But what do we mean by poetry?  Well there are all sorts of definitions.  Firstly, is poetry a language style which has an emotional effect, which just "bowls us over" or "knocks our socks off?"  In a way, yes.  Bishop Owen Dowling is actually speaking of that strange blend of poetry with music, which we call hymn, when he says, memorably, that in worship, hymn enables us to "treasure in our hearts."  Sometimes, I suppose, it is to treasure with a determined expectation "This is where we, the church, stand."  Sometimes it is with a confident, even fervent, hope "This will never let us down."  But sometimes it just knocks your socks off, doesn't it.  It does for me, anyway.  Hymn (and poetry) is that, and does that.  A congregation singing such with heart and soul and voice, is a great thing to take part in.

 However the emotional effect on the worshipper, whatever it be, is a by-product of worship by hymn; it is not a requirement.  The requirement is to worship in spirit and in truth, and trustfully to leave it to God to give us every good and perfect gift.  So then, the emotional effect of the hymn on us is not a good enough basis for a definition of hymn (or, indeed, poetry).  But such a description can have one benefit.  It can lead us to ask: why then would we ever want a hymn style that is somehow "less poetic" or "not too poetic?"  Why would we ever want that?

 But what, then, do we mean by poetry?  Could it be defined as structured language?  Well up to a quite significant point, yes.  It could; and at times it has been so defined.  Poetry is structured into lines, and this creates emphasis at the beginning and especially at the end of lines.  Sometimes line structure is emphasised by parallelism between lines.  At times, emphasis is considerably heightened by rhyming, though by no means invariably. However there is a strong expectation among singers for communal song to rhyme; and it is a bad mistake in hymn-writing not to attempt to satisfy this expectation.  It is, of course, true that rhyming is difficult in English (It was borrowed into English verse during the Middle English period).  I personally try to accommodate this difficulty by adopting a broader understanding of what actually constitutes rhyme.

 Another significant structuring principle for poetry in general is that of the rhythmic regularity of stress, which we call metre. It is a subtle sort of business, particularly in poetry written for speech - rather than song - where the poet attempts to set up a tension, a counterpoint, between the anticipated regular metre of the verse, and the actual rhythm of the words.  There is, however, less opportunity for this in verse written for song, where the metre tends to be emphasized by the music.  This is again especially true for communal songs, such as hymns, which are usually written in stanzas, each of which must "fit" the music - a discipline not, alas, always followed carefully by modern hymn/song writers.

 The definition of poetry as structured language is, then, a pretty useful definition for those who want to write poetry.  However its weakness, from the point of view of readers and singers, is that its emphasis is on the poet's technique rather than on the poet's meaning.  Nevertheless it does remind us that poetic form matters, that the idea, common in our times, that "anything goes these days" is quite questionable - again, especially when it comes to writing for communal song like hymn.  In fact English poets of the eighteenth century worked to particularly formal models, and some literary critics assert that this is a reason for the limited achievements of the poetry of the period.  However the tight forms turned out to be brilliant for eighteenth century hymn writing; this is Erik Routley's insight I think.  Some formalism is fine for hymns, though not necessarily so for songs.

 My preferred definition of poetry emphasizes meaning, and I think this is useful not only for writers of poetry, but also for readers and singers.  Here it is: poetry is language seeking to point beyond itself.  To say the unsayable.  Or as I once heard it delightfully put, "Yes, Don, it's to eff the ineffable."  It is a pretty useful definition, because it is through meaning, in all its various manifestations, that we experience poetry.  But how can language point beyond itself?  The answer to this question, or at least part of the answer, is that there are devices by which a poetic text can reach for meanings outside itself, and gather them into the meaning of the text, so that the meaning of the poem, in a way becomes more than the poem.

 One such device that is very common in hymns is allusion, usually biblical allusion.  If a hymn text alludes to a biblical passage, and is recognized by singers, then the whole biblical passage is brought to the singer's mind, and is drawn into the total meaning of the hymn, and thus its language reaches beyond itself.  For example, when Wesley writes that the dungeon flamed with light and his chains fell off, he hopes we will recognize the allusion to Peter being set free in Acts chapter twelve, and that this will add extra meaning to our awareness of being set free in Christ.

       But what if the singer does not recognize the allusion?  Well it may happen the other way round: the next time the biblical passage is heard, the hymn may be recalled.  Or perhaps the connection will only be made after several repetitions.  This is why, for many people including myself, a hymn needs to be used a good number of times in order to work its magic - Dr. Paul Walton, as I recall, said that TIS wants hymns/songs that will last at least ten years, and this has to be part of the reason.  And can I just say, while trying to avoid the advertising hard sell, that I think it is really important to try to develop a thick biblical texture in hymn writing, so please give our hymns a number of uses for a good trial.  For there is another reason why biblical texture is important in hymns, and that is that it helps to fulfil the liturgical function of hymns: it helps in creating "common ground," a sense of shared faith above and beyond differences of theological interpretation. More of this later.

 Another device by which poetic language can point beyond itself is, of course, by the use of metaphor.  On one level a metaphor makes a basic comparison, but a good metaphor has within it a sense of the possibilities of other levels of comparison, so that the total meaning overflows the words and points beyond them.

 Let me give you an example of metaphor working well, and please forgive me if it is one of which I am particularly fond, because it says something very important about the poetry which is hymn.  My friend Paul Green said of my hymn writing a few years ago, "Don, you think of a hymn as a word icon, don't you."  Yes, I know; he should have said word/music icon, but don't dwell on that.  My point is, Wow, what a metaphor!  What a rich variety of comparisons: a hymn and an icon are both works of religious art; they are both meet for contemplation and worship; they are both miniatures; and because they are miniatures, they both require tight restraint and discipline (Eric Routley describes hymn writing as "poetry under a vow of renunciation.").  And there are perhaps other levels of comparison, but we have enough to show how rich Paul's metaphor is.  It simply overflows with meaning.  It points beyond itself.  That is how a metaphor works; and that is why it is beautiful.  Thanks, Paul.  Oh.  And more on metaphor still to come - later on.But what do we mean by poetry?  Well there are all sorts of definitions.  Firstly, is poetry a language style which has an emotional effect, which just "bowls us over" or "knocks our socks off?"  In a way, yes.  Bishop Owen Dowling is actually speaking of that strange blend of poetry with music, which we call hymn, when he says, memorably, that in worship, hymn enables us to "treasure in our hearts."  Sometimes, I suppose, it is to treasure with a determined expectation "This is where we, the church, stand."  Sometimes it is with a confident, even fervent, hope "This will never let us down."  But sometimes it just knocks your socks off, doesn't it.  It does for me, anyway.  Hymn (and poetry) is that, and does that.  A congregation singing such with heart and soul and voice, is a great thing to take part in.

 However the emotional effect on the worshipper, whatever it be, is only a by-product of worship by hymn; it is not a requirement.  The requirement is to worship in spirit and in truth, and trustfully to leave it to God to give us every good and perfect gift.  So then, the effect of the hymn on us is not a good enough basis for a definition of hymn (or, indeed, poetry).  But such a description can have one benefit.  It can lead us to ask: why then would we ever want a hymn style that is somehow "less poetic" or "not too poetic?"  Why would we ever want that?

 But what, then, do we mean by poetry?  Could it be defined as structured language?  Well up to a quite significant point, yes.  It could; and at times it has been so defined.  Poetry is structured into lines, and this creates emphasis at the beginning and especially at the end of lines.  Sometimes line structure is emphasised by parallelism between lines.  At times, emphasis is considerably heightened by rhyming, though by no means invariably. However there is a strong expectation among singers for communal song to rhyme; and it is a bad mistake in hymn-writing not to attempt to satisfy this expectation.  It is, of course, true that rhyming is difficult in English (It was borrowed into English verse during the Middle English period).  I personally try to accommodate this difficulty by adopting a broader understanding of what actually constitutes rhyme.

 Another significant structuring principle for poetry in general is that of the rhythmic regularity of stress, which we call metre. It is a subtle sort of business, particularly in poetry written for speech - rather than song - where the poet attempts to set up a tension, a counterpoint, between the anticipated regular metre of the verse, and the actual rhythm of the words.  There is, however, less opportunity for this in verse written for song, where the metre tends to be emphasized by the music.  This is again especially true for communal songs, such as hymns, which are usually written in stanzas, each of which must "fit" the music - a discipline not, alas, always followed carefully by modern hymn/song writers.

 The definition of poetry as structured language is, then, a pretty useful definition for those who want to write poetry.  However its weakness, from the point of view of readers and singers, is that its emphasis is on the poet's technique rather than on the poet's meaning.  Nevertheless it does remind us that poetic form matters, that the idea, common in our times, that "anything goes these days" is quite questionable - again, especially when it comes to writing for communal song like hymn.  In fact English poets of the eighteenth century worked to particularly formal models, and some literary critics assert that this is a reason for the limited achievements of the poetry of the period.  However the tight forms turned out to be brilliant for eighteenth century hymn writing; this is Erik Routley's insight I think.  Some formalism is fine for hymns, though not necessarily so for songs.

 My preferred definition of poetry emphasizes meaning, and I think this is useful not only for writers of poetry, but also for readers and singers.  Here it is: poetry is language seeking to point beyond itself.  To say the unsayable.  Or as I once heard it delightfully put, "Yes, Don, it's to eff the ineffable."  It is a pretty useful definition, because it is through meaning, in all its various manifestations, that we experience poetry.  But how can language point beyond itself?  The answer to this question, or at least part of the answer, is that there are devices by which a poetic text can reach for meanings outside itself, and gather them into the meaning of the text, so that the meaning of the poem, in a way becomes more than the poem.

 One such device that is very common in hymns is allusion, usually biblical allusion.  If a hymn text alludes to a biblical passage, and is recognized by singers, then the whole biblical passage is brought to the singer's mind, and is drawn into the total meaning of the hymn, and thus its language reaches beyond itself.  For example, when Wesley writes that the dungeon flamed with light and his chains fell off, he hopes we will recognize the allusion to Peter being set free in Acts chapter twelve, and that this will add extra meaning to our awareness of being set free in Christ.

      But what if the singer does not recognize the allusion?  Well it may happen the other way round: the next time the biblical passage is heard, the hymn may be recalled.  Or perhaps the connection will only be made after several repetitions.  This is why, for many people, including myself, a hymn needs to be used a good number of times in order to work its magic - Dr. Paul Walton, as I recall, said that TIS wants hymns/songs that will last at least ten years, and this has to be part of the reason.  And can I just say, while trying to avoid the advertising hard sell, that I think it is really important to try to develop a thick biblical texture in hymn writing, so please give our hymns a number of uses for a good trial.  For there is another reason why biblical texture is important in hymns, and that is that it helps to fulfil the liturgical function of hymns: it helps in creating "common ground," a sense of shared faith above and beyond differences of theological interpretation. More of this later.

 Another device by which poetic language can point beyond itself is, of course, by the use of metaphor.  On one level a metaphor makes a basic comparison, but a good metaphor has within it a sense of the possibilities of other levels of comparison, so that the total meaning overflows the words and points beyond them.

 Let me give you an example of metaphor working well, and please forgive me if it is one of which I am particularly fond.  My friend Paul Green said of my hymn writing a few years ago, "Don, you think of a hymn as a word icon, don't you."  Yes, I know; he should have said word/music icon, but don't dwell on that.  My point is, Wow, what a metaphor!  What a rich variety of comparisons: a hymn and an icon are both works of religious art; they are both meet for contemplation and worship; they are both miniatures; and because they are miniatures, they both require tight restraint and discipline. (Eric Routley describes hymn writing as "poetry under a vow of renunciation.")  And there are perhaps other levels of comparison, but we have enough to show how rich Paul's metaphor is.  It simply overflows with meaning.  It points beyond itself.  That is how a metaphor works; and that is why it is beautiful.  Thanks, Paul.  Oh.  And more on metaphor still to come - later on.