Sometimes the music of words can inspire and seduce, as I know from personal experience. Often it's the meaning behind the music, whether obvious or subtly diffuse.
All too often words, beautiful words, come crashing to their doom in a thick soup of metaphors and well-intentioned banalities.
Read properly, poetry can overcome some pretty comical notions of womanhood, for example, and still inspire with its sheer sensuality. The Song of Solomon read to a loved one at night by candlelight, whisky in hand, can be a sublimely beautiful experience, at least for the bloke, yet what is it that enchants the reader? Imagine – her eyes are like fishpools in Heshbon, her nose is as the tower of Lebanon which looketh towards Damascus, and her breasts are like clusters of grapes, and her belly is like an heap of wheat set about with lillies. Crikey! There's a pin-up for you. Sadly, beauty perishes. Everything perishes! Recently, I've been re- reading Larkin and have been overwhelmed by the sadness of mortality. My latest poem is entitled:
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