At a recent conference an expert in audience involvement provided four recitations of a William Carlos Williams poem, the first without preparation, the next three with different sorts of "program notes."
I found the first recitation spell-binding, as is the poem, until he got to the last word, which he garbled. I felt like shouting and should have shouted: "What?" The word, admittedly and purposefully unlikely, was "chickens." Properly pronounced, or even just pronounced as audibly as the other words it would have elicited a range of responses from potential laughter to a sense of ordinariness pierced by a poet's ear.
Of the other three readings, in which that last word was clearly enunciated, two were exercises in irrelevancy; one consisting of biographical material, the other of a cliched history-in-a-nutshell of 20th-century American poetry. The last reading was introduced by setting the scene of the poem as if from the literal viewpoint of a seriously ill patient of Dr. Williams contemplating the situation through a window.
It robbed not just the poem of its power; it robbed me of my power to listen, to observe. It belittled me. I don't think I am all that atypical a listener.
I had a minor argument with a colleague about the efficacy of the first vs. the fourth reading. It leaves me thinking that all reactions (like all deliveries) are and should be both debatable and debated.
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
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