https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/text/everything-you-always-wanted-know-about-poetry
Quote:
Let me put it another way. The same sensibility that kicks poems around until they stand up like man and mean also flattens butterflies under glass and mounts animal heads on den walls. I am not sentimentalizing. I am not being the dreamy, wishy-washy thinker that poets are expected to be. When wildness is once and for all nailed, it becomes an ornament with trophy status. When all the mystery is crushed out of a poem, when its wings are pinned forever, when it no longer makes weird noises in the night, when it has grown harmless in the collection book of the school text, the poem will have attained the state of perfect meaning which is death. It becomes another prize in a landscape of stuffed birds. The saddest part of this education, for students and teachers alike, is that it’s much easier to trap a stuffed bird than to skin your knees chasing a live one. We train ourselves by this method of “analysis” to seek out examples of poetry that, because of their museum-piece status, are safe stuffed owls. This accounts for the preponderance of so much bad poetry even in anthologies that seem to be searching for something so much better, collections like Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle and Some Haystacks Don’t Even Have Any Needle. Most books of this kind display the same old trophies, leaking sawdust, gussied up with a veneer of contemporary typefaces and flashy layout.
Other poets seem to exist completely in their own spiritual interiors. The world “out there” pales in comparison to their inner lives, their thoughts and feelings. Trees and people seem to exist only as comments on what is taking place inside them. We can call the first group “extroverts,” the second “introverts,” if we wish. Whatever the poet’s attitude toward himself and the world may be, there is a continual struggle within him to be true to his own vision. Teachers and students should be aware of it. To seize her vision in language as accurately as she can, the poet takes chances, stabs in the dark of the world and the self, both of which are finally unknowable. Teachers and students should likewise be aware of this chance-taking so essential to the making of any art. The French poet Paul Valéry claimed that a poem is never finished, only abandoned. The poet, then, can never be positive he has got it down “right” for all time. In this light, how much more careful should those who study poetry be in fixing “final” interpretations to poems. In fact, the virtue of a great poem is that it can be interpreted inexhaustibly, from generation to generation, century to century, and even from culture to culture. No one has stopped writing about the Odyssey; the last word on Hamlet has yet to be said. The poem reads us as much as we read the poem.
Before adding to my previous thoughts about a friend saying a rather unpleasant thing about my blog,I feel I should tell people to trust their instincts.After the event I described I realised I had always felt uncomfortable when alone with her but I had ignored this feeling.So maybe we should listen to our hearts when considering becoming a friend to a new person.See whether they respect us;see if they ask intrusive questions or listen to how they discuss other people.If they always describe other friends in a perjorative way that might be a warning
_-_Google_Art_Project_-_edited.jpg)
How my heart sings 