The Evolving Joy of Reading Poetry Aloud

My passion for poetry grows deeper with each passing day. This morning, I experienced something quite extraordinary: I discovered the boundless pleasure of reading poems aloud. It was as if a whole new world of enjoyment opened before me.

Until now, I have always considered books and the written word as experiences to be enjoyed in silence, echoing quietly in my mind. For me, reading was a private, internal process, never something to be spoken aloud, not even in a whisper. That was how I had always approached it.

However, this morning, while writing a poem, I realised that simply performing it in my head, going over each line internally, was no longer enough. I found myself unable to truly hear the poem’s music. Reading poetry, I have come to believe, is truly an act of love. Well, an act of self-love. After all, one often reads a poem for the deeply personal pleasure it brings.

Poetry has the remarkable power to soothe, to warm, to embrace, to shake, to move one to tears, or to break into laughter. Today, I noticed just how much these feelings are amplified when a poem is read aloud. The act of voicing the words brings the poem to life in a way that silent reading simply cannot match.

The Transformative Power of Reading Aloud

Alone in my poetry studio, I became acutely aware of each word as it grew, claimed its own space, and transformed into something vivid and alive. The poem I had just completed no longer seemed sufficient; the urge to read more poetry out loud became irresistible. I found myself wanting to lend my voice to other poems, to experience the subtle changes in meaning and emotion that come with each reading. With every repetition, the lines revealed a new layer, as if each reading disclosed another petal, exposing the fullness of their hidden beauty.

I now would like to invite you to read a poem by Emily Brontë, and experience the infinite beauty of these verses while they breathe with your voice. I think I’m becoming like Ernest Dawson who was fond of the letter v and considered it ‘the most beautiful of all letters’*, for I find rather amazing the use of the word “waving”, and the v sound in it utterly beautiful.

By Branwell Brontë - Public Domain

HIGH WAVING HEATHER

High waving heather ’neath stormy blasts bending

Midnight and moonlight and bright shining stars

Darkness and glory rejoicingly blending

Earth rising to heaven and heaven descending

Man’s spirit away from its drear dungeon sending

Bursting the fetters and breaking the bars

All down the mountain sides wild forest lending

One mighty voice to the life giving wind

Rivers their banks in the jubilee rending

Fast through the valleys a reckless course wending

Wider and deeper their waters extending

Leaving a desolate desert behind

Shining and lowering and swelling and dying

Changing for ever from midnight to noon

Roaring like thunder like soft music sighing

Shadows on shadows advancing and flying

Lightning bright flashes the deep gloom defying

Coming as swiftly and fading as soon

The Language of Flowers, ed by Jane Holloway, Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets 2017, p.187.

*The Cambridge Guide To Reading Poetry, Andrew Hodgson, Cambridge University Press 2021, p.36.