Real World Poetry

Casually listening to the radio one morning, I was surprised to discover a song that I was immediately drawn to, as it produced in me a bit of the sublime. For, if poetry is the expression of feelings that cannot otherwise be communicated, then Real World by Owl City is a perfect example of poetry. The combination of the lilting, electronic tones with easy rhymes present the message in a simple and pleasant way as it paints a dreamy yet surprisingly bittersweet portrait that generates wistfulness both in those that have never experienced similar feelings and empathetic listeners alike.

When we read and dub poetry 'good', we are admitting to being drawn out of ourselves and shown what is really inside. Perhaps we feel something we have never felt before. Perhaps we feel something we have felt often but never been able to express. Whatever we feel, poetry somehow manages to express it in a chilling but beautiful way that rings right in our ears and touches our emotions.

Owl City, as a rule, is easy to listen to. While somewhat zany, the electronic music is carefree and dances around the lyrics. The lyrics follow the same rule of easy listening. They rhyme, they paint pretty pictures in our imaginations, they seem playful, but often of no consequence. They remain simple, even while expressing emotions that run deeper than the nonsensical words themselves, thereby avoiding the pit of false or overdramatized emotion. Real World projects whimsical images of stars and trees and leaves blowing in the breeze, splashed with colors and texture. Only once you begin to view the song as a whole and as you near the concluding question does the song become more than just a relaxing tune.

The whole turns out to be the wistful daydreams of a child that is not so childlike after all, we realize, as it is more familiar and recent than that. The concept of a world of beauty and simplicity strikes the heart of every overburdened, stressed individual. We've all watched the wildfires burn down some part of our lives we deemed irreplaceable, but the view from the balcony, the song suggests, makes the fire a pretty thing. This detachment from real-world cares appeals to everyone at some point in our lives, and perhaps is a continual element. The concept leaves a haunting breath, however, with its last question. Does the freeze and burn of our lives even matter? If we dissolved without a trace would the real world even care?

This is what leaves us wanting more. Pleasure and daydreaming aside, the song exposes our insecurity, yet at the same time assures us we are not alone in our fears. The gossamer ideas of this fantasy are distinguished as they remain with us beyond the conclusion of the tones, and leaves on us the mark of poetry.