This post in Portholes interested me because it is so opposite from my own habitual point of view on judging poetry, and wonderful in its own right. I had the same problem with interpretation in grad school. I never was one to care what a particular image "meant."

Then when dissertation time rolled around I interpreted the hell out of the particular poet I was studying, reversing my earlier distaste. The next phase was not caring again about the interpretation of texts. It just seemed silly to argue whether one "reading" was better than another. I became obsessed with situating a poet in a particular cultural milieu, with understanding his or her rhythmic feel and relation to own time. I'm also interested in how reading poetry obsessively for 30 years has affected my brain chemistry and temperament. An addiction?

I'm interested in why I respond negatively/positively to certain poetic styles, with analyzing own reactions and sharing/comparing them with others. That's why some of my exchanges with Kasey (and many others!) have been so productive for me. That's one thing I get out of blogging. Maybe even some lasting friendships.