Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Daniel Rifenburgh’s "Written Words, Like Paintings" is a meditation on the nature of written language, its limitations, and its paradoxical permanence. Drawing on Plato’s Phaedrus as a thematic foundation, the poem considers the fixed and unresponsive quality of the written word, exploring its simultaneously alluring and frustrating aspects. Through its cyclical structure and incisive tone, the poem mirrors the static quality it critiques, creating an introspective commentary on the act of writing and interpretation.

The poem begins with an analogy that equates written words to paintings: both seem to "talk to you as though they were clever." This opening immediately sets up the idea that words, like visual art, can create the illusion of a dynamic interaction. Yet, as the speaker notes, if pressed for clarification, written words "go on telling you the same thing forever." This assertion highlights the static and unyielding nature of written text, incapable of engaging in the reciprocal dialogue one might expect in verbal communication. The invocation of Plato’s Socrates reinforces this critique: in Phaedrus, Socrates disparages writing as inferior to spoken discourse because it cannot defend itself or adapt to a reader’s inquiries.

Rifenburgh’s reference to Socrates anchors the poem in the philosophical tradition, inviting readers to consider whether writing’s rigidity diminishes its value. This idea becomes central as the poem progresses, emphasizing the inherent limitations of words frozen on the page. The repetition of phrases like "telling you the same thing forever" underscores this static quality, reflecting the poem’s central tension between the apparent vitality of written words and their immovable nature.

The imagery of "counters for wit" and "counterfeit intelligencers" deepens the critique, suggesting that written words are proxies for thought rather than thought itself. The description of words as "clear or crimson jewels" introduces a visual and tactile metaphor, emphasizing their surface-level appeal. These jewels, with their "facets shimmering," seem to wink knowingly at the reader, teasing with an appearance of intelligence. Yet, the poem reminds us, this intelligence is an illusion—words lack the agency or adaptability to refine their meaning. The phrase "counterfeit intelligencers" cleverly encapsulates this paradox: words appear to carry intellect, yet they are fixed and unresponsive, incapable of engaging in the dialectical process that Socrates champions.

As the poem unfolds, the speaker shifts from discussing the inherent limitations of written words to reflecting on the nature of the poet’s own craft. The line "Just so, dear reader, are these lines" acknowledges the poem’s self-referentiality: the text we are reading is subject to the same critique it levels against writing in general. The acknowledgment of the writer’s absence—"scribbled by a writer / Who’s soon absconded"—underscores the static, unchanging nature of written words once they leave the author’s hands. Like a "busted watch" or a "scene from Goya," the poem itself becomes a "fixed, unrelenting thing forever," unable to evolve or respond to its readers.

The comparison to Goya is particularly evocative, invoking the painter’s dark and haunting imagery. This reference aligns the unyielding nature of written words with the unsettling permanence of Goya’s works, which capture moments of human suffering and folly in unchanging detail. The poem thus suggests that writing, for all its beauty and precision, is also a kind of imprisonment—a snapshot frozen in time, incapable of adapting or escaping its original form.

The cyclical structure of the poem mirrors the eternal repetition it describes. By returning to the idea that words "go on blithely recounting the same thing over," the poem enacts its own critique, trapping the reader in the very cycle it laments. This structural choice reinforces the central paradox: while the poem critiques the limitations of written language, it also exemplifies the unique power of words to provoke reflection and self-awareness.

"Written Words, Like Paintings" is a thoughtful exploration of the tension between the permanence and imperfection of written language. By invoking Plato’s critique and weaving in rich metaphors, Rifenburgh creates a layered meditation on the act of writing and reading. The poem invites readers to grapple with the limitations of language while acknowledging its enduring allure, leaving us to consider whether its fixity is a flaw—or its defining strength. Through its form and content, the poem becomes both a critique of and a testament to the enduring power of the written word.

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