I have a cadence in my head. On most days it seems to be a happy little cadence. But, I don’t know if that means I am crazy or not.
It’s not like it matches the cadence of any speeches ever given by Adolph Hitler. Nor does it match the boot stomping marching songs used by the Third Reicht in their particualarly scary parades…. So even if I am crazy, I think it’s a harmless crazy.
I was reading an opinion by another poet/artist the other day who intimated her belief that it does not matter what cadence (meter) the author applies to a poem when he creates it, but rather determining if a poem is good is accomplished by any third party who is able to apply an appealing cadence (meter) of his own to the poem.
And it was necessary for me to stop there and think a moment, because I’m not really good at thinking since this damn cadence in my head usually drowns out any cognitive thoughts I might entertain from time to time…. (Just joking.)
But after a moment I thought, well, duh. Yes, I have always agreed that the observer is the one who discovers the art regardless of what the creator’s intent was. A sculptor sculpts a statue. A painter paints a painting. The poet writes a poem. The “art” of the piece does not become something until an observer applies it.
But it also got me thinking even deeper than that. (Tilt! Tilt! Tilt!) There are so many incredibly talented poets I have read and have applied my own cadence to their work only to at some point find an old 8mm film or sound recording from 1960 of them reading the same poem in a dry, unattached way which is completely different than my initial reading.
And I find myself disappointed a little, thinking “Wow, they sound like they are reading stock quote figures out of the newspaper.”
A ver-y dry, mon-o-tone voice in per-fect syl-la-ble pres-en-ta-tion with no highs and no lows but rath-er to drone on for what seems e-ter-ni-ty af-ter for-ev-er and-on-and-on-and-on-and-on-and-on-and-on-and-on-and-on-and-on-and-on……
And it makes me a little sad because to me it seems their reading of the poem presents the work without emotion. (And I need you to know that I am talking about “to me.” I’m not trying to imply that anyone else should feel the way I do. As an artist and lover of life I’m well aware that we are all very much unique and the manner in which each of us individually views art is certainly a most fundamental application of that concept.)
And in that view I must say that poetry without emnotion is really (again, “to me”) nothing more than the daily newspaper or the ancient set of encyclopedia volumes stashed away in your parents attic.
Ironically I am one of those poets whose verbalization of poetry is way different than what readers find as they read my poetry. I know this because they tell me that. And I don’t have a problem with that. It is probably attributable to the fact that I am crazy and the reader is not. And as long as I can live in my own little world of happy cadence, I don’t care…..
Anyway thanks for stopping by and I hope you have a
la dee da dee
la dee da dee
la dee da dee
Happy, Happy day!