by Juliet Wilson
52 Ways of Looking at a Poem is based on the articles Ruth Padel wrote for the Independent on Sunday newspaper.
The idea behind the articles and the book is to encourage the reader to read poetry more closely, to pay more attention to both form and meaning. Fifty-two poems are chosen — one for each week of the year — and dissected, with Padel’s trademark informed intelligence. Poets represented include Seamus Heaney, Don Paterson, Colette Bryce and Vicki Feaver.
The poems cover a range of styles, forms and themes, though all are relatively short, given the original constraints of the newspaper column. The analysis of each poem runs to at least two pages, starting with a brief biographical note on the writer, a discussion of the context of the poem and then an in-depth study of the way rhyme and rhythm are used in the poem and how these work to support and enhance the subject matter.
It’s a fascinating read, I certainly felt I was finding more in the poems than I otherwise would have done (and I’m a fairly close reader to start with). However, can it become counterproductive to over analyze a poem? Does such close reading drain the poem of its immediacy? These are interesting questions to ponder reading through this book.
It is also interesting to reflect on ones own writing from the standpoint of this book. How would my writing stand up to such close reading? How about yours?
I tried reading one of Ruth Padel’s books – it may have been this one – but it left me rather uninspired. I suspect that it may be sufficient to just read a few of her analyses, and then try and do your own – it is an approach that you would probably get a lot more from doing it yourself than watching someone else do it.
Also, if I owned the book rather than having borrowed it, I would only read one or two at a time, and it may be worth making your own notes on the poem before reading Padel’s analysis of it.
I would hope close reading would unearth things in my own poems that I haven’t thought about consciously – word choices made through instinct because they “sound right” – close reading would perhaps illuminate just why they “sound right”. But of course I’m not as good a poet as the ones she analyses in her books.
Sometimes analysing a poem makes it come more alive, as it forces you to stop and think. If a poem does not immediately strike a chord with you it is of course easier to just turn the page. An exercise in one of my books on drawing asks you to “live” with a drawing for a week – to show it to people, discuss it with them, and just look at it to see how your feelings change (if they do) during that week. It could perhaps be a better way of dealing with a poem instead of analysing it.
Interesting post Juliet. In it you pose the question, “Does such close reading drain the poem of its immediacy?”
I would answer yes, most definitely it does — and drains its ’soul’ as well.
The best way to ruin a poem for me would be to analyze it over two pages.
Close reading, or in depth analysis of a poem, is a bit like having a truly fine meal, and picking it apart instead of eating and enjoying it — IMHO.
I’ve been in a number of writing/poetry classes in college and since, and found only exhaustion to be the net result. I’ve come to realize that the academia of writing/poetry will never draw my focus or spark my passion.
I much prefer jazz over classical music. My love for poetry is like my love for jazz — it’s experiential, soulful. I know when the ‘magic’ happens in jazz, and I know when the ‘magic’ happens in poetry — and I don’t get there through analysis. I choose not to dissect the epiphany… it ruins it for me.
That is my wholly personal perspective, and it drives my preference in poetry. That said, I genuinely respect those with a different view.