Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Poetry Is A Kind Of Lying

Text by Hazlan Zakaria
Poem by Jack Gilbert



Poetry Is A Kind Of Lying 


Poetry is a kind of lying,
necessarily. To profit the poet
or beauty. But also in
that truth may be told only so.

Those who, admirably, refuse
to falsify (as those who will not
risk pretensions) are excluded
from saying even so much.

Degas said he didn't paint
what he saw, but what
would enable them to see
the thing he had.


I find this poem by Jack Gilbert to be beautiful in the way that it is crafted, as well as in the message that it is trying to deliver: simple, succinct. Yet, it is quite meaningful in its somewhat abrupt ending. That's something that I gather most who understand what poetry is would, perchance, agree upon, or else at least consider agreeing.

Poets have always been claimed to be the most honest of those who practice their craft in the realm of the arts. Unlike non-fiction writers they are usually unswayed by conflicting agendas.  Nor are they prone to re-create the world as fiction writers tend to.

It is generally quoted that poets tend to write about what they see, experience and hear. Which is why it is also said that those in power fear this threat that poets can and sometimes do wield such power over them.

But the clincher here is that what a poet sees, internally at least, is not the same as what most people perceive. This squares with the last stanza in the above poem. As the line goes, "Degas said he didn't paint/what he saw". Which means he did not paint things as they  appear to the eye. Instead, he painted imagery to "enable them to see/the thing he had." ; this thing that he had being the unique truth that the mind of the artist or poet is able to see but which most of society are blind to.

Pace poets, herein lies the untruths and half-lies in a poet's work. For in order to portray truth as it really is, he needs to dress them in 'pretensions', word plays and literary mechanism. When conjoined with the the poet's message, they are made palatable and comprehensible by the masses.

However, in the end it is all a 'necessarily' so, not only to "profit the poet/ or beauty". Also, in many cases it is the norm "that truth may be told only so." Sometimes it is profit in the very literal sense, as some poets do take on commissioned work as well.

But at times and in beauty's sake, it is also about offering meaning in a palatable cake; instilling human folly and foibles into inanimate objects, for example, as a means to conduct a poem's message. In this way, "Poetry is a kind of lying", so to speak.

While my meager explanation herein might shed some twinkling as to the method and means to this poem, I would wager that a further reading of the poem above would impart more interpretations than my take here could ever do. Which is why I do think that it is a special poem that deserves a mention, as an art form, as well as, a great condensation of what poetry is.

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2 Comments:

Anonymous Percy Bisque Silly said...

Poems about poems - O so Tiresome and oh-so "Moderne!" Lo, I Spurn them. Give me Wordsworth, Coleridge, Shelley, Keats!

Such Men of Belles Lettres, such Fancy Pantsies - these, like I, they had the Spirit and the message, the Visionary Gleam, the you Know what I Mean...

8:56 PM, March 24, 2009  
Blogger Baronhawk said...

Ouch! Touche!

But I do get what you mean,
though I may not necessarily share your glean, my appreciation of the poem being but fancy's gleam, and an idea which I felt was deemed.

Anyway, I prefer Frost, Blake, Poe... but do appreciate Wordsworth as well. Tales of lonely clouds, and indeed, how the world is too much with us doth engages my fancy... visions galore.

10:05 AM, March 25, 2009  

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