“The only things certain in this world are hints and omens.”
The meaning has already departed.
What we hear at the moment our senses come to us is the poetry of voice.
Can we say there’s a set definition for a word? How can we be sure that the definition we’ve attached to a word accurately represents the essence of the object signified by that word? Rhythms, according to Lee Jenny, are born when we question whether it’s necessary to define every word and grow through repetition. As the similar pattern of pause and repetition continues, a poem solidifies its tenuous lines. Understanding someone’s rhythm in breathing might be sharing their sensibilities. As breath, like rhythm, is unique to each individual (from “The Grass Becomes Singular”), Lee Jenny risks the loneliness of being misunderstood, or never understood at all, to confront her readers in the book. When you reach the point where your breath becomes in sync with that of the poet, you will be facing the page full of sounds, colors, and space.