6. Discussion #9: Embracing Ambiguity
6. Discussion #9: Embracing Ambiguity
In “How to Read a Poem,” Edward Hirsch writes, “Poems speak to us in many ways. Though their forms may not always be direct or narrative, keep in mind that a real person formed the moment of the poem, and it’s wise to seek an understanding of that moment. Sometimes the job of the poem is to come closer to saying what cannot be said in other forms of writing, to suggest an experience, idea, or feeling that you can know but not entirely express in any direct or literal way. The techniques of word and line arrangement, sound and rhythm, add to—and in some cases, multiply—the meaning of words to go beyond the literal, giving you an impression of an idea or feeling, an experience that you can’t quite put into words but that you know is real.” He goes on to explore choices and effects of line length and breaks as well as how we can engage with a poem, listening to its sounds and ideas and having a sort of conversation with it. In the final section of his essay, he encourages us to “embrace ambiguity.” In this forum, I would like you to find one idea, piece of figurative language, imagery or just a line(s) from one of the poems we read this week that you find ambiguous and explore it considering different possibilities for what the poem might be saying through this choice. Please use poem below
3= Your writing shows a mastery of thematic issues and/or you have expressed a number of insights or connections that demonstrate an excellent effort to make meaning. You have also used properly cited evidence from the text to support your point.
“What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why”
BY EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.
