On why “I don’t understand poetry” is an unacceptable response
From an interview of famous/influential/important American poet Adrienne Rich:
Q: Why do people say, “I just don’t get it. I don’t understand poetry”?
Rich: It’s something people say in reaction to feeling, “I don’t know much about it. I haven’t been exposed to a lot of it.” It may also be a defense against what Muriel Rukeyser calls “the fear of poetry” – which she calls a disease of our schools.
From an article by a high school teacher:
Just the mention of poetry to my sophomores brings about various comments: “Poetry sucks!,” “I don’t understand poetry.,” “Do we hafta?,” and other negative comments. Many students, however, don’t acknowledge the fact that their music is poetic in nature, or that poetry is abundant in the world around them, and that aspects of poetry are present in the literature they read.
A post I’m reprinting in its entirety so you don’t even have to click to “I Don’t Understand Poetry” by author Kathryn Good-Schiff:
I’ve been thinking about people who say they don’t understand poetry. That’s like saying you don’t understand music. It’s such a diverse genre, there is no one definition for it, and besides, you don’t have to understand it in order to have an experience. The mystery itself is something to love, and in living the questions, surprises can occur.
I want to tell people, when you’re reading a poem and you come across something you don’t “get,” stay with that feeling and see what it tells you about your experience of the poem. Don’t interpret obscurity as a “Do not enter sign,” but rather as an invitation to let go of control and step into something larger than you.
Poetry makes sense the way dreams and symbols make sense… or don’t. The willing suspension of disbelief is essential. Be aware that you are entering a fun house and expect to be disoriented. After a while, you will see that the poem makes its own sense.
Poems don’t require the same kind of linear reading as novels or stories that have plot. To read a poem, you must first soften—not sharpen—your mind. Reading a poem is less like waking and more like falling asleep.
When I questioned him further, the man who recently told me he can’t understand poetry revised his statement. “Actually, what I mean is, there are certain poems that I love, but I don’t know how to critique them intelligently.” Start with a poem you love. Love will teach you more than any book or lecture. Love is more enjoyable, more sensual, more essential. If you follow your love of the poem into its depths, you will begin to “understand” in a way that you can apply to other poems.
A poem is not a locked box waiting for you to pry off its lid. It’s a city where you can learn the language if you stick around long enough.
I’m not even asking you to delve into formal criticism, because I’m not teaching you those elements (see the first paragraph of this post. The upshot of this is that if your response to poetry is to shut down and complain, it would be akin to refuse to count past 20 because you’re out of fingers and toes. Your choice, but if you’re an English major and you do this, you’re trading ethos for petulance. Don’t be That Person.