Beautiful words Telling a Hint of a Story
As much as I love the chain of words, you’ve lost me.
I’ve been noticing a trend lately—or maybe it’s not a trend, maybe it’s always been there and I’m only just noticing. Maybe it’s because I’m distracted by outside things and can’t concentrate enough to well, concentrate. Maybe I’m just not smart enough to be reading that amazing thing I’ve discovered, that bit of writing so beautiful I feel honored just to be allowed to read it, but I have to admit—I just don’t get it.
Lately I find myself reading a series of words put together in sentences so gorgeous I don’t even notice until I’m deep into them that I don’t know anything more about what’s happening than I did when I began. Who are the people in this story? Where are they? What’s going on? There’s a crisis, but what is it?
Now there’s an animal but what exactly is it doing? Now there are trees that may or may not be bewitched. Now there is water that may be dangerous but could be a healer. Now there are clouds but also there is sky. There is a horizon off yonder, but what does it mean?
Someone is speaking but their words, in quotes, vaguely hint at something that appears to have happened. The storyteller answers in words that are stunning in their gorgeousness but tell me nothing. I’m guessing there’s a backstory but I’m not privy to it. Or am I? What did I miss? Let me go back and see…
I’ll pause here to tell you this is not judgement. You should know I rarely understand poetry unless it rhymes or tells a tale with a true beginning and a true end—or it hits me so emotionally I don’t care. So take whatever I say here with that in mind. I’m a bit of a clod when it comes to the gossamer, where the meaning is so cleverly hidden only the clever will find it.
I’m not clever. I find some of these prose pieces exhausting. Some of them strike like a bell—OMG, I get it! I love it! I love it because I get it! While others feel like pretty words wrapped in a shroud of ambiguity. I wish I could say it’s enough. It’s not. For me it’s not enough.
I want so much to love those pieces. The writers use words in ways I can only dream about. I’m too often in awe of those words but not of the story, told in a manner so vague it’s almost as if it means to exclude.
I feel excluded.
It’s a sticking point I can’t get over, and I’m seeing it more and more now. I wonder if I’m the only one who is bothered by it. If you agree, tell me what bothers you most. If you disagree, tell me what I’m missing. If you don’t get what I’m trying to say, tell me that, too.
We’re writers here and our goal is to understand one another. Our writing lives are full of mysteries. Why do we choose certain subjects? Why do we paint them in this certain way? Who are they meant for and is there ever a point to narrowing an audience? They may be topics for another day, but they all tie in. So can we talk? The conversation pit is open, as always.
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Thanks for saying this, Ramona. I experience this so often with poetry. Sometimes, for my own benefit or ego assuaging, I liken this to sort of a “Chauncey Gardner” thing, where everyone around him assigns their own interpretation of the few words he utters and believes him to be an incredible genius.
I think it was Elmore Leonard who said, “If it sounds like writing, I rewrite it.” I don’t want my reader thinking about the gorgeousness of my words. I want my reader to feel what I feel, see what I see and come away refreshed. The wellspring is emotion, but there are probably times when I’m too much in love with my cleverness.