Music—pacing of syntax, patterning of sound, and metrical prosody—is at the service of the speakers in my poems. In other words, music isn’t just a perfunctory or happenstance occurrence, but it is there to help, or work against, a speaker navigating a specific moment or event or thought, which I think is one of the responsibilities of lyric poetry. When a poem fails to have a handle of its music, it can read as false or flat. An often-used example of music and speaker working in concert to affect tone is Sylvia Plath’s “Daddy” with its constant volley of baby coos (all of those freaking o’s) over grotesque and dark imaginings of a father. I’ve heard people giggle when they read the poem aloud, but when one pays attention to the images, the effect is unsettling.
On the other hand, because I am a poet who believes in breaking rules, if a poem intentionally lacks music, but amps up other qualities, the result can be just as effective. So, yes, music or the intentional absence of music are very important considerations when I am writing.
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