You know those moments when you finally understand why a poet made one specific choice — that tiny shift from one word to another? This lecture makes that feeling accessible to anyone willing to listen closely. Close Reading Poetry walks through George Herbert's revision process on The Elixir, showing us exactly what changed between draft and final version, and why those changes matter.
The Garden That Looks Wild but Isn't
The lecturer immediately sets up Herbert's signature trick: "he makes poetry look easy" — the illusion of effortless wildness hiding meticulous craft. This is the core insight into Herbert's genius, and it's delivered with genuine admiration. The garden analogy works because it captures something true about how Herbert's work functions: that "semblance of wilderness yet that that's very difficult to achieve" requires careful pruning.
The analysis of the draft versus final version reveals something fascinating. When Herbert changed from "Lord teach me to refer" to "Teach me my God and King / In all things Thee to see," he's not just tweaking words — he's making theological choices. The lecturer identifies this precisely: "where do we see this phrase my God and King it comes from the book of Psalms." By connecting Herbert to David and the Psalmists, we're shown how he "enters into the tradition of divine poetry found in the scriptures."
He is as it were putting on the mantle of King David, the poet of the Divine, and he's entering into the tradition of divine poetry found in the scriptures.
This is where the lecture becomes genuinely illuminating. The shift from "refer" to "see" isn't merely a synonym swap — it's a transformation from the purely intellectual to something "visionary... Dynamic... sensorial." The lecturer captures this with unusual precision: "to refer is purely analogical it's intellectual... C is visionary it's Dynamic it's an active sensorial verb connected to the body but also to the soul."
Plain versus Ornate: A Framework for Reading Poetry
The discussion of diction moves from Herbert's example into a broader framework. The lecturer distinguishes between plain and ornate diction using two poets: Herbert and Robert Herrick. For Herbert, "relivish versing" is held up as the ideal — "a folksy way of saying composition" that Coleridge loved because it was "sincere and simple." The contrast with Herrick's "with golden censers and with incense before thy virgin altar" shows how ornate diction works differently: "very different kind of imagery it's ornate it's decorated it's taken from the high Church liturgy."
This is useful analytical work. But here's where I want to push back slightly: the lecturer says "it's not to say that it's not to say that the plane style is better than the ornate or the ornate better than the plane both are appropriate in different contacts" — this hedging is too cautious. These aren't equivalent choices; they serve different functions. Plain diction creates intimacy and sincerity, while ornate diction creates reverence and elevation. The real insight would be acknowledging that each approach shapes how we relate to the divine differently.
The American Genius of Brevity versus Extension
The lecture pivots to American poetry with a compelling contrast: Emily Dickinson "the master of brevity" versus Walt Whitman "the American Genius of length." The analysis of Dickinson is sharp: "she thinks in metaphor the way other people think in terms of dollars and cents" — this is genuinely witty and reveals something about how metaphor works cognitively. The close reading of her sunset metaphor shows that "incisive metaphor" can be both figurative and brief, which "is something of a feat it's very difficult to do."
Whitman gets less analysis than he deserves. The lecturer notes his accumulation of imagery — "one adjective one epithet one image simply will not do he's got to crowd in as much as he can" — but doesn't fully explain why this matters poetically. What makes Whitman's length different from just verbose prose? That question remains hanging.
Root Words: English versus Latin
The final section tackles diction at the level of etymology, comparing William Cooper's "homely featured night" (Old English roots: homely comes from ham = home) with Edward Young's "lunar sphere" (Latinate: revolution, inspirit, lunar). The insight is solid: "Latin words tend to be polysyllabic" while Old English "is earthy textured it's brief tends to be monosyllabic." The lecturer shows how Cooper deliberately chooses plain English to describe night as "homely" — simple — while Young's Latin choices create "grandeur" and "liquid Grace."
This is genuinely useful for readers. But the lecture could go further: what does this choice mean? Why do poets choose one root over another? The lecturer doesn't fully answer this, leaving the framework incomplete.
Bottom Line
The strongest part of this lecture is the close reading of Herbert's revision process — seeing how a single word shift transforms meaning. This makes poetry feel achievable rather than impenetrable. The weakest part is the avoidance of judgment: both plain and ornate diction are discussed as "appropriate in different contacts" without acknowledging that Herbert's plainness serves specific spiritual purposes (intimacy, sincerity) while Herrick's ornateness serves others (reverence, elevation). The framework for understanding why poets make these choices remains incomplete. For readers wanting to understand poetry, this lecture offers genuine access to how words work — if you bring your own curiosity about what those choices mean.