In the realm of form, poetry reveals itself through the line break as its most conspicuous signifier. Yet, this signifier harbors a paradox:
- Though a hallmark of poetry, it is not its exclusive domain—
- It drifts along the borderlands of poetry and non-poetry, resisting singular definition.
Thus, the line break stands as a necessary condition for poetry, yet it cannot alone proclaim poetry’s essence. What is it, then? A sign, a marker—but not one that merely circles back to the primal assertion of “this is a poem.” Rather, it initiates a more intricate play.
Mockery and Concealment
Awareness of this eludes many.
They deride attempts to seek poetry within the formal element of the line break, as if such endeavors profane some sacred code. Yet this scorn obscures a fundamental truth:
The line break is not mere technical artifice; it is a mechanism for generating meaning.
It slices through space, pauses rhythm, suspends breath, and etches interruption into the fissures of emotion. This interruption is not a void but a latent site of meaning—it mimics sound, summoning a deeper secret:
- Poetry, as the immediacy of language (l’immédiateté),
- Is not a piling of words, but the emergence of speech.
The Flesh of Speech
Here, words cease to be static symbols; they breathe within the fractures of the line break, conveying a living significance. The purpose of the line break, in essence, is to unveil speech in its natural form—
- A freedom unshackled by continuity,
- A tension oscillating between blankness and sound.
Perhaps herein lies poetry’s secret:
It is not the servant of narrative but the very flesh of speech, its broken lines mere textures of this embodiment.