Pulp Poetry

Chris Lott is memorizing poems,

“At some point while I’m memorizing a poem it will seem to come apart– like a word that’s been repeated so many times it suddenly seems new in one’s mouth– and then reconfigure itself anew.”

one of which is Hopkin’s Spring and Fall.

While reading it today, I started mouthing the line—

Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie

It has a wonderful feel on the tongue. Juicy. And it’s not only the alliteration, although that gets the saliva going. But those words! Wanwood! Leafmeal! Yummy.

Representative Poetry Online interprets the meaning as such:

wanwood leafmeal: dark forest (Old English "wann"; possibly our "wan," `pale and tired'), with all its leaves on the ground, "piecemeal."

But do we need that interpretation? The words are more than understandable by root and bark.

Growingly, it’s what I love about poetry. Yes to essence and feel and maybe meaning in some mysterious way, and it don’t mean a thing if it don’t have that swing, but also yes to the dripping, luscious pulp, succulent and wet.