I
have often told poets privately that they can increase the quality of
their work in short order by doing several things that do not
involve writing poetry. One of them is to listen to music--
specifically music that captures the dynamics inherent in all fine
poetry, from Shakespeare to Keats, Eliot to Pinsky. This dynamic is
one of an essential sound and rhythm--something that surpasses the
rule of any fixed form or preordained notion of what poetry is.
The
fact is, you could hear such poetry, good poetry read in another
language, and still know that it is poetry. What you are hearing is
the "music"-- and it IS music, just as if you were listening
to the scored patterns of Mozart, Bach, and Duke Ellington, or the
improvisation of Charlie Parker and Ravi Shankar. The arrangement of
sounds and their flow, first in score, second in performance,
transcends the normal aspects of rhetoric or "story." Like
the visceral impact of painting, music hits in the gut, or upon some
super-sense, without further interpretation being necessary. Poetry is
another of these arts-- and it is this that makes it different from
prose. True, the semantic (meaning) aspect of poetry is shared with
prose in many instances-- but it is the music of poetry that truly
sets it apart. Unfortunately, many poets never get that musical
consciousness into their work. As a result, their work might seem dry,
rote, formulaic. Rather than pull one's hair out trying to
instill that music through mere changing of forms, or stressing a
certain sound device like rhyme or alliteration, I tell a poet to do
the following:
Go
to the store. Bring 25 dollars or so. Buy a very well-played set of
Chopin's Nocturnes. Play them 100 times, sometimes listening intently,
sometimes as background. Do this over a period of months. The poet
(and poems) will begin to improve. Lines will become more elastic,
rather than stiff (probably more enjambment will show up.) Meter will
become more flexible. (No straight, metronomic iambs any more.)
Assonance and consonance will be less forced, but probably more
prevalent, as tone colors come out in the form of intermingling vowels
and consonants. Word choices will improve. Overall structure,
beginning, middle, end, will become smoother, with the poet viewing an
entire poetic architecture, rather than struggling to stack line on
top of line. Why solo piano music? Why Chopin? Why the nocturnes?
While
many types of music could be inspirational in this regard, solo piano
lends itself perhaps the best as equivalent to poetic structure. The
clear notes can equal words, the chords phrases, the scales or chord
sequences can equal lines (or actually, sentences), entire
melodic/harmonic strains the stanzas, and so forth. It need not be an
exact equivalent, but the use of piano, with its maximal octave range
and clear intonation seems the best starting point. (Leonard
Bernstein, in fact, used this sort of direct comparison in discussing
"musical linguistics" in his famous Norton Lectures, and the
piano was his demonstration instrument.) Since melody is so important,
and Chopin was arguably the world's most innovative melodist, his work
is natural to explore. And nowhere does one find such a combination of
surface simplicity and fathomless depth-- as well as full ranges of
loud/soft, fast/slow, light/dark dynamics as in the 19 nocturnes of
Chopin. They are all different, exploring just about all the keys of
the scale, and many moods-- including moods that shift in mid-piece.
Most
important when listening (and something you can't grasp as easily
looking at the score) is the rubato, or stretching of the rhythm as
written. This is done as part of the performance interpretation of
just about any piece of classical music, and is especially prominent
in solo renderings of classical works. The "pulling" that
places an accent just before, or just after when it is expected, the
slowing down and speeding up, this pulls the listener along, keeping
him or her slightly off balance and ever attentive. A fine poet will
write such elasticity into his or her work, and emphasize it in live
reading.
In
any event, I dare you to invest that 25 dollars in your poetic career
and buy the Chopin Nocturnes. Listen to them in the car, at home, in
front of you, in the background, even while you sleep. Play them 100
times. Really, 100 times. And buy a good version-- since the nocturnes
can be easily badly played, just as poetry can be badly recited. The
versions I would recommend are: Artur Rubinstein on BMG, Claudio Arrau
on Philips, or Maria-Joao Pires on Deutsche Grammophon. Of these,
Rubinstein I would say is first choice. (All are excellent, but
slightly different from each other--the overall speeds and that rubato
thing, especially.)
After
you listen to these, and get what I've been saying about all this, you
may want to try Scarlatti's keyboard sonatas. They are quite marvelous
too, and the next logical step after Chopin. Bach's preludes (really
any of his keyboard music), Mozart's piano concertos (specifically the
piano parts), or Beethoven's piano sonatas are also fertile ground.
You may pick up different things from each. But try the Chopin first.
Do
what I tell you on this. No matter how good a poet you may be at this
time, or think you are, you will thank me for this advice.
Chopin's
Nocturnes. Yes. Do it now.
Al Rocheleau has been a
full-time staffer for the Poetry: Body Shop in the Writer's Block area
of The Amazing Instant Novelist (AIN) since early 1996 (Keyword: NOVEL
on AOL). He also is on the Editorial Board (for Poetry) at AIN, and
writes the regular instructional column, "Poet's Place," for
AIN's The Write Stuff member newsletter.
Al has published more than sixty
poems in magazines and journals in the United States, Canada, and
Europe. Publications include Nedge: The Northeast Journal,
Outerbridge, Pennsylvania English, Mobius, Artisan: A Journal of Craft,
and Haight Ashbury Literary Journal; in these, his work has
appeared alongside noted contemporary poets like Lyn Lifshin and John
Tagliabue. A 64-poem collection, A Granite Symphony will be
published by Alpha Beat Press this year. (Alpha Beat Press has
published work by Allen Ginsberg, Diane Wakoski, Gary Snyder, and
Charles Bukowski.) A second, new collection, Munchkinland and Other
Poems, was recently completed.
For the past two years Al has
co-hosted a poetry chat/workshop at Orca's Place (a former Atlantic
Monthly site), and also, as his "real" job and
livelihood, edits and publishes a popular managed care-related journal
for providers of alternative health care. He resides in Orlando,
Florida with his wife Georgette, and three children.
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