More readily fueled by strict instruction –
Syntax and diction, I say"
Or perhaps it was the intellectual who said that. It's a bit confusing.
I sympathize with the message of the poem, because if you read literary criticism, it's such overblown, self-important crap, with people who take OPINIONS as FACTS-- which wouldn't bother me so much, if they weren't philosophical relativists and such. I think this one's a keeper, it just needs a bit more work.
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