I used to think that poetry was, at its best, a way to ride the pathways of another mind, decipher the inexpressible, follow the words and phrasing as if riding an auditory mantra. Now I feel that sometimes the greatest pleasure is simply following the words like waves, or symphonic movements, that the words themselves, the language itself, has power, even more so if we experience the nexus of intellect and soul by simply reading, and allowing the analysis, if it comes, to be enjoined as a monk in meditation, as the other world, the inessential world, disappears.
I also realized, in following Kent's blog, that I think one of the reasons I don't so much remember the lyrics of songs as much as I do the experience of a song I enjoy is that the music carries so much of the emotion. Generally, songs tend, lyrically, to be crap. And if they aren't crap, I'd rather read the words alone, allowing them to roll over in my head like a rock tumbler. While I like the enforced discipline of going to a poetry reading, the auditory experience for me exists in my head when I read. I hear the rhythms of consonants and pause in my head. And sometimes, especially with young poets, there is either an NPR gravity to how they read, a practiced sonorous tone. Or they scream out, masking what might be clever phrasing in their rage.
If writers read from within, and let their style(s) develop as a reflection of their writing, I think I might find myself going to more readings out of interest, as opposed to politeness. And generally, poetry might find a happier niche outside slams and academia and be more the musical performance it could be. People don't have a singular conversational tone, and poetry that is read in that plodding English grad student style, where they want you to feel their pause so much, to sound professorial, that their poetry or prose sounds like filler between pregnant breaths, and the occasional furrowed brow.
I should be reading more of Kent's stuff, and getting into some of the poets he likes.