I like the zen type poem that has an almost oriental simplicity, but I also
like the poem that is rich in sound and in language. I like prose that is
simple, too, but I am not averse to abundance in image and in word choices.
Loquacious to describe a stream is something so fresh and new, so mud
luscious as e e cummings would say (and there was a poet who liked to be
playful with language) that one can go back and read the poem again and think
of just the sound of the word, a kind of onomatopoeia in having a juicy and
liquid sound. Ultimately though the only thing that counts in terms of
poetry, for me at least, is whether or not it works. A friend of mine said
that poetry had to do something; either it had to titillate the brain or
pinch the heart. I like that. And I will add that it can simply create an
experience. But it surely shouldn't sound as if it all came off the same bolt
of cloth. Dylan Thomas comes to mind as an example of a poet who reveled in
language. That is what I mean by voice. Essentially I think it just means
being true to what is in you, not trying to sound like someone else. None of
us came off the same bolt of cloth, so why can't we have the identity of
language? Hemingway does not sound like Faulkner, but I wouldn't say that
Faulkner with all his complexity needs to sound like Hemingway either. The
best writing doesn't just take the first word that comes to the top of the
mind, does it? Not if it is crafted. What it does look for is the accurate
word, the use of a word that fits so well it turns a phrase like a tumbler in
a lock, and it turns in the reader's mind so wonderfully that he says, "Yes.
Right. No other word would say that so well." It can cause a kind of
recognition, an intake of the breath sometimes, and often this depends on the
truth of the way the language is put together. Please forgive me if, in
trying to explain my feelings, I come across as sounding pompous. I may.
And that is not my intention. Which shows what a battle it is to communicate
almost anything well.
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