Summary

The article reflects on the complex relationship between poetry and music, suggesting that music often overshadows the poetic depth of lyrics, and questions the cultural prioritization of catchy melodies over profound verse.

Abstract

The essay "The Song Murdered the Poem" delves into the tension between music and poetry, asserting that the essence of poetry is often lost when it is transformed into song. The author uses vivid metaphors to describe the violent transformation of poetry into song, where the depth and nuance of verse are sacrificed for the sake of musical appeal. The piece argues that poetry requires effort and commitment to be appreciated, akin to love or faith, while song offers an easier, more immediate gratification. It laments the cultural shift towards preferring the "one-night stand" of catchy tunes over the enduring relationship with poetry's truth and understanding. The author also touches on the historical context of music in America, acknowledging its roots in struggle and truth-telling, while critiquing the commercialization that often dilutes its potency. The article concludes with a call to recognize the value of poetic truth in music, exemplified by artists like The Avett Brothers and Amanda Palmer, who dare to speak both personal and collective truths.

Opinions

The author suggests that the transformation of poetry into song can result in the loss of poetry's intrinsic value, leaving behind only a shell of its former self.
There is a critique of society's preference for the immediate pleasure of music over the deeper engagement required by poetry.
The piece implies that poetry is undervalued in modern culture, with its nuances often unheard amidst the din of catchy but less substantive music.
The author admires musicians who use their platform to speak truth to power, risking their careers to address difficult topics.
The essay expresses a concern that the commercialization of music has led to a minimization of voices that challenge the status quo.
It is implied that the listener shares some responsibility for the "murder" of poetry by choosing easily digestible music over more demanding poetic content.
The author holds musicians like Amanda Palmer in high regard for their willingness to be vulnerable and address universal human experiences in their work.

The Song Murdered the Poem

Music of Dreams

The song murdered the poem chopped it, chipped, mashed it into papery pulp. Only the rhyme remained. . . identifiable like an audible dental record.

Detectives were puzzled. Weren’t they brothers, melody and verse? Like Cain and Abel, the blood of the slain cries out from the earth but no one takes heed.

We hate those closest to us. Our brothers have no keeper.

The poem didn’t resist attack, Offered no defense Maybe it sought peace at the end Tired from the long-suffering

A scuffle is not fitting for the subtler art — the poem died with dignity.

Around the funeral pyre sweet voices sang catchy melodies light and soft, sounding innocent. Tears ran down my cheeks, my heart burst, and my brain hadn’t the slightest idea why, it simply obeyed my tapping foot.

I am a metronome.

Poetry is all truth and understanding, the genesis, the revelation — if we are willing to understand. But instead we prefer the one-night stand. Song is easy. The hook, the bridge, the chorus, sound addicts like a drug.

Poetry is a choice, like love. It may feel sublime at times, but passion comes through hard work, diligence, study. . . We must believe and seek in order to find, like faith, like religion — Culture and context may draw us in, but to receive is a weighty decision.

The poem was the tree falling in the woods; it crashed violently, but made no sound. Not because no one was around to hear, but because all ears were filled the insignificant. Witnesses never noticed. Witnesses never mourned. They were all wearing headphones.

I wonder Am I accessory to murder? In my hands is an axe. On my lips is a trite melody.

About:

I downloaded the new Avett Brothers album over the weekend and was reminded of the power of poetry in music. It’s sad that I’m surprised by a song that is poetic, rich in meaning. The Youtube link to We Americans is below — audio is better quality if you look up on iTunes or Spotify.

A misnamed people and a kidnapped race Laws may change, but we can’t erase the scars of a nation Of children devalued and disavowed Displaced by greed and the arrogance of manifest destiny Short-sighted to say it was a long time ago Not even two life times have passed since the days of Lincoln The sins of Andrew Jackson, the shame of Jim crow And time moves slow when the tragedies are beyond description

I am a son of uncle Sam And I struggle to understand the good and evil But I’m doing the best I can In a place built on stolen land with stolen people We are more than the sum of our parts All these broken homes and broken hearts God, will you keep us wherever we go? Will you forgive us for where we’ve been? We Americans

Music in America has a rich history of speaking truth to power, singing as a very means of survival. The blues and rock were born on Southern plantations, moved north to Nashville and Motown and began to be packaged as something more palatable for the masses. Commercialization is not evil, but it is about mitigating risk and minimizing voice.

It takes artists with guts to say something — to speak with voice and poetry — to risk offending record labels and audiences.

Remember when the Dixie Chicks were banned from radio for questioning the Iraq invasion? Truth-telling bears consequence.

I think at our best, poets and musicians are truth tellers.

Amanda Palmer’s new album, There Will be No Intermission is another brilliant example of poetic truth telling in music. She is shocking, not in social commentary, but in vulnerability, in laying herself wide open in naked honesty.

There are plenty of musicians willing to speak their own truth. . .that’s not what I’m amazed by. Palmer is willing to speak OUR truth — the common things that make us human. Our fears and dreams, failures — beauty and brokenness.

At least some of the frogs in here know me.

Everyone’s terrified that they’ll be justified by the collapse that will happen Everyone’s placing their bets just in case The whole thing’s a profound disappointment Everyone’s trying to stay on the side where the water’s just boiling more slowly Frogs in a pot, well that’s one thing I’ve got At least some of the frogs in here know me

I want you to think of me sitting and singing beside you The chain pulls us up and we know that we’re all gonna dive The blur and the noise of the screaming can blind and distract you But isn’t it nice when we all can scream at the same time

And it’s just a ride It’s just a ride And you’ve got the choice to get off anytime that you like It’s just a ride It’s just a ride The alternative’s nothingness Might as well give it a try

Prompt: The Music of Dreams

TOMAS TRANSTRÖMER

medium.com

#takingmyownmedicine