1. Some Basic Ideas
This book builds on several basic ideas that serve as a foundation for biblical poetry and for much language and literature in general. Though already familiar to anyone reading this book, you may not have examined them consciously. After all, they appear obvious and self-evident. However, because they shape our perceptions and decisions, they deserve some careful reflection.
1.1. Tradition and Creativity
In general, people like the ordinary—the predictable routines of life. We have our morning routines that allow us to begin the day without the need to think about what to do first or how to get breakfast. When something occurs out of the ordinary, people can easily become upset. Learning a new software program is often frustrating because it is new and different.
In literature, the ordinary becomes the tradition. Storytellers and poets learn the ordinary ways that people use to tell stories and sing songs. The tradition creates expectations that serve both the artist and the audience. The artist has a tested outline. The Italian sonnet always opens with eight lines establishing a theme or problem, followed by six lines that respond somehow. Knowledge of the tradition, conscious or unconscious, also helps the audience follow and understand the artist’s work. Much of this book is about the traditions of biblical poetry—the ordinary ways in which biblical authors created their texts.
The ordinary can become too ordinary. Routine sets in, and everything seems boring, trite, and drearily the same. Every day is like the day before. So, we look forward to experiences that are new and different. Vacations show us new worlds or offer us a new perspective. Differences can be vital to our lives.
Victor Shklovsky, in “Art as Technique,” recognized that seeing the same thing over and over dulls our sensitivity so that we no longer see or experience the ordinary. The familiar becomes so familiar that it no longer registers. With this as his starting point, Shklovsky argues that artists try to make us look at our world anew by making the familiar seem strange. They seek to defamiliarize the ordinary so that we can see and experience our world again for the first time. He calls this function of art simply “defamiliarization” (13). To do this, writers may use unfamiliar words or rough rhythms that force us to read more slowly or stop and look up a word in a dictionary. Complexity, in general, serves as a standard strategy, but when the complexity becomes too much, artists typically return to the basics in search of a new simplicity.
Sometimes the poet rearranges the traditional elements in new and unexpected ways, or the storyteller introduces an unexpected twist to the traditional story, such as an unexpected person as the hero. The unexpected is more than window-dressing. The unexpected suggests a new way of seeing and organizing the world. Here the artist hopes not just to defamiliarize but to create something that will move us in a new way.
Storytellers and poets must master the tradition to reshape it in unexpected ways. On the one hand, defamiliarization depends upon the artist and the audience knowing the tradition—the expected. The tradition then becomes the background for the unexpected and the different. Without a standard, everything would seem arbitrary.
This book seeks to help readers understand the tradition used by biblical poets to create their poetry. This allows us to appreciate the mastery that “breaks the rules” to defamiliarize the tradition. Unless we appreciate the conventions of literature, we cannot appreciate how the poet transforms the tradition.
1.2. The Poet’s Intention and the Poem’s Autonomy
Sometimes readers ask: “What did the poet intend?” This question recognizes that a poem is an intentional act. If you talk to poets, they will tell you how many hours they have spent writing even a short poem, and how many times they re-wrote and changed a line until they were satisfied. They will explain how the process of writing and rewriting allows them to put more and more into the text—even without their always knowing consciously what they include. Returning to their work later, they may find the text richer than they realized, or they may find that it still needs work. The goal is to create a text that no longer needs the poet to explain it. While we may find ourselves explaining what we intended to say, good authors write texts that no longer need them. These texts can stand on their own.
The desire to know the author’s intention can even be misleading. It suggests that the meaning of the text lies in the mind of the author. Surely the author knows the text very well and so has an advantage in commenting on the text. If there are diaries or letters, these may help us understand a text better, but even here one must be careful. The writings of modern authors show that they sometimes change their minds or develop new ideas; some are not consistent. Even where a writer comments on a particular poem, the commentary is never better than the poem. What the author intended to say is the poem itself and not any notes or diaries about it. Again, the poet has made a text that is able to stand on its own.
A focus on the author’s intention also assumes that these texts mainly convey ideas—as if the poem were an envelope in which the poet has put the idea. If so, our job would be simply to take the idea out of the envelope. Poems, however, are not primarily sources of information. Certainly, they convey ideas, but they also conjure up emotion and stir the imagination. The poem shows us something about life; it presents life’s energy and invites us to experience it, to see it from another viewpoint. The former poet laureate Billy Collins makes this point wonderfully in his poem “Introduction to Poetry” which can be found online. A poem connects the reader to a world, a story, an event, an experience, and more. It defamiliarizes and opens new doors. Rather than focusing on the intention of the poet, we should focus on the experience of the text that the poet has given us.
Admittedly, ancient texts can present problems because we no longer understand the poet’s tradition and context. This book seeks to fill in some of those gaps. Even so, texts handed on by the communities possess an ability to transcend their historical context and speak to later generations. These texts are not informational, such as the directions for putting together a toy or getting from one place to another. Informational texts should have only one clear meaning. However, as masters of their language and craft, these poets have constructed texts that give us possibilities and questions—not just answers.
Hans Georg Gadamer insists that the poem, like all art, is the thing itself. The poem does not point us toward something else but toward itself. The poem offers us an experience that only it can offer, and we can have this experience only by focusing on the poem itself. The analysis of a poem should make us more alive to its complexities and possibilities so that we can have a richer experience when we return to the whole.
To make sense of a text, we often identify a key line. There really is no wrong decision in this. The poem offers us possibilities, and the reader participates in discovering the connections within the text and in finding the connection to other texts and to ourselves. While some choices may prove more interesting or insightful, any understanding that can be reconciled to the whole is not wrong.
This does not mean that a text can mean just anything. The words count, and the world they conjure up sets certain boundaries. Even though the author has created texts that can stand on their own, they do not stand alone. They belong to a web of connections, to various traditions. Some connections are historical, such as language and culture. However, some connections transcend history. In Part III, I argue that the basic genres have their roots in common linguistic experiences transcending individual cultures. Genre sets up important boundaries for understanding and interpretation.
Moreover, many people read biblical texts within a larger religious tradition which includes other texts which comment on each other—some having a priority. We also read these texts within a community of readers called a synagogue or a church or an academy. We should not underestimate the significance of those traditions and communities. Even so, we must begin with the words on the page, and this book deals mainly with the words on the page: their craft, language, and genres.
1.3. The Connections of Association and Likeness
Our understanding of the world depends on our ability to recognize what is like and what is different and also to recognize what goes together and connects. This may seem too simple and basic to bear much consideration, but this basic observation holds an important key for understanding and interpreting the world.
For some people, the great outdoors divides into trees, bushes, flowers, and weeds. A better observer can distinguish different kinds of trees: maples, oaks, pines, etc. A forester can make further distinctions: black oaks, white oaks, red oaks, pin oaks, and more. This ability to distinguish differences allows a person to see the complexity of the world. However, if we find only differences, then the world seems fragmented and unrelated. We depend on our ability to recognize the connections in order to make sense of our world.
These connections divide into two large groups: association and similarity.
a. association
Association refers to things that belong to the same group. For instance, a forest is a system of many pieces that belong together. Though we typically think of the trees making up a forest, a forester will point out that soil, climate, insects, other plants, and more come together to form the network of a forest. Likewise, a tree is made up of roots, trunk, limbs, bark, leaves, and more. Our world depends upon a vast array of interconnected associations. Sometimes this idea of association is expressed as “contiguity” from the Latin word meaning “to touch” as in the more common word “contiguous.” The idea of touching is fundamental for seeing how our world connects. Roots, trunk, limbs, bark, and leaves are not alike; rather they go together as parts of the tree; they share an association.
Language uses associations at several levels. First, we can think about words as signs which point to “the real thing.” The word “house” is not a house but is rather a sound or written sign associated with a building in which a family lives. If I use the sign “house” in an English-speaking community, I expect that people will associate that sign with “the real thing.” In a Spanish-speaking community, I would need to use a different sign, “casa,” in order to evoke the same general association. This kind of association is one of the basic problems of learning a new language.
Words from different languages and cultures seldom overlap completely. Cultural differences affect our understanding. The Hebrew word for “house” is “beth,” but we may well need some historical and cultural information to appreciate what a family dwelling meant for them.
Here we need to make a distinction between natural and conventional associations. Natural associations come just from living in the world while conventional associations depend upon being part of a culture. Some associations, like “sun and moon,” come from living in the world. Others depend upon culture. Some associations have both a natural and conventional piece. As human beings, we grow up in families that live someplace, but its arrangement differs depending on time and place.
To this, we can add personal associations. We all have personal memories of the word “house” rooted in our individual experiences. Some memories may overlap with the memory of the English-speaking community, but some do not. If I want people to understand my experience of a house, then I will need to say more than the common English word. Likewise, those who come from different cultures and speak a different language may find that the common English word does not adequately convey their experience.
Things do not exist as isolated pieces. A house is associated with all the things that make it up; for us, that means door, windows, walls, roof, floor, ceiling, walls, etc. These connections involve not only the pieces but also the ways in which the whole is connected and operates as well as the ways in which people live in a house. Explaining all those dimensions would take considerable time. Commons words belong to complex systems of associations that create various possibilities for understanding. Linguists call these systems of associations “cognitive domains.” Moreover, we can call to mind the whole by using just a piece—a strategy called metonymy. We will look at these more carefully in Section III.
Each language has its own genius. In English, some words can be used as both nouns and verbs, and even adjectives. We all have “hands” (noun), and so we can “hand” (verb) people a “handbag” and a “handsaw” which might be a “handful” as we hold on to the “handrail” (adjective-like). All associations can potentially become part of the process of understanding. Just knowing the meaning of a sign does not guarantee that I will understand its possibilities for meaning.
Some words are not signs; they do not point to a “real thing.” The word “of,” for instance, does not point but creates a relationship between two words: a ring of gold; a time of sorrow; the pledge of love. Some words define and quantify such as “a” and “the” and “many.” A careful discussion of this would lead us to the philosophy of language, but that is beyond our goal. For our purposes, it is enough to recognize that we need these other words in order to link words together in an association which we call sentences. These allow us to communicate ideas, emotions, and imagination. Grammar is a description of the common ways we combine words to form sentences and say what we want to say. This book does not review basic grammar, but the reader may want to do that to appreciate better the craft of language.
b. likeness: sameness and similarity
Likeness, of course, may be entire or only partial. Things are the same only if they are identical—an exact replica. Repetition of the same word is an example of sameness.
Similarity points to the likeness shared by two or more things, but similarity also recognizes that there is some difference, that the two are not identical. The words “good” and “nice” are similar, and may be used interchangeably, but not always. There is a difference between saying someone is “good” or “nice” even though it may be difficult to say exactly what it is. Part of their meanings overlap, but only part.
We depend upon our ability to recognize the similarity between pieces of our world at various levels in order to organize it. Our ability to identify oak trees, as we saw above, depends upon our ability to see the likeness between two trees with very similar leaves and bark. Though maples are not oaks, both are trees and share the similarity of trees. There are also fir trees without leaves and palm trees without branches, and yet we still call them trees. To create various groups, we may highlight the likeness as we hide the differences. Botanists, who categorize plants, have clear criteria for their categories, but our everyday language is often more fluid. Sometimes we can see the similarity between things that belong to different categories. Psalm 1 says that those who meditate on God’s law are like trees planted by streams of water. Similarity, as we shall see, is a basic dimension of parallelism and metaphor—hallmarks of biblical poetry.
This book seeks to help the reader recognize the similarity between words, lines, or sections of biblical poetry and between the poems themselves. At the same time, likeness forms the context for the difference which creates change and movement. Too often biblical studies have focused just on similarity and have failed to appreciate the importance of differences which adds to and moves a poem forward. The uniqueness of a poem lies in its difference, but this is difficult to recognize without knowing what to expect—the tradition.
Similarity can be found not only inside the text but also between text or between a text and human experience whether mine or ours, whether present or the past. Our ability to recognize similarity shapes an important part of our understanding and interpretation.
1.4. A Close Reading of a Poem: Basic Strategies
A close reading of a poem should help us understand better how the poem works so that when we read it again, we can have a richer experience of the poem. A close reading is not an end in itself but should make us more alive to the text.
A close reading is not just a paraphrase of the poem, though that can be a helpful first step. Rather, a close reading explains how the words and their arrangement work together to engage us. It answers questions of how and why.
While the arrangement below suggests an orderly progression, some of our insights come at the same time. Still, it is good to have an orderly approach to guide us.
a. Read the poem and get a clear sense of what it says.
- You may need to read the poem several times.
- Look up any words or references that you do not understand.
- Are there historical and cultural contexts that bear on the poem?
- Make an outline of the basic pieces of the poem.
b. Give some attention to the speaker and the context.
- Who is speaking? What can we know about the speaker from the poem?
- Is the speaker speaking to another person? Are there other characters? What do we learn about them?
- What does this text want to accomplish? This is a question about the kind or genre of literature. Is it a thought, hymn, story, petition, proverb, judgment, etc.?
- Is there an implied story—that is, some problem hanging over the speaker that must be resolved?
c. Look carefully at the words on the page.
- With a pencil or a computer, mark what repeats. Repetition is one of the ways a text shows us what it considers important.
- What language does the poet use to create the experience? Give careful consideration to the words themselves. Take the words seriously. Why did the poet use these words and images?
- What does the craft of the poem contribute: its rhythm, sound, word pairs, parallelism?
- Is there a key word or image around a central idea? Mark them.
- Note the conjunctions and connecting words: and, but, when, where, how, (so) that, because, then, therefore, etc.
d. Look for connections and patterns.
- What does the poem’s arrangement tell us?
- What does the speaker spend the most time telling us? What is its significance?
- What does the poem want to emphasize?
e. What strikes you as the most important line today?
There is seldom only one correct answer to this question. Different people will give precedence to different lines. Still, the question gives us a place to start.
- Why do you choose this line?
- How does this line relate to the rest of the poem?
1.5. Exercises for Chapter 1
Vocabulary
- association: the connection between things that belong to the same group or cognitive domain. §1.3a
- cognitive domain: the intellectual network(s) to which a word belongs. §1.3a
- defamiliarization: making the familiar different so that we can see it again as if for the first time; according to Viktor Shklovsky, this is a primary function of art. §1.1
- sameness: a complete overlap with no difference. §1.3b
- similarity: a sharing of much in common, but also with differences. §1.3b
Questions
Using just what you know, do a “close reading” of Psalm 46 using the questions below.
- Make an outline of the psalm.
- Mark up the psalm and note what repeats and connects.
- Who is the speaker? Who does the psalmist address?
- What does the poem’s arrangement tell us?
- What line strikes you today as the most important? Why is that?
Note: The word “Selah” appears mainly in the Book of Psalms and seems to mark a pause. However, its use is not consistent. The editors of the NRSV use it here to divide this text. Other translations divide the text into more pieces.
Psalm 46
To the leader. Of the Korahites. According to Alamoth. A Song.
1 God is our refuge and strength,
a very present help in trouble.
2 Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change,
though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea;
3 though its waters roar and foam,
though the mountains tremble with its tumult. Selah
4 There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,
the holy habitation of the Most High.
5 God is in the midst of the city; it shall not be moved;
God will help it when the morning dawns.
6 The nations are in an uproar, the kingdoms totter;
he utters his voice, the earth melts.
7 The LORD of hosts is with us;
the God of Jacob is our refuge. Selah
8 Come, behold the works of the LORD;
see what desolations he has brought on the earth.
9 He makes wars cease to the end of the earth;
he breaks the bow, and shatters the spear;
he burns the shields with fire.
10 “Be still, and know that I am God!
I am exalted among the nations,
I am exalted in the earth.”
11 The LORD of hosts is with us;
the God of Jacob is our refuge.
