This poem by Billy Collins has been a long-time favorite of mine, but that doesn’t mean I understand it.
Introduction to Poetry by Billy Collins
I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide
or press an ear against its hive.
I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,
or walk inside the poem’s room
and feel the walls for a light switch.
I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author’s name on the shore.
But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.
They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.
When I first read this poem, I felt like it cleared away all the murkiness of poetry for me. Finally a poet explained what to do with a poem. Now, years later, I’m reading it again, and it seems to only complicate the issue. Poets do put meanings in their works, right? Readers are supposed to be digging somewhat for that meaning aren’t we? Collins seems to be saying that I’m wrong. Maybe we’re just supposed to look at a poem and admire it’s physical and verbal attributes. After reading this poem, I feel like I’m water-boarding a poem anytime I analyze it too much. How do I ski across the surface?