As I read the Crosman article, my mind kept returning to the poem by William Wordsworth, Nuns Fret Not, that is part of the section in Norton on External Form. Wordsworth conveys the comfort that can be found in confinement. To me, reading poetry is the same. The poet confines me to a certain amount of space, a space large enough to allow me to explore, but small enough to provide focus and definition to my self-searching.

Poetry itself is a medium that lends itself to multiple meanings, emotions more than facts and that is open to interpretation, perhaps more than any other form of writing. If the intended meaning of the author was all the author wanted his reader to gain from reading his work, why not choose a medium that lends itself to detailed explanations and a purpose of informing readers rather than instigating thought? An essay seems a more appropriate choice, or a technical manual. I don’t want to believe that, as a reader, even as a critical reader, that my purpose in reading a poem is only to identify the intended meaning of the author.

At a particularly difficult time in my life, I read a poem that held significant meaning for me. It helped me deal with some tough things and after coming through the other side of my dark tunnel, I read the poem again and began to research some of the literary criticism associated with it. Because of the context and historical setting of the poem, I truly doubt that what I gained from the poem is the meaning the author intended, but that is still the meaning it held for me, and I am still grateful to that author for providing the solace I needed.

As a writer, if my poetry touches someone else and allows them to come to grips with something difficult or provides an epiphany, do I care if it is what I meant when I wrote the poem? No. For me, the intention of writing poetry is to process, to focus, to explore. If a reader gains that from my writing, then they have experienced the intended meaning of the author. I would like to think that accomplished poets feel the same way–that the intention of poetry is not to decree something or other, but to focus both the author and reader so they are able to risk exploration within the boundaries of the poem.

When I write poetry, it is almost always to explore conflicting feelings or thoughts that I would like to better understand. If the poem brings an understanding of my emotions, it rarely means that my feelings no longer conflict with one another. On the contrary, the poem often helps me come to grips with accepting the duality of my feelings, so having a single meaning of the poem denies the true sentiment. Crosman presents Hirsch’s example of the Wordsworth poem, Lucy, in which Hirsch shows “two diametrically opposed interpretations of the poem.” How many human beings experience death and do not experience diametrically opposed emotions relating to it – anger that someone is gone, guilt that they still have life and the person they loved does not, a hope that the loved one is happy in an afterlife and sadness that the loved one is no longer sharing life with them. Why does Wordsworth have to be rejoicing or sorrowful? Isn’t it more likely that he was experiencing both, and that the plurality of feeling is what held meaning for Wordsworth in writing the poem?

It is a sad thought to me to diminish poetry so that it should have only one meaning. Additionally, Hirsch’s belief that it is only the author’s meaning that is valid denies the human connection between reader and writer, which for me is one of the most significant reasons for both writing and reading–and living. Human emotion and beliefs typically do not have one simple meaning; why reduce this medium so rich in its ability to convey the plurality of humanity, to a single, narrow view?