(Last revised August 19, 2008)
Here is my provisional Ars Poetica, subject to revision at any moment. The statements below apply to the ideal poem which I strive to compose (always falling short of that ideal). The statements below apply only to my own poems (ekphrastic or otherwise), not to anyone else’s. The statements below have resulted, in part, from my ruminations on Laurence Perrine’s book Sound and Sense, and from my ruminations on a lecture by poet James Longenbach in which he proposed that poetry is “the sound of language organized in lines.”
When I compose a poem, I strive to craft a passage of spoken language in which the poem’s “sound system” (the interrelationship of letter, phoneme, syllable, word, versified line, and silences) is at least as alluring as is the poem’s “sense system” (the interrelationship of word denotation, word connotation, literal meaning of sentence, figurative tropes and schemes, imagery etc.). Of course, the sounds that I hear as alluring are not necessarily alluring to everyone else. The most succinct description of the kind of poetry I strive to compose is “supersaturated language” : language supersaturated with both sound and sense.
Most of my poems contain a sound system which operates primarily at the level of syllable, word, phrasing, and line. Although I have not yet composed any poems in which the sound system operates primarily at the level of phoneme or individual alphabetical letter, I think that such sound poetry is certainly legitimate, engaging, and worthwhile to make.
In my hierarchy of values, I value most highly the sound qualities of restraint, delicacy, purity, tenderness, precision, graceful phrasing, temperate pacing, and subtle modulations. I value these qualities not because I think they are inherently better than other sound qualities, but only because they are better suited to my particular sensibilities. It’s a matter of personal taste. But I am not yet sure whether, when I say “I really like that poem,” I am responding primarily to the sonics of the poem itself, or I am responding primarily to the timbre of the poet’s own vibrating vocal chords.
The best way to preserve one of my poems is to capture its sound through an audio or video recording. The next-to-best way to preserve one of my poems is to transcribe it onto paper with the use of lines. Lineation is a useful and proven convention for notating some of the sound of a poem-on-the-page; however, the conventions of scansion (diacritical marks for the number of heavily or lightly stressed syllables) are more precise. Even more precise would be a method for notating a word’s duration, pitch, tempo, and volume. I have come across one poet who invented such notations, but they have not made it into common usage.
In my own poems, the sense system is sometimes conveying actual facts or memories. Sometimes it is conveying make-believe fiction. Sometimes it is conveying a combination. I claim the freedom to compose any combination of fact and fiction that I want to, provided that I honor two ethical guidelines. The first guideline is that I don’t misrepresent my poem to the listening audience as being fact when it is fiction. The second guideline is that I don’t represent any real person known to me (as opposed to a stranger) without his or her consent. When I write an ekphrastic poem, I make a reasonable effort to notify the artist that I have composed a poem inspired by his or her work of art.
Now I will discuss the subject matter of poems, the ostensible content. No human being makes it through life without consuming resources, without using something taken from someone or something else. No human being exists without hurting others to some degree. Perhaps the ideal life is one in which as little harm as possible is done to others. As a poet, I am no exception to the law of consumption. I make poems by using and consuming thoughts, feelings, experiences, etc. Sometimes those thoughts, feelings, and experiences are taken from others, and sometimes that usage is hurtful to others. Perhaps the ideal poetry is poetry in which as little harm as possible is done to others. However, it is not always possible for me to predict who may be harmed by my poem and to what extent.
The artistic purpose of my poetry is to provide me, the work-a-day poet, with a pleasurable and rewarding activity. I enjoy the artistic process, the craftsmanship. I like to spend hours arranging words in order to create a passage of alluring sound and sense. I take delight in learning how poems are shaped and structured and set into motion. I hope that my poems provide listening and imaginative pleasure to at least one person in my audience, but I don’t know for sure that they do. The activity of creating and reading aloud my poems serves a beneficial social function: I get to know many kinds of people. I am stimulated by the diversity of people whom I meet at open mics, poetry readings, conferences, critique groups, and blogs. Getting to know a variety of people through poetry promotes community understanding, cooperation, and progress.
The sources of my poetry are many. I may start a poem in a variety of ways: on a regular schedule with the aid of a specific ekphrastic technique which I have developed over the years; sometimes at the momentary prompting of an unanticipated observation, sensation, or thought; often after attending a poetry reading or listening to a poetry audio; often after reading a few poems. I proceed by speaking the poem out loud, writing it down longhand in pencil, revising it in pencil, sending it to myself in an email, reading the email the next day, then transferring it to typed text. I bring the poem to critique groups. I read it aloud (or recite it from memory) at local poetry open mics. I submit poems for publication, both online and in print. I appreciate websites and blogzines which provide podcasts of my own voice reading my own poems.
I treasure many poets for their voices. One of the most remarkable poetic voices I have ever heard belongs to Gwendolyn Brooks (1917-2000). I also love listening to these poets (alphabetically): Anthony Bernini, Eavan Boland, Debra Kang Dean, A.C. Everson, Carolyn Forche, Carol Graser, Eamon Grennan, Brigit Pegeen Kelly, Phillip Levine, James Longenbach, Joan Murray, and Gregory Orr.
I also treasure many poems for their systems of sound and sense. If I had to choose just one poem to listen to on my deathbed, it would probably be “Spring and Fall: To a Young Child” by Gerard Manley Hopkins.
