Audience is the Heart of Poetry
Last Saturday, Poetry Brew in York Arts gallery hosted one of the best featured readings by a southeastern PA poet. Afterward, a question loomed like the proverbial elephant in the room: why don’t more poetry aficionados and non-poets attend poetry readings and open mics? It is a question that is palpable at most venues, though seldom addressed, except in private conversations during intermissions or on the drives home. After all, nobody talks publicly about the elephant because nobody knows exactly what to do about it.
Here was a performer, at the top of his craft, delivering impeccably nuanced verse, poem after poem, to a very appreciative audience. Le Hinton’s eloquence was intoxicating, his voice as mesmerizing as any virtuoso’s solo.
I am astonished at the asceticism of olives
the black keys on an otherwise white piano
and how jelly tolerates the infidelity
of peanut butter with bread
I've always been a bit slow in appreciating
the finer points of intimacy
the way stuffed animals casually stand
mouths agape while witnessing
the crumpling of dreams in a bedroom
the tightly closed leaves of an artichoke
protect it from the lies of Casanovas
and other insatiable insects
but in the end
most olives lack a beating red center
This expert weaver of personification uses common objects and experiences to render his simple aesthetic about human relationships: that without heart, there is no sense of wonder, no looking on the bright side of irony, no tolerance, no forgiveness, no patience, no empathy, no peace. In short, there is no inner strength. There is only the shell or appearance of being complete. The soul needs a heart the way a body craves a soul. For completion.
The poem suggests that the contemplative olive is somehow incomplete, if leaving the body means giving up the heart, the vibrant center of love. In its austerity the olive seems to have shed the seed, i.e., the body and now becomes a soul, the perfect food. But it lacks heart. The soul needs a heart, does it not? Heart and soul go together like so many other couples suggested throughout the poem. Without ebony, what is ivory? Without peanut butter, what is jelly? Without dreams, what is intimacy? Without restraint, what is power? Without heart, where is love? Without love, where is the soul?
All begins with the speaker’s simple observation of the archetypal olive. Archetypes are models that have similar idealized meanings or interpretations among individuals or across cultures. We use archetypes to represent the epitome of some experience or understanding common to humanity which can reveal higher truths about ourselves, good or bad. In an archetype and its derived meaning, we learn about ourselves more intimately in our human relationships.
The olive gains its stature as archetype from Greek mythology, Judeo-Christian tradition, and Islamic symbology. It mostly serves to conjure images of peace, fertility, purity, universality, and veneration. Using the olive as the alpha and omega of the poem emphasizes its significance. Repetition in a poem can lift the poem to a higher realm or cast it into less effective redundancy. Here, the former rings true.
Amidst this commingling of philosophy, symbolism, and the more familiar piano, sandwich, stuffed animals, bedroom, artichoke and insects, an unspoken collective wish rose from Saturday’s crowd. This performance should be experienced by hundreds more people. Maybe thousands.
We felt privileged to be in the presence of a master. Why weren’t many others here to share the pleasure? What limit can be put on witnessing a profession of truth about humanness, especially one that strikes close to home, evoking both laughter or a sudden lump in the throat; one that awakens empathy, coerces you out of your box, paints a shared reality freshly?
Although the room at the gallery was filled, most in attendance were poets. The few non-poets in attendance were supportive friends or spouses.
Is it mostly artists who visit galleries and museums, attend art shows and openings? Do mostly musicians attend concerts and clubs? Do only those who race cars attend NASCAR? Do only politicians attend political debates and vote? Do only people who play a particular sport watch live or broadcast events of that sport? Emotional appeal, entertainment value, and human reflection weave their curious way through answers to these rhetorical questions that all begin with “No.”
But the disparity in attendance between art, music, political, and sports venues and poetry venues is marked. The real choice is not between poetry and concerts, or poetry and sports, or poetry and political rallies. The choice lies somewhere in the domain of value. What do we value? How do we prioritize our values? As humans, time is what we have. So, we prioritize our time. Pleasure is what we are attracted to. Physical, emotional, intellectual, and spiritual pleasure. Poetry has it all. Maybe it’s time to rearrange priorities. It’s only a small investment of time, but the rewards can be immeasurable!
Please send poems, reflections, ideas to <michaeljhoover@gmail.com>.
Check out more on Le Hinton at his publication website <www.irisgpress.org.>.
Last Saturday, Poetry Brew in York Arts gallery hosted one of the best featured readings by a southeastern PA poet. Afterward, a question loomed like the proverbial elephant in the room: why don’t more poetry aficionados and non-poets attend poetry readings and open mics? It is a question that is palpable at most venues, though seldom addressed, except in private conversations during intermissions or on the drives home. After all, nobody talks publicly about the elephant because nobody knows exactly what to do about it.
Here was a performer, at the top of his craft, delivering impeccably nuanced verse, poem after poem, to a very appreciative audience. Le Hinton’s eloquence was intoxicating, his voice as mesmerizing as any virtuoso’s solo.
I am astonished at the asceticism of olives
the black keys on an otherwise white piano
and how jelly tolerates the infidelity
of peanut butter with bread
I've always been a bit slow in appreciating
the finer points of intimacy
the way stuffed animals casually stand
mouths agape while witnessing
the crumpling of dreams in a bedroom
the tightly closed leaves of an artichoke
protect it from the lies of Casanovas
and other insatiable insects
but in the end
most olives lack a beating red center
This expert weaver of personification uses common objects and experiences to render his simple aesthetic about human relationships: that without heart, there is no sense of wonder, no looking on the bright side of irony, no tolerance, no forgiveness, no patience, no empathy, no peace. In short, there is no inner strength. There is only the shell or appearance of being complete. The soul needs a heart the way a body craves a soul. For completion.
The poem suggests that the contemplative olive is somehow incomplete, if leaving the body means giving up the heart, the vibrant center of love. In its austerity the olive seems to have shed the seed, i.e., the body and now becomes a soul, the perfect food. But it lacks heart. The soul needs a heart, does it not? Heart and soul go together like so many other couples suggested throughout the poem. Without ebony, what is ivory? Without peanut butter, what is jelly? Without dreams, what is intimacy? Without restraint, what is power? Without heart, where is love? Without love, where is the soul?
All begins with the speaker’s simple observation of the archetypal olive. Archetypes are models that have similar idealized meanings or interpretations among individuals or across cultures. We use archetypes to represent the epitome of some experience or understanding common to humanity which can reveal higher truths about ourselves, good or bad. In an archetype and its derived meaning, we learn about ourselves more intimately in our human relationships.
The olive gains its stature as archetype from Greek mythology, Judeo-Christian tradition, and Islamic symbology. It mostly serves to conjure images of peace, fertility, purity, universality, and veneration. Using the olive as the alpha and omega of the poem emphasizes its significance. Repetition in a poem can lift the poem to a higher realm or cast it into less effective redundancy. Here, the former rings true.
Amidst this commingling of philosophy, symbolism, and the more familiar piano, sandwich, stuffed animals, bedroom, artichoke and insects, an unspoken collective wish rose from Saturday’s crowd. This performance should be experienced by hundreds more people. Maybe thousands.
We felt privileged to be in the presence of a master. Why weren’t many others here to share the pleasure? What limit can be put on witnessing a profession of truth about humanness, especially one that strikes close to home, evoking both laughter or a sudden lump in the throat; one that awakens empathy, coerces you out of your box, paints a shared reality freshly?
Although the room at the gallery was filled, most in attendance were poets. The few non-poets in attendance were supportive friends or spouses.
Is it mostly artists who visit galleries and museums, attend art shows and openings? Do mostly musicians attend concerts and clubs? Do only those who race cars attend NASCAR? Do only politicians attend political debates and vote? Do only people who play a particular sport watch live or broadcast events of that sport? Emotional appeal, entertainment value, and human reflection weave their curious way through answers to these rhetorical questions that all begin with “No.”
But the disparity in attendance between art, music, political, and sports venues and poetry venues is marked. The real choice is not between poetry and concerts, or poetry and sports, or poetry and political rallies. The choice lies somewhere in the domain of value. What do we value? How do we prioritize our values? As humans, time is what we have. So, we prioritize our time. Pleasure is what we are attracted to. Physical, emotional, intellectual, and spiritual pleasure. Poetry has it all. Maybe it’s time to rearrange priorities. It’s only a small investment of time, but the rewards can be immeasurable!
Please send poems, reflections, ideas to <michaeljhoover@gmail.com>.
Check out more on Le Hinton at his publication website <www.irisgpress.org.>.