Some things you can do if you don't "get" a poem, no matter who you are
"I don't get it," "I love this — if only I were smarter!" "How can I get better at understanding poetry?" "I wish I got this, but I'm too stupid." These are common remarks that people make when confronted with a poem, comments that show up again and again in online discussions. I've been thinking a lot about those of you who are saying this, in part because I've been there. Even after reading with serious intent since I was a teenager, I now at 42 still frequently feel that lack of understanding myself.
Yes, I have a lot more to draw from now, in terms of life experience and poetry experience, than I did at 15. Some lines that would have confused me then are much clearer now. But I still feel a gulf between myself and more talented readers of poetry. I know I will never be someone who can on-the-spot come up with something to say about any poem you put in front of me.
The difference is that I've learned to enjoy being where I am. I've also learned that the meaning of a poem is not as important as we think it is. Yes, poems are made of words and words unavoidably have meaning (though that meaning can be resisted, and lines can have more than one plausible meaning). "What is it saying?" is a crucial part of "How is it saying what it's saying?" In this I agree that sometimes the preoccupation with "getting it" is justified. But meaning itself doesn't make a poem, and it's at most only part of what makes any given poem worthwhile.
You don't need to always read for meaning. Read for sound. Read for wonder. Read for strangeness. Read to feel. Read for surprise. Read for the deliciousness of words.
Here are some very simple techniques you can try to engage more deeply with a poem that's difficult for you to understand. Your education, English level, life experience, or how "quick" you are doesn't matter. Some will help you get closer to finding meaning, and some will simply open you up to enjoying other aspects of the poem.
Read the poem aloud. Yes, you've heard that before. But how often do you do it, and really allow yourself to get into it as you do it? If your first reading feels rote, try it again. Pretend a director is making you perform it again and again until you get to a spot where you feel something.
Memorize it, or if it's long, at least memorize a passage that gives you trouble. How wonderful to now have that poem as a permanent companion that you can call on anytime as long as you're conscious. Your mind has it always available to turn over and uncover new meanings and dimensions. You are primed for a shower moment where you suddenly gain a new insight.
Read the poem slowly, with a pen in hand, and record your reactions as you go through it. Observe your feelings as keenly as you can. Some practice with mindfulness meditation will help here.
Scan it to determine the meter. Yes, this will take some practice if you've never done it before, but it's a more concrete, defined task than understanding a difficult metaphor.
Hunt for the sound correspondences — not just end-rhymes but internal rhymes, alliteration, and assonance. In some poems these create such a beautiful tapestry that's worth your attention.
What parts of the poem have the most energy? This can help you both know where to focus your analysis and simply help you highlight what makes the poem powerful.
Look up any word you aren't completely sure of in a dictionary, ideally one that includes etymology. Remember that sometimes a word's history can be revealing. It's not only the contemporary definition that's important.
Make a list of all the nouns in the poem, and a list of all the verbs. Look for patterns, changes, and contrasts.
Type it up for yourself, then get aggressive and try reworking it and breaking it up. Can you cut it down? How would you rewrite it? Look at what you left out — why might the poet have felt it was important to include those parts? You may still be left with what you don't understand, but isolating it in this way may spark insight.
Track the "characters" in a poem. I'm not just talking characters in a traditional sense, but any noun that's important. For example, in the Edgar Allen Poe poem "Alone," I would say "mystery" is a "character" for the purpose of this exercise. Basically, identify what elements in a poem are primary, as opposed to what is more descriptive or supportive. What are the "characters" doing and what do we know about them? This can again be as simple as listing nouns and verbs if the poem is opaque to you.
Note the changes in the poem. Do we start with morning and end with night? Do we go on a journey? Can you identify a turning point? How does the poet's focus travel from thing to thing? Is there an inside and an outside?
Choose a line that dazzles you, or confuses you, and use it to start some freewriting.
What is your expectation based on the title, or the first lines? How does the poem fulfill or thwart the expectation you set out with?
Abandon the poem, at least temporarily, and read another. Like any other art, poems are better understood in comparison. Reading lots and lots of poems makes individual poems clearer. If this poem is important, you'll probably remember it. Or you'll stumble upon it again.
Some of the most helpful advice I got about wrestling with poetry was from the poet Keith Waldrop (in a class my more properly academic advisor at the time had sneered at me for taking, saying I wasn't challenging myself enough). Keith said: "If you don't understand a poem, maybe it wasn't written for you. Maybe you weren't meant to understand it." Perhaps you are meant to sit in the darkness, as we sometimes do when we face situations that take us awhile to understand (if ever). We tend to forget that misunderstanding is a huge part of our lives. We don't understand most things. We want to be in control, but full control is something we can never attain. I don't think Keith was saying we can't with effort and help come to better understand poems from distant times and places, or poems written by people from our own culture whose brains work in different ways than our own. But I think what he says allows us to forgive ourselves.
However you read, please keep reading, and trust that in time the meaning part will get easier.
Was this helpful to you? I’m in the early stages of a project focused on helping curious but confused poetry readers find their way in. Your comments on what you found useful and where you’d like to see more will enable me to create something of value, and to keep going. Questions or disagreements welcome too!