Since most text is begun without a clear intent as to the eventual meaning or significance of the final product, it’s a fair assumption that meaning is not constructed via meticulous consideration before the pen is even put to paper or finger to keyboard—not that pre-written deliberation is entirely absent from a completed text. Writing is thinking put to paper; subsequent drafts of a poem or story reflect upon this process of evolving thought. Writers let the writing make the meaning; doing otherwise imprisons them within an original line of thought perhaps only on the periphery of what they were originally trying to convey.

This constant self-interpretation affords them a unique perspective on the meaning of their work, but by no means gives them final word. Novels would need no editors if the writer were perpetually capable of perfect economy of meaning—or overcoming the personal shortcomings and biases that undermine that meaning. I don’t believe it to be so much a matter of “making” meaning, however, as it is a matter of “finding” it.

There are, of course, pluralities of meanings that can be found in any text. Wordsworth may be conflicted over the death in “Lucy.” He rejoices, considering his pantheistic views, but as a human being also seems unable to avoid some measure of fatalism. But the act of “making” meaning carries with it the stigma of diluting the initial text by equating it with every conceivable interpretation imaginable. It is this anarchy—an anarchy of pointless, nebulous, even stupid ideas—that I believe Hirsch resists, albeit too stringently. Is Hirsch’s viewpoint to narrow-minded? Yes. But then, was Ezra Pound really writing about dairy farming?

As Crosman poses the question—“Do Readers Make Meaning?”—the answer is that they do. But the worry is not that there should be a suppression of opinion but discernment as to the validity of multiple opinions. I could read Wordsworth’s poem and think, “Why, this is a pre-Victorian presentation of early zombie fiction. Wordsworth is clearly playing upon the fear of social—if not actual—demise, by dramatizing the awakening of a newly created ghoul; he equates death of the individual with the birth of the undead.” I could support this contention with evidence; that does not make it any less ludicrous.

Perhaps just such a contemporary reading—by a George Romero fan for whom zombie films have deep social significance—could speak volumes to an individual. But this is less a matter of making meaning, or even finding meaning, than it is a matter of understanding meaning via personal taste. If the emotion initially intended by the poem is evoked, or even a legitimate alternative, than success is arrived upon. But throw zombies a non-horror fan and they’ll look at you like you’re insane. Meaning should be universal, no matter how you arrive upon it.

My; that post went off the rails.

-Matt