The word “befuddle” has two distinct, seemingly unrelated meanings. The dictionary at answers.com says this: “1. To confuse; perplex. 2. To stupefy with or as if with alcoholic drink.” While we’re most familiar with the first definition, the second — “to stupefy … as if with alcoholic drink” — gives me spectacular images to relate to the current Read Write Poll about trying to respond to a poem we don’t understand.

Think stammer. Think stutter. Stumble. Bumble. Imagine mouths agape. Picture bleary eyes, comical gestures, sweaty brows. The critic in me insists that I also mention obtuse poetry may cause loss of consciousness or vomiting. I apologize on her behalf for taking the metaphor too far. I am amused by her nonetheless.

I am instantly transported back in time to ninth grade English class (not by the drinking, silly, but by the stuttering). We go up and down the rows of desks taking turns reading verses in Romeo and Juliet. If any of us understands the lines on first read, you can’t tell by how our tongues trip over themselves, how we lack appropriate emotion and emphasis, how we utterly fail Master Shakespeare, one of the most talented and prolific writers we encounter in our formal educations. It’s ironic how “free” we all felt when our teacher releases us from our confusion and tells us, line by line, what, exactly, Shakespeare means.

A couple years later, I discovered a different kind of freedom associated with poetry. In 1989 (how could it have been nearly 20 years ago?) Peter Weir directed Dead Poets Society, starring Robin Williams as the rebellious Professor Keating. Keating, who asked his students to call him “Oh, Captain, My Captain,” not only encouraged free thinking about literature but incited an entire classroom to rip out the introduction of their poetry texts. The pages they destroyed contained an essay, “Understanding Poetry,” by Dr. J. Evans Pritchard (a fictional academic) which gave the readers of poetry a mathematical formula for rating verse.

Even as adults, no matter how learned, how well-read or how educated we are in artistic and poetic devices, we all have moments when we feel completely lost looking at a painting or reading a poem. It’s like another language, right? Yes! And with good reason: it is another language (although it’s embedded in our own).

It can be nerve-wracking to have absolutely no clue. We often assume there’s something wrong with us or with the poet or with the poem. If we don’t “get it,” something has to be wrong. We believe that sometimes. It’s practically a rule written on our subconscious by our expectations and the expectations of the many others.

Since rules are made to be broken (I’m with Keating on this), poets themselves are among those who try not to be so serious about the Herculean effort to come to a poem’s meaning. One of the most well-known examples is Billy Collins’ “Introduction to Poetry.” It concludes, “… all they want to do / is tie the poem to a chair with rope / and torture a confession out of it. // They begin beating it with a hose / to find out what it really means.”

And of course (of course!), books have been written about it. They include How to Read a Poem by Burton Raffel, Poetry for Dummies (it was only a matter of time) and How to read a poem: And fall in love with poetry by Edward Hirsch. The internet is also full of well-meaning individuals with advice on reading poetry. They include the Poetry Foundation’s How to Eat a Poem, Erin’s How to talk about a poem, Winthrop University’s How to read a poem, and two articles here and here by teacher Tina Blue.

Some of these resources have ideas that resonate with me, but many of them seem to have the same dictatorial spirit as the fictional Dr. Pritchard; I get nervous just reading them. I don’t want poetry reading to be a job. I want it to be an experience.

And I want to hear about your experiences. So far, the poll results show two clear front-runners. When asked to respond to a poem we’ve read but don’t understand, the overwhelming majority of us either “Come clean and say, ‘I have no idea what this means,’” or “Latch onto an image/phrase we like and talk about that.” I know there are stories in those answers, so for this poll dance, comments are wide open.

Tell a story about a time you misinterpreted something. (Was it funny? humiliating? maddening? How did you handle it? Was the poet in the room?) Share a resource that has inspired you to read poetry with fresh eyes. Offer suggestions from your personal experiences about approaching a poem that initially baffles you. How has your personal poetry reading style evolved? Are you still afraid sometimes?

~ Carolee

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Here’s how the poll dance works: We post a poll and let it ride for a week and a half, and then I’ll talk a little bit about the topic and the results. The poll will stand for a few days after that to allow additional participation. The rotation gives each poll two weeks in the white-hot spotlight.