Hearing is what we do when we read poetry.
Some people think we see poetry. We don’t.
We are capable of seeing things in our minds, and some see certain things more clearly in their minds than others, but poetry is not what people see.
Some theorists—who talk a great deal about “image” in poems—will disagree.
This was the great error Modernism made.
These pedants can talk about “image” all they want.
Poetry is never seen.
This is why we are especially enamored of the two lines in this contest.
The first one, from Anne Carson, has a desperate urgency which affects us deeply:
don’t keep saying you don’t hear it too
By denying sight to poetry, we don’t want to seem merely contrary and dense, as if poetry were nothing more than trembling inside an ear. Of course it is more.
Poetry—to be poetry—must possess a certain philosophical delicacy—it must make an impression on our being-within-the-world.
Does this sound too German? Es tut mir leid.
The second line, from Molly Brodak (pictured above), is philosophical, yet without Carson’s urgency; it is lovely and languid, and we know Marla Muse will love it:
boundlessness secretly exists, I hear.
Marla Muse: Oh God. I do like it.
Marla, Marla, I hear one of these poets must win and move on.
