Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘aloud’

Photo: Bernard Gotfryd via Wikimedia.
I’m picking on the wonderful Seamus Heaney because it was at one of his readings decades ago that I first noticed the ubiquitous but annoying “poet voice.”

I enjoy going to poetry readings and I love all my poet friends, but I have to say I have come to hate the singsong voice that many poets use when reading aloud. I’ve complained so often to my husband that now he routinely asks when I return from a reading, “Did they use the ‘voice’?”

So I was thrilled to see that Gregory Cowles, senior editor of the New York Times Book Review, answered the burning question: Why do poets read their work aloud in that awful in that tone of voice?

“Would it surprise you to know,” he begins, “that poets themselves are also vexed by this (very real) phenomenon? A database search going back decades finds complaints about the so-called poet voice — using adjectives like ‘dreaded’ or ’embarrassing’ or ‘soporific’ — with nobody rushing to its breathy, singsong defense. …

“More than prose, poetry is inherently about the musicality of language: its sound and rhythm and rhymes, its capacity to please the ear even as it evokes an image or conveys its desired meaning. Good poets exploit that musicality the same way good rappers do, favoring one word over another for the way it interacts with the words around it. 

“But poets, unlike rappers, are not generally performers, and it shows when they recite their work for an audience. Rather than trusting the music of their language to sing for itself, they try to impose an outside music on it, as if they were performing Handel’s ‘Messiah’ to the tune of ‘Old MacDonald.’

“ ‘You could think about it almost as the same melody over and over,’ the English professor Marit MacArthur told Atlas Obscura in 2018 after she published a study analyzing the components of poet voice. …

“Not all poets fall into this trap. The last two readings I attended —by Ada Limón at the Texas Book Festival, and by readers reciting Seamus Heaney’s poetry at the 92nd Street Y — were satisfyingly natural performances, free of poet voice’s lilting cadences and long pauses. But enough of them do embrace it that poet voice has become a pop culture cliché: Witness Mike Myers’s turn as a modern-day Beat poet in the underrated 1993 movie So I Married an Axe Murderer.

“The Beats, in fact, may be close to ground zero of what the poet and Harvard professor Stephanie Burt identifies as two distinct strains of poet voice. The first, she told me, ‘takes everything at the same adagio pace and treats every line as equally portentous.’ … The second stems from poetry slams and other performance spaces: ‘It’s dramatic or melodramatic, seeks to engage the audience by almost any means, varies its pace and volume (sometimes to extremes), and emphasizes anger, outrage or trauma.’

“Burt is more annoyed by the first kind and sees its possible roots in a bid to be perceived as serious … or from ‘individual poets’ desire to act out the dignity of their art.’

“The poet and critic Daisy Fried agrees that something like this is at play when poets intone their work. ‘Often it’s an attempt to make a thought or a feeling that’s dull and quotidian into something feeling, something interesting,’ she told me, ‘or to try to imbue something with music that hasn’t any. But I’ve also heard good poems read this way, which is a shame.’

“Now, if you picture a whole class of young poets listening to their professor read in peak poet voice, and internalizing the message that this is how a poem is ‘meant’ to be heard, it’s not hard to see how the individual is passed on to the collective. That’s a point that the Times Book Review’s poetry columnist, Elisa Gabbert, made when I asked her about poet voice. ‘It’s a style poets learn from each other,’ she said, ‘a set of intonations and vocal patterns that go with the role, and some of us pick it up more or less unconsciously while attending readings.’

“Having a distinct performance style isn’t necessarily a problem, Gabbert notes. … ‘It’s not that poets should read a poem in their usual speaking voice — poetry isn’t speech.’ The problem comes when the performer veers too close to the clichéd poet voice rather than finding ‘an authentic voice that arises through the writing of the poem.’

“In other words, poets should let the music of their language dictate the music of their performance. That’s just what David Yezzi prescribed in a 2014 essay for the New Criterion, where he served as poetry editor. ‘The truth is that the music of speech — rising and falling intonations, etc. — carries a semantic charge,’ Yezzi told me. ‘Overlaying an artificial music on top of a poem removes the “sense” of what’s being said to a great extent.’

“Yezzi himself is in a good position to change things for the better. The rare poet who is also a professional performer (his acting roles in recent years have included both King Lear and Hamlet’s ghost), he teaches a popular graduate and undergraduate course at Johns Hopkins University called Performing Poetry and Fiction, which is devoted entirely to eliminating the dreaded, embarrassing, soporific poet voice. ‘We work to root out this unhelpful singsong and arrive at a clear and powerful spoken expression that best serves the poem,’ he said.” More at the Times, here.

I’m so glad to know that even poetry experts have been annoyed by the “voice” and that poets aim to do something about it!

Read Full Post »

Art: Scott Wilson.

I had a college roommate whose father was an English professor in Colorado. He had a custom of reading Dickens to the family, not phasing out the custom just because the kids grew up. My roommate loved it and always looked forward to being read to when she went home on school vacations.

This is not a common thing, although it was at one time. What it gave people in terms of doing something together while soaking up a good yarn — and sometimes beautiful writing — has never been replaced. With those cadences in your head, you may even learn to write better.

At the Christian Science Monitor, Sherilyn Siy writes, “Every night after dinner, our 14-year-old daughter picks up her Rubik’s Cube, and our 12-year-old son stretches out on the tatami, his head on the beanbag. Our 4-year-old son settles into the crook of my legs, fitting himself into the space formed by my cross-legged seat like a puzzle piece. Story time’s about to start. My husband, who started listening in a couple of years ago, now leans back against the ornate wooden post in our tatami room, stretching out his legs. Then, I pick up our chapter book and continue from where we left off.

“I have always loved reading to my children. When they were younger, reading together was about language exposure, filling their world with the expansive vocabulary that books provide. As a multinational family – American, Filipino, and Chinese – living in the Japanese countryside, we have helped our children stay connected to English through books. I’m not the kind of mom who builds train tracks or towers, but if the kids hand me a storybook, I’ll always read to them.

“I started reading to my children when my oldest was 8 months old. When they were smaller, stories helped them process big emotions, as well as learn new words. We began exploring chapter books when my older kids were about 7 or 8 years old, starting with fun, lighthearted stories before moving on to longer and more complex books. 

“At first, illustrations played a big role in their comprehension and enjoyment of stories. Today, they take pleasure in visualizing scenes through words alone. Now that they’re older, reading together is no longer just about language acquisition; it is about connection.

“I select our books carefully. We reach for classics like Lois Lowry’s The Giver and its sequels, compelling middle grade fiction like Kelly Yang’s Front Desk, and books that simply capture our interest, like William Kamkwamba and Bryan Mealer’s The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind. Sometimes, the choices come from my kids. My daughter read a Japanese translation of Ban This Book, by Alan Gratz, and enjoyed it so much that we read the original English version together. That book became a favorite, not just for the story but for the conversations and inside jokes it sparked.

“In one of our favorite parts, the main characters decided that the best way to hide their banned books was to create fake covers for them. The moment I read aloud some of the ridiculous titles they came up with, the whole family lost it. My kids were doubled over, hands clutching stomachs, as we gasped for air between fits of laughter. 

“Other moments were quieter but just as meaningful. While reading Front Desk, I was deeply moved by a scene in which the immigrant parents of the main character talk after the mother is attacked and then hospitalized. The father, crying, says, ‘I promised when I married you that I’d take care of you, and I’ve failed you.’ I was struck by the depth of his devotion to his wife in the face of the harsh realities of their immigrant life. I couldn’t get the words out. My children knew the words carried something deep for me. …

“The story of a young Chinese immigrant family navigating life in America, as portrayed in Front Desk, felt personal for us – my kids saw reflections of their own identity in it. Although The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind is set in Malawi, we saw striking parallels to Filipino ingenuity and resilience in the face of hardship. David Walliams’ Grandpa’s Great Escape celebrates the wisdom and adventurous spirit of elders, reminding us of the Chinese emphasis on respecting them. …

“We bring all kinds of emotions to the table – frustration, exhaustion, lingering tension from the day. But when we start reading, it’s like tuning in to the same frequency, finding common ground even if we had been at odds just minutes before. The shared experience provides a reset, a neutral space where we can just be together. …

“I hold on to these evenings, these moments when we all gather around the same story. I may not be able to shield my children from every storm that adolescence and life brings, but for a few minutes each day, I can offer them a hearth in a story.” More at the Monitor, here.

I love the mention of the 14-year-old’s Rubik’s Cube. The kids I know often need something to fiddle with while listening to a story.

Read Full Post »