I require my AP Lit and Comp students to read and regularly reference Laurence Perrine’s essay “The Nature of Proof in the Interpretation of Poetry.”  In it, Perrine posits the theory that “a poem – in fact, any pattern of words – defines an area of meaning, no more.”  The area of meaning defined by a particular pattern is therefore expanded or contracted based on the number and nature of the words in it.  Perrine uses the example of a horse.  Just the word “horse” conjures myriad meanings in a reader’s mind (“a white horse, a stallion, a mare…even a wooden sawhorse.”), but when the word “horse” is combined with any other word – the area of meaning is drastically reduced.  A black horse or a small chocolate brown horse can no longer be a white horse.  The area of meaning of “horse” has shrunk with the addition of descriptive words. 

Within Perrine’s theory, it is not just the number of words in a pattern that affect its area of meaning, but also its literary function.  While most words contract the area of meaning, symbols serve to expand it.  Think back to anything you read in high school, and you will likely remember a symbol that a teacher drilled into your head – Hester Prynne’s scarlet letter “A,” Holden Caulfield’s red hunting hat, Gatsby’s green light, or Harper Lee’s mockingbird.  These symbols mean more than just the area of meaning the words indicating them define.  Gatsby’s green light was a green light on the end of a dock, yes, but it was also hope, desire, lust, Daisy, and the ineffable future that “year by year recedes before us” forever elusive, and just beyond our grasp.

Perrine’s essay has been incalculably valuable in helping my students understand difficult poetry.  The reality that a poem is simply a pattern of words that creates an area of meaning they can uncover is remarkably reassuring to young readers skittish in the face of John Donne’s “Death Be Not Proud,” or Shakespeare’s “Sonnet 18.”  Armed with Perrine’s theory, I ask them to simply find an entry into the poem – anything they can grasp ahold of.  This could be a tension between two opposing ideas, a repeated word or phrase, an obvious symbol, or an image that resonates with them.  This entry point is the first beacon of light they shine onto the area of meaning, and then I ask them to “feel around the poem’s room for a light switch,” as Billy Collins would say.  Soon they are inching their way closer and closer to a true, deep understanding of the meaning of the poem – one tiny step at a time. 

Sometimes, they just eek into the area of meaning, only to totally misread a passage – leaving their analysis weak or unsubstantiated, but as the year goes on they get braver and stronger and more confident in their reading.  They start to dismiss the red herrings and sniff out juvenile or unsophisticated misreadings.  They read carefully and incisively and take calculated risks in analysis. Do they make mistakes? Of course. We all do. But their mistakes serve to steer them closer to the truest, strongest reading of the next poem they encounter.

Who senses a metaphor coming? Oh, I know you do, or you wouldn’t have read this far.  I can barely get my students to plow through Perrine, and I hold their weighted grades in my hands.  At the end of the year I write my seniors a letter, and in it, I remind them that the skills of a good reader are actually the skills of a good human being: Slow down.  Pay attention. Look again. Avoid snap judgments, and allow the details to pile up and clarify your perceptions. Acknowledge differing interpretations and points of view.  Formulate your own informed opinion, and support your argument.  This year, I’ve realized that the skills I ask my seniors to hone in their interpretation of poetry are the exact skills I’ve been using in this journey I’ve been on. Allow me to elaborate.

Living a life is not unlike the interpretation of a difficult poem.  We feel daunted by the enormity of the task before us.  We are confused by the parts we don’t immediately understand – the layered meanings, the seemingly enigmatic symbols, the tangled metaphors that beg us to misread, misjudge, or go off course. Often, we don’t even know where to begin.  Several months ago, I took a single step.  I found a new entry into the poem of my life, and I stepped tentatively into that sliver of light. With each step I took, the light moved with me – in the way a flashlight illuminates just the next step on a winding trail. With each step, I’m moving into a deeper, richer, perception of myself and a truer, stronger understanding of where I am going. I’m discovering my own area of meaning one single step at a time.

I know this is a deep post, but it’s where I am right now – poised on the edge of my next big step.  On Sunday, the wonderful man I’ve been dating will leave on a nine-month trip around the world, and, if all goes well, I will close on my condo this week and soon pack up and move for the first time in more than seven years. I can’t remember the last time I was so uncertain of how my next year would look, but I know I’ve never been more certain of the path I’m on.  I’m finding comfort in the mystery, and wisdom in the insecurity.  I’m taking calculated risks, rooting out perceptions that ring false, and asking guidance from every misstep or blunder.  Mostly, I’m trying each and every day to confidently live the poem that is my life.

 

Until next time…