Hey everyone, I found an article on JStor, which really wasn't an article at all...it really confused me at first, but after taking some time to digest it, this poem turned out to be really helpful:
Critique
Like a ghost of the writer I read this page.
Every word has cousins; the order is never
arbitrary. All that is not said-
is it near? Why isn't it said?
What is developing? A part of my attention
begins to estimate this voice. Is this
an artless song? Am I being used?
Can these lines take a lie detector test?
Can this writer be trusted? When I read
this, who am I supposed to be?-
a mother? a father? a lover? a stranger?
Someone who knows as much as the writer?
Do other words wake up? Does this page
give me the feel of arriving where truth is?
The track of this page has diverted my life.
Now I turn back to what is my own.
William Stafford
Lake Oswego, Oregon
I feel like this poem is pretty accurate in its ambiguity when it comes to who we are supposed to be when we critique. Whether a musical or a literary critique, none of us are masters. We can only share our perspectives. We try to imitate the style of the writer with failure only because its difficult to imitate that person's style for just a second. Hope you all enjoy this!
1 comment:
That poem really does
make a whole lot of sense.
It defines a critique
and is very unique
It makes the original writer
aware of the audience
I suck at poems
But hell at least I tried.
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