I am currently trying to read the poems of Hart Crane. It is difficult going so far because I have not yet gotten his particular “rhythm.” By “rhythm,” I don’t mean any metrical pattern, but something more indefinable — not quite his way of seeing things, more his “word fingerprint.” How he sees, how he speaks when he’s speaking to himself.
If anyone says “context” here, I shall slap them. Way more than that.
His words are his own particular rhythm, and I’m trying to see where the currents and sandbars lay.
If I can’t internalize poems in this way, I can’t quite grok the poet.
Crane seems to have been overlooked in my Modern British and American Poets class. It’s hard to compete against Eliot and Yeats, but still.. Then again, it’s cruel trying to jam that many poets into a single semester. Time will get you every time.
white pebble 