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More dumb shock than complaint,
Wyatt's phrasing is a handy demonstration of what makes verse special.
It's the tension between space and the inevitable exhaustion thereof.
You only get ten syllables to work with in a sonnet's line; so what does
our man do? Spends three of them saying "What?" and the other
seven indicating that there's a lot he'll have to leave out in favor
of getting his main point across. And so it is with Last
Exit, which
returns to my CD player even when I'd kind of rather listen to other
things; because, while other things bring their various charms, Last
Exit has one thing going for it that tends to trump all the other's aces.
To wit: I have no idea what it is. |
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LPTJ
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