Paul Engle, noted American teacher and literary critic,
once called poetry “ordinary language raised to the Nth power. Poetry is boned
with ideas, nerved and blooded with emotions, all held together by the
delicate, tough skin of words.” He obviously thought that poetry is something
special, complex, inexplicable—and he is not alone. The poetic devices of
metaphor, simile, and hyperbole have the power to stimulate our imagination;
poetry’s rhythms can synchronize our breathing and heartbeats; brain research
seems to suggest that poetry is actually a paradox, “…language is a
predominantly sequential activity, of a conspicuously logical character,
typically associated with the left cerebral hemisphere; whereas diffuse
emotional processes are typically associated with the right cerebral
hemisphere…. Accordingly, emotional poetry, or mystic poetry ought to be a
contradiction in terms” (Reuven). But it is not a contradiction. The poetry of
love, for example, may be structured and logical, but also highly emotional,
conveying feelings of longing, disappointment, anxiety, and admiration. Poetry
stretches our minds in ways that few art forms can.
Thoughts and emotions are able to travel through the
medium of poetry to virtually any destination. Verses written thousands of
years ago in China, Israel, or Greece can change the life of a twenty-first
century Guatemalan, and a poem written today may very well influence the fate
of future generations. Ancient Egyptian Poetry, for example, is full of images
and emotions that a modern reader can easily identify with, and is an example
of the “universal language” of poetry. Though inscribed on papyrus thousands of
years ago, these poems are still capable of communicating with us, offering
both knowledge and enjoyment.
Poetry is a great communicator, meeting the ordinary
reader on his or her own level. Someone with no interest in Egyptian theology
might dive into the beautiful verses of the “Leiden Hymns”; those who might
never read a textbook on ancient religions can learn about Horus, Amun, Nun,
and Hapy, through the beauty of the
“Hymns’” lyric verse. But what if the author of this group of poems had written
them in dry, dull prose? The glory of the Egyptian sun god might have been
adequately conveyed by a religious
creed, but poetry is rich in symbolism and descriptive power that conveys the
emotion behind the words. Poetic devices, like personification, are able to
make something that is unique to one culture relevant to everyone. One hymn
describes the Egyptian sun god, Amun, in relatable terms, “The mind of God is
perfect knowing, / his lips its flawless expression, / all that exists is his
spirit, / by his tongue named into being; / He strides, and hollows under his
feet become Nile-heads—” (“Ancient Egyptian Poetry” 87). These vibrant images
would be instantly recognizable to medieval Britons and postcolonial Indians
alike. Though these readers have never seen Amun, the poet communicates a
mental picture of a magnificent figure, with human characteristics but
superhuman power, that would be familiar to any culture.
The language of poetry helps us understand one another at
a very deep level. The universal concepts of love, loss, worship, and heroism,
shaped by the beauty of diction, work like intercultural magnets. When a 12th
century BC Egyptian poet writes “My love is one and only, without peer”
(“Ancient Egyptian Poetry” 89), even a teenager from modern New York can
identify with him. When Pharaoh Akhenaten expounds on the glories of the one
and only God (“When in splendor you first took your throne / high in the
precinct of heaven, / O living God, / life truly began” [“Ancient Egyptian
Poetry” 83]!), people of every religious background can catch a glimpse of his
faith and contrast it with their own. But why did Akhenaten write a hymn
instead of an article? Why compose a piece of poetry when he could have said the
same thing more concisely with prose? The impressions he is trying to
communicate to his readers are so strong, so ethereal, that he must appeal to
the heart as well as the mind. For an idea to be properly understood, it must
be transferred complete with all its associated feelings, vibrations, and
perceptions. The devices and elements of poetry are tools to convey the kind of
meaning which no prose, however fresh and vibrant, can.
From this we see that the power of poetry lies in much
more than left-brain logic; its meaning is only complete when it is made
enjoyable. The words of a poem—as opposed to words in a newspaper—are
painstakingly selected and skillfully arranged in meter, synchronized in
repetition, and composed into a beautiful work of art. One Egyptian love song
is translated thus, “So there she stands, epitome / of shining, shedding light,
/ Her eyebrows, gleaming darkly, marking / eyes which dance and wander.” The
caesura and imagery of that descriptive passage stir the imagination, conjuring
fantasies of bright, perfect beauty and delicate features. Dusty hieroglyphs
may still bring pleasure after all this time, showing modern readers that this is beauty, this is
what thrills the heart.
Thoughts concerning human emotion are as old as mankind,
and the communication of them almost as ancient. From Grecian epics, to
Egyptian love songs, to Victorian rhymes, poetry has played a major role in
connecting cultures, promoting understanding, and providing enjoyment to
hundreds of generations. Some might believe that archaic poetry has no bearing
on the practicalities of everyday life, that it is little more than a waste of
time. But the extreme longevity of poetry, its captivating style, and its
themes that span millennia, make it clear that even papyri from ancient Egypt
might have more to offer us than first meets the eye.
Works Cited
“Ancient Egyptian Poetry.” The Norton Anthology of World
Literature. Shorter 2nd ed. Vol. 1. New York: W.W. Norton &, 2009. 81-92.
Print.
Engle, Paul. "Poetry Is Ordinary Language Raised to
the Nth Power." New York Times Book Review. 17 Feb. 1957. Print.
Tsur, Reuven. "Aspects of Cognitive Poetics."
The Boston College Personal Web Server. Boston College, 2 Nov. 1997. Web. 04
Jan. 2012.
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