Mark Twain said the difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and the lightning bug. As I listen to political speeches and the commentaries following, I think how important it is to hear the exact words, to know their exact meanings, to catch the nuances, to understand the implications of the choice of one word instead of another.
The word maverick, for example, used so liberally (dare I use that word in this sentence?) in the present campaign, that conjures up an image of the rugged American West, of a cowboy on a horse, chasing a steer. Another: a sign on the wall of a mosque in China says that workers may not be forced to attend services, when actually the law prohibits them from going at all. And, of course, there's pro-choice (leaving out the negative word abortion, using the positive word, choice), and pro-life (implying that those who want a choice are against life).
I think about words all the time because I'm a poet, and there's no medium more attentive to the exact word than poetry. And I can't imagine more perfect choices than the ones made by John Crowe Ransom in his poem, "Bells for John Whiteside's Daughter" (1924).
A man is preparing for a funeral. The death of the young girl was a shock to everyone. Just a short time ago, she was chasing the geese, dashing through the orchard, striking out in fun at apple trees. (Bruited means "spread the news." You can see her teasingly flailing away.)
Think of Ransom's choice of brown study, which means "deep in thought." The poet managed the most poignant kind of understatement in that phrase. What if he'd used "final quietness?" The speaker himself is deep in thought, and we'd miss that if he hadn't attributed that phrase to Whiteside's daughter.
And then I think maybe the best word choice in the English language -- the word vexed, near the end. It means "irritated, distressed, annoyed." Again, the most painful of understatements. What if Ransom had used saddened instead? How flat, how empty of the truth of the moment! He wanted that touch of anger, of distress that the world can take away such liveliness. The power of a good poem is that its short lines, its choice of line breaks, calls our attention to the words. We become skilled at listening harder, and that makes us less vulnerable to manipulation.
Bells for John Whiteside's Daughter
There was such speed in her little body,
And such lightness in her footfall,
It is no wonder her brown study
Astonishes us all.
Her wars were bruited in our high window.
We looked among orchard trees and beyond
Where she took arms against her shadow,
Or harried unto the pond
The lazy geese, like a snow cloud
Dripping their snow on the green grass,
Tricking and stopping, sleepy and proud,
Who cried in goose, Alas,
For the tireless heart within the little
Lady with rod that made them rise
From their noon apple-dreams and scuttle
Goose fashion under the skies!
But now go the bells, and we are ready,
In one house we are sternly stopped
To say we are vexed at her brown study,
Lying so primly propped.
-- John Crowe Ransom
Learn more about Fleda Brown on her Web site, fledabrown.com
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