It is still my "signature poem" and the first one I ever had published (and got paid)!!! Oh, nostalgia!

Yes, I felt that it would. . .speak to you. . .

That would be an interesting Virtual Cafe discussion. . .works that become a poet's "poetic mission statement". . .such as MacLeish's and yours are.

Truthfully, I do not have one of those. . .not yet. . .in any event. . .someday I will. . .speaking of needing to be in a Zone. . .and spend some quality time with a pen. . .

~Ren~

An Ars Poetica. ..for me. . .

And as I was doing some reading I came across this:

In the code language of criticism when a poem is said to be about poetry
 the word "poetry" is often used to mean: how people construct an
 intelligibility out of the randomness they experience; how people choose
 what they love; how people integrate loss and gain; how they distort
 experience by wish and dream; how they perceive and consolidate flashes of
 harmony; how they (to end a list otherwise endless) achieve what Keats
 called a "Soul or Intelligence destined to possess the sense of Identity."

       -- Helen Vendler, poetry critic

Rather unsurprisingly, if you think about it, a number of poets have taken a
break from mirroring reality, and turned their gaze inwards, whether upon
other poets, other poems, the nature and role of the Poet, or, most
reflexively, the nature and role of Poetry.

Today's poem is a beautiful example. Titled Ars Poetica - 'the Art of
Poetry'[1] - it attempts to prescribe the nature of poetry, and - in a move
Hofstadter would have loved - does so in the form of a poem. Furthermore, it
does not seek to sidestep the possible pitfalls and inconsistencies this
approach leaves it open to - rather it meets them head on, using words like
'mute', 'dumb' and 'wordless' to set up a paradox culminating in the
wonderful last stanza, 'a poem should not mean / but be'.

En route, the main thread is woven through with several exquisite images,
speaking to the reader even as it advocates silence, progressing even as it
advocates motionlessness. And yet, at the end, it does resolve itself into a
seamless, integrated whole, as perfectly self-contained as the globed fruit,
or the timeless, frozen stillness of a winter's night. The reader is free to
pick it apart, to tease meaning from the tapestry of contradictions and
images. As for the poem, it simply is.

discussion from another Ars Poetica. . .which I believe you will recognize. . .as you oft quote part of MacLeish's Ars Poetica. . .and your poem, My Lines, works in this way. . .yet differently, only as Norm could have written it.

~Ren~

Note: In discussing "Signature Poems" on Retreat, some were a little surprised by by mine (below). And by Rene's definition of "Signature Poem" but my idea of "signature" is what poem defines me as "poet" and my life's mission in THAT regard and to that end. So, here is my "Poet-Norm" Signature Poem. This must be the 10th time I've posted it -- but some may not have seen it. It also is the only poem of mine that has been pblished three times, so it holds THAT special "thing" for me....and, Mary always said it was her favorite of mine.

MY LINES

It’s absolute, these lines are drawn on globes…
Imaginary ink spots on a sphere;
They subdivide the earth to mindless lobes,
Convincing most of us they're really here.
If horizontal lines do make me ponder,
Confuse me more by those drawn up and down;
A dateline crossed wherever I may wander
To this day, or to that, it still confounds.
So, why then should my readers give a care?
Both longitudes and latitudes they’ve seen?
Mapmakers ’round the world make all aware
That magic lines have meaning in between.
   Couplet lines won’t clear up the confusion.
   Poets write, now draw your own conclusions. 

© Norman S. Pollack