So! Back from our annual cabin trip - aka Reading Binge Time - with some thoughts on the books I read.
This trip felt, in some ways, really different from past. Partly just all the changes happening right now (my brother’s fiancee was able to come for part of the trip), partly the fact that, despite best efforts to step away for some peace and
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I always wonder if my failure to enjoy poetry is mostly an issue of education (i.e. that I could enjoy it, if someone knowledgeable taught me the right way to approach it and how to distinguish between good and bad poetry) or more of an intrinsic personality conflict, so to speak. Like you, I tend to be a more concrete, straightforward thinker and I guess I tend to be... suspicious?... if I can't untangle a writer's meaning in something, especially if I suspect there may not BE a definite intended meaning. So yes, there are times when I'm struck by the beauty of a word choice or swept away by the rhythm and sound of something, but where it comes to poetry that's definitely ( ... )
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This. I sometimes read poetry and come away feeling like the poet fell in love with the sound of the words but didn't give much thought to the actual meaning... or the ease with which the reader grasps the meaning? And then I think, "Wow, how arrogant of me to put blame on the poet for something I'm just too dense to understand!" And then I realize that poetry is generally just too much work and I go back to reading prosaic prosey stuff instead. LOL
I wish I could take a class called "Poetry for People Who Don't Get Poetry," but I've never seen one offered. XD
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