Point Taken

As a prose writer who has been working on poetry, I’ve developed a terrible habit of grilling my spouse at the dinner table. A good example is the day before yesterday.

“I saw you liked my Substack,” I said.

“I always like what you write,” he replied, which is the literal truth, as he always presses the little heart icon.

“But did you get it?” He nodded, but looked scared. Just to clarify, he was with me in Barcelona when we toured La Sagrada Familia. “Who was Gaudi’s client?” I probed, and yes, I know I’m the worst.

“Huh?”

“Remember the line like gaudi’s client, i am in no hurry?”

“Well, since it’s a church, I’m guessing the church?”

“Don’t you remember the story? When someone asked Gaudi if he was ever going to finish construction, he told them his client was in no hurry?” He shook his head. “Oh, my god, Sam, it’s God,” I groaned. “God is Gaudi’s client. Jeez.” It then struck me that he probably missed the poem’s deeper meaning. “What do you think the poem is about?”

“Wanting to keep working until you die.”  He started eating. “Good pizza.”

“That’s what you got out of it?”

“I don’t live inside your head.”

I suddenly remembered a standoff I had decades earlier with my college teaching assistant. We were assigned an explication of some classical poem and I argued that poetry is meant to be swallowed whole, not parsed, and that the reader’s most significant response was emotional rather than intellectual. He gave me a D-minus and said I was just being lazy. For years I’ve told that story and framed the TA as a pompous asshole, which he definitely was, but he was also kind of right. I had to hand it to Sam.

To that end, even though I like leaving interpretations open, if you’re wondering about what I intended in anything I’ve written, leave a comment. I’m happy to clarify. You don’t live in my head, but I’m happy to show you around, because time has passed, my work continued, and I’m no longer lazy.