What happens to us, and who do we become, when we start choosing to actively look, rather than passively see, what is right in front of us? This is a question that the poem ‘m’ by the minimalist Aram Saroyan poses. Considered one of the shortest poems in the world, it is an example of Saroyan’s “instant” poems, meaning that it lacks a beginning, middle, and end; forming the poem from start to finish in its totality.
The poem is composed of a lowercase “m,” however, it diverges from the letter’s standard form by adding an extra leg. In doing this,Saroyan modifies the character to create a disjointed image, rendering the letter unpronounceable, and subsequently, iconographically charged.
This is because this act deconstructs the letter. It is then this deconstruction that conveys the poem’s meaning by displacing the letter’s original meaning, being a symbol signifying a letter in an alphabet full of letters used to form words that represent language.
But whilst the letter’s extra leg removes its ability to be used in conventional language, this does not deprive it of its ability to communicate, to express ideas reflective of our outer and inner worlds. It does this by forcing you to intently look at its form and question it, and in questioning it, gauge/create meaning.
This is one of the beauties of the poem, how its focalisation of form shifts the viewer’s attention from the act of seeing while reading to the act of looking through reading.
So, what does this poem convey? To me, the reconstructed “m” is evocative of the word “mum.” The symbol appears like a compression of the word, and the more that I focus on the form, the more I start to see and think of my own mum. The analogue typed character appears sturdy; the frame of the lines are thick, but softly edged with rounded arches.
Now, my mum is not a sturdy, thick, and soft-edged letter “m” (that would be absurd), but she is a symbol of grounded stability for me, of soft comfort. In the “m’s” compacted, rounded, and full nature, its character reminds me of the fullness of my mum’s love, of her abundant warmth and care that appears forever at her disposal.
In the “m’s” inarticulability, I return to a time prior to language, when my only form of communication was sound, when making “mmm” noises was my only way to grasp attention and pronounce my wants and needs. This poem is cosy, its value to me lies in its ability to emanate a positive emotional experience. I am missing my mum whilst at university, I feel consoled by seeing her image reflected back at me in everything I look at.
But this only happens because the form of the poem invites you to look. In deconstructing the “m’s” form, it forces you to attentively construct its meaning in that present moment. In its unpronounceable nature, it asks you to revert to a time antecedent to language.
It asks you to feel the fullness of what is innately your own, what has always been your own, even before you were given the vocabulary to do so as this vocabulary is often insufficient. It invites you to do all of these things, but you must choose to accept its invitation.
I chose to look. I allowed myself to reflect, to feel the full extent of my being, and to feel the world around me through my own eyes as I currently am; a homesick girl missing her mum. And to feel all of this within the moment without having to, or feeling the need to, verbalise it.
This is the joy of one of the shortest poems in the world, but this is also the joy of poetry. Poetry’s typical aversion to objective and coherent meaning is what allows you to fully and presently immerse yourself within it. Because within all of its nuances and omissions, the poem is made through you, and you, in that moment, are made through the poem.
Illustration via Charlotte Dorward (@_twostepsforward) for The Student
