Papa (or Mama), Don't Preach!

I remember one night in particular. It was "Open Mic" again, and, as usual, I was enjoying myself -- listening to great material and excited about reading my own.

Then, one well-intentioned, but (to me) misguided individual got up to read her work for the first time. A rhyming ditty in a semi-hip-hop vein, the poem meandered from her early wayward life to one of the straight-and-narrow.

OK, that was it, right? No -- that was just the preamble. The rest was a sermon in (not-very-well-done) rhyme. It seemed interminable, verse after verse.

Several minutes later (well past the courtesy limit -- and limiting in turn how long the rest of us could read), she finally concluded with an angry-sounding ... something.

I applauded, as did the others, just barely.

There's a place for what's known as "didacticism" in art. Teaching, rather than preaching, is allowed -- if you know what you're doing.

I feel that the work of (AFAIK) Alexander Pope wasn't preachy, and neither was (what I've read) of George Crabbe (though there were sermons implied in his work). Both are kind of hard to read for me, because the didactic tone, however well done, can wear me down pretty fast.

In general, I think we have to try and avoid both preaching and teaching. Expression is what we're looking for, and if, in that expression, we find something new we'd like to pass along, I think that's certainly OK. It's what we're all about, in fact.

But when we dwell on it ad nauseum, be it from the mountaintop or the pulpit, we are imposing on our readers' or listeners' time and trouble. And, usually, we are doing it from an attitude of arrogance (however unwittingly). That last is the real "tell," isn't it?

Who wants to listen to that?

But it's a temptation I think we, as poets, need to stay alert in avoiding.

The forum we're allowed can be such an easy trap.

(BTW, as I was editing this thing two days after pre-posting it, I realized I'd just fallen into the trap myself! See what I mean?)

Next time: The lesser-known (and better) Rossetti.