Sometimes, one very small seeming omission from a poem can say so much, or can mystify and entrance a reader. What is missing or intentionally left out in this segment of Alice Notley’s poem “Change the Forms in Dreams”, from her Griffin Poetry Prize-winning collection “Disobedience”? Why is this small absence so fascinating?
The second…
Sometimes, one very small seeming omission from a poem can say so much, or can mystify and entrance a reader. What is missing or intentionally left out in this segment of Alice Notley’s poem “Change the Forms in Dreams”, from her Griffin Poetry Prize-winning collection “Disobedience”? Why is this small absence so fascinating?
The second sentence of this segment, somehow rather perfectly …
“What is the second sentence”
has no question mark – in fact, no punctuation at all. Isn’t it crying out for that demarcation, that closure? Does the open-ended sentence denote a dreamy drifting off (since the poem title does reference dreams), or a wilful, purposeful refusal (since the collection’s title is “Disobedience”)?
Notley suggests that she feels constrained as she points to:
“stars swarming to be good
in their cage.”
She envies the freedom of the man on the subway who can say whatever he wants as he speaks aloud but to himself. So, is the missing punctuation a small act of rebellion or indicative of weary frustration, like she doesn’t know how to frame something to please those who are constricting her?
Is there a clue in the first sentence?
“The first sentence (of my poem) must be “I left it.””
Did Notley purposefully leave it … out?
This reader loves how the absence of one question mark can produce so many in response. Isn’t that amazing?
