I’m not accustomed to writing about the nature of poetry, or the definition of poetry, or the meaning of poetry, or what is poetry, or why is poetry poetry, or any explanation regarding poetry that would help any bloke or bloke-ess in knowing yes, exactly what is poetry. But Elisa Gabbert’s essay, “The shape of the void: Toward a definition of poetry,” appearing in the April 17, 2022 of The New York Times Book Review did catch my attention, and I actually read most of it.

Her essay is quite fascinating, erudite, sophisticated, charming, thoughtful, and of course, appealing to her readers, so I’m not complaining, really. Her remarks regarding what poetry leaves out, was certainly spot-on. A bit later, I found that poetry “is a vessel; poetry is liquid.” So that was a good metaphor to describe how poetry is metaphorical. She continues with an intriguing line of thought exploring what poetry is not, not a bunch of prose lines cut short with possibly intriguing line breaks. Taking defense of the free-versers, she defends this position with “ they {poets} write in the line, in the company of the void.” With this line of commentary, she adds another comment how written poetry (often referred to as a poem) is a mystery, “of what is left out.” She brings her essay to a close with a convincing remark about a missing mountain in a lovely poem by Shane McCrae who I will have to look up.

I do wonder why poets are so concerned about what poetry is, as does Elisa Gabbert. I don’t fault her for any of her views, as poets have been writing defenses of poetry all the way back to Sir Philip Sydney’s “Defence of Poesy.” But please don’t go back that far to check. You’ll find, easily enough, someone writing about this terribly unresolved concern (often authored by poets as they know more about it than others, including critics), but I do wonder about all these defenses.

Here's why. When I experience any other art form, from film, to stage, to canvas, to sculpture, to ballet, to modern dance, to even the artful knitting of a spider making the most incredible catch-a-fly net ever, well, here’s what I don’t ask. What is that I just experienced? Tell me more about its importance in our lives. How should it be made? Can it be open ended, puzzling, vague, stimulating, experimental, disgusting, or all of the above? That’s my quarrel with these defenses. I misunderstood my 6th grade teacher, Ms. Neblong, who taught me to ask what the poem is “saying,” what it means, and of course, what is the theme. That’s pretty much what incoming freshmen in college or university think about poetry…it’s a reading assignment. So this is not something incidental in my life as I’ve actually written a few poems.

And why would l want to defend poetry? It’s not that I’ve wanted, to use E. Gabbert’s notion, to “leave something out.” Heck no. I’ve wanted to write about something, recently a whole pile of pandemic and grief poems. Why, since those sound depressing? Well, first, they’re not very depressing, just lines that explore fear and loss, that’s all. I’m not sure what I’ve left out — many of the poems are quite long with an exhausting amount of detail.

When I go to see any other art, I don’t ask these questions, and I’m a little irked that we have so many “defenses” regarding the craft of poetry. Just recently I was in the Metropolitan Museum of Fine Art up in New York City. I just gazed, held my breath with some, felt so thrilled to finally be back at the Met. I’ve walked through rooms in art museums that are just astounding to me. When I watch dancers on the stage, ballet or modern, I don’t question the meaning of their performances, I just pay attention, and sometimes I am drawn into a trance, like with films, like with staged plays, like with almost every expression of art I’ve seen in my last few decades excluding, of course, Ms. Neblong’s instructions about the meaning of any poem’s meaning. I certainly don’t write for meaning, and I don’t expect readers to even know what I’m doing.

In fact, one reader nearby has expressed concern for my well-being with such long and grief-stricken poems, but that’s another matter, isn’t it? (I’m close to the conclusion if you’re wondering.) It’s absolutely true, all artists in all fields contemplate what they have accomplished, but the artist’s audience, probably just wants to experience, feel, sense, be part of an artist’s vision. So, the next time you’re reading a defense of poetry, and I don’t recommend that you do, go find a collection of poetry, or buy a ticket for a show, or get to your local art museum, and just enjoy what you see, or if you like, talk about what you’re seeing with your guest, that is, if you’ve brought a guest.

That’s about it, isn’t it? I’m pretty sure those who like to write “defenses” will probably have lots to say, just to keep us all asking why, but for now, well, you know what to do.