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The Rhythm of Words

The long and short of it is that rhythm makes things interesting. Without a beat we’re dead. My attempt to read Geoffrey Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales in Middle English begins with knowing something about the iambic pentameter. Soon a delightful rhythm surfaces. If I can’t get five stresses in a line I’m saying it wrong.

What goes down must come up seems like a simple enough concept. But having a sense of rhythm is not inherent in all of us.  Like swimming, skipping, or striking a ball, it is a coordination that needs to be taught. Where to speed up, where to pause. Imagine learning to recite Chaucer at a young age!

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Surrealism and the Art of Performance

Coming into writing late in life with no background makes it difficult for me to appreciate different poetic expressions.  Surrealistic poetry is especially daunting.  Friends suggest visualizing the imagery, but my mind can’t react quickly enough and I sink under the deluge of words.  Ask the surrealists and they’ll say their poems are whatever you want them to be.  I walk away feeling a little silly.  Questioning artists for meaning of their work is like asking about the ingredients and nutrition facts in a cookie.  It doesn’t help me in appreciating the nuance of the product.

For one thing, the mind—that stubborn, controlling, egotistical blob—does not want to let go of preconditioned bias.  But recently I found a way to trick it.  Instead of listening to the words, I listen to the rhythm and sound of the poem.  The music in these poetry is the catalyst that allows me to immerse in them with awe and wonder.  I am held afloat by their juxtaposition.  I ride their waves until they bring me ashore.  It’s all in the performance, and they often leave me breathless.

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