Whose Fault Is It If I Don't Understand?

Two writer friends raised the same issue today, and both were talking about poetry. What do we do when we read a poem that we don't understand? Is it our fault, or the poet's? This question often comes up when talking about the poem published in our Saturday newspaper here in Melbourne, The Age. Most readers and writers of poetry that I know just shake their heads each week. What am I supposed to get from this poem? they ask. I don't understand it, no matter how many times I read it. Am I dumb?

I'm teaching poetry again this year, after a long break, and I think it's a good issue to raise. Sometimes in workshopping I've had a student who insisted that if the others didn't understand the poem, that's just too bad. No changes, no compromises. But at the point at which you put a poem out to the world, or even just one reader, isn't what you are hoping for is communication? Surely as soon as you want or ask for a reader, you are trying to show or tell them something.

In class, we've been reading some of Ted Kooser's book, The Poetry Home Repair Manual, and discussing the points he makes. One is: If a poem doesn't make sense to anyone but its author, nobody but its author will care a whit about it. He also says: I favor poems that keep the obstacles between you and that person [your reader] to a minimum. I agree, and I think some poets are deliberately obscure, and deliberately use language that creates obstacles. Does this mean they don't care about their readers?

Kooser suggests that some poets write difficult poems because they think that's the way to be a poet, and that in some circles, writing poems that are accessible is sneered at. But he agrees that many people give up on poetry because they think it's too much like hard work, in the same way that readers stop reading literary fiction because, at the end of a long working day, they don't want to be challenged, they want to escape. A difficult poem will require you to think, to ponder, and to puzzle (and sometimes to look words up). A deliberately obscure poem, however, won't even let you close enough to read it with a basic level of comprehension.

The reason poetry teachers use Kooser's and Billy Collins' poems so often in the classroom is because they are wonderful examples of how to write something that's both accessible on a first reading and also offers deeper levels if you want to dive in. Ultimately, once a poem is out there, whoever reads it will take from it what they want. They will interpret it in their own way, from their own experiences, and create their own meanings.

As a poet, I want to open the door for the reader, not slam it shut in their face. I hope that my verse novels will cause a child to welcome poetry in the future rather than grimace whenever it's mentioned! (I've seen that awful expression many times!) But I also, as a writer, want to challenge myself. I don't want to write poems that are easy for me. I want to experiment and explore, swoop and dive into language and imagery. But still, ultimately, to remember the person on the other side of the door.

Ebooks and Libraries

One snippet of news that skimmed past me recently was about publishers who want libraries to pay more for ebooks. Specifically, pay more money once they've lent the ebook out a certain number of times. I think 26 times was quoted as a figure, but I can't remember which publisher/s (hence the 'skimmed'). This set me thinking about how libraries pay for books, and what publishers receive.

I can see why a publisher might want to make more money this way. After all, the ebook is going to be lent electronically with no damage, whereas a hardcover or paperback tends to start falling apart after 20 or 30 borrowings (especially if a borrower drops it in the bath, for example). So a well-borrowed book might need to be replaced, and in that case, the publisher would get more money. You can kind of see their logic.

But ... that's likely to only happen for the Grishams, Roberts, Pattersons and Meyers, surely. What about all the books a library buys (and they buy lots of hardcovers that most of us can't afford) that don't get borrowed 40 times? That might only go out of the library 10 times and still be in good condition for many years? Doesn't it really even out in the long run? What do you think?