Finding Your Music

Your own instrument

Music is both everything and nothing in poetry. Some poets will say what they most want to do is create music for the reader. A rhythm that sounds interesting to the ear. It’s not the meaning of the poem or any message they’re trying to get across. In fact, they’ll say the music carries the meaning and all the other facets of the poem within itself. They’ll point to Wallace Sevens, who is trying to raise imagination and music to supreme values in the world. Stevens is often their model and measuring stick. But not everyone worships at the altar of sound. Some poets want their meanings and purposes completely clear. They don’t wish to obscure their work by writing text that is impossible to understand. So, their language seems blunt, as if it was hacked off a stump, thudding against readers. Alan Dugan is one example of this kind of poet, who uses plain language a lot. Dugan has classical examples that lead him to this kind of voice. You can still be very successful with this strategy; Dugan won many awards. Then there are poets who fall between these poles. The New York School poets are famous for using colloquial language beside heightened phrases. Frank O’Hara could jump from a phrase about a party to a clause about the music of a sophisticated composer he loves. Ashbery’s mature work is made up of those juxtapositions, which have the effects of humor and critique. It’s important to realize, too, that there are many different kinds of music. The hip-hop effect of one poet can be very different from a voice shadowing classical music. Both may have poems with similar meanings, but the approaches may be disparate. To be a good poet, listen to as many kinds of music as you can, both songs and poems. Eventually, you’ll find the instrument you need to play, which is yours alone. But realize, too, the instrument might change, due to age, events, rethinking. It will also evolve with you no matter what you do.