Multiplicity of words

Today I caught a story Revisiting Iraq Through The Eyes Of An Exiled Poet on National Public Radio, by poet Dunya Mikhail. She lives in the United States, now but discussed the love she has for her former country Iraq. The poems she read were simple in words, but deep with meaning. The first one she read was called “I Was in a Hurry,” and could have easily been about losing anything and realizing its value only after it was gone. She says of losing her country that “it fell from me like a broken branch of a forgetful tree,’ and ends the poem with “I was in a hurry when I lost it yesterday.” The impact of the phrase “forgetful tree” is that the tree is somehow to blame for losing its branch.

When I returned hours later to search for the name of the poet, story, and poems, I was stayed with me was only the feeling of the poet’s loss.  “Lost it” can refer to any number of things that range from the physical act of losing an object to a loss of control of a strong emotion. It implies ownership, kinship, and control over what was lost, a careless act replaced by emptiness. The beauty of written words and poetry are that they bring depth of intent to content which is often lost in other media.

We expect words to tell us things, give us direction, and motivate us to action. I have often struggled to figure out why I love written words so much. When questioned on what is to be gained from the act of reading, I am often left speechless. For me, the written word brings me closer to myself. The subtle twist of words and phrases are like songs or spices, bringing surprises to the mundane. 

The ideal outcome of reading for me is transcendence. Reading takes me to places and lets me be the judge of how deep I will go. When I see a movie, much of the plot and imagery have been decided for me by the director and cast. Sometimes I feel assaulted by the scenes and drama, having someone else's emotions pulled from my psyche against my will. When I read a book, the imagery is my own, patterned on the author's intent. Last night I read part of a rather mundane chapter from Cloud Atlas in which two characters had a chance encounter in an elevator and became engaged through the stories they shared.  As I read I became transported, the third person in the elevator, with my questions coming to mind and participating in the dialogue.  This never happens when I see a movie. I see movies as a passive viewer, seldom bringing my questions to the story until after the movie has ended. 

The poet on the radio finished her interview by talking about the impact poetry has had on her.  She said that rather than helping her heal, poetry acts at “an X-ray.…helps to see the wound and understand it.” This analogy might work for reading as well. When I read, what are revealed is not just words but also a deeper understanding of the human condition. I bring my experience to the words and participate in only the concepts that I am ready to explore. In this way, reading is as much about self-discovery as it is about the book. The stories I read become my stories, ways for understanding and interpreting the world that I live in, and creating a more satisfying life for myself.