I
'm not a great reader of poetry, but I believe that one of its main powers is expanding the meaning of our words and concepts. Poetry is a symbolic act, as opposed to a diabolic. The former means "to throw together", the latter "to tear apart". Symbols bring together two things, infusing both with more meaning than they started with.
I've had Tom Waits' monumental (yet little heeded) album The Black Rider on my mind lately, though to be honest, it's never too far from my mind. The Black Rider was a musical that Waits wrote with William S. Burroughs, so there is a pretty clear narrative through-line if you're aware of it. But as a piece of poetry, The Black Rider has augmented my understanding of several words, which is harder than it sounds.
Humans are natural symbol-makers and -users, and for virtually every concept we employ, our minds call up some images or memories, even if quietly and subtly, to help us contextualize what we're talking about. Often, these mental landmarks are from our childhood, when we are learning words for the first time, but they can come from any part of our lives, as long as the association is strong enough. Usually, the little memory-tag is fairly superficial. But I think that great works of art can transform our inner vocabulary, enriching it with greater and wider meaning, more subtlety, and keener insight.
What did The Black Rider change for me? Principally, the concepts I've found enriched by the album are the Seasons, the Woods, Bullets, and to a lesser extent Food. I can't think about Summer in the same way now that I've bathed in river of The Black Rider, nor can Bullets remain the simple lumps of lead with vaguely evil tidings surrounding them. To get into what and why has exactly changed would require a close reading of the album as a whole (which, who knows, maybe I'll write some day), but I feel a terrifying unity and directedness in it that charges through my mind and alters the way I think. I should try to be more sensitive in general to this effect in experiences across my life.
"The Flash Pan Hunter sways with the wind // And his rifle is the sound of the morning // Each sulphurous bullet must have its own wit // And each cartridge comes with a warning."