A variety of perspectives

Whenever I stumble upon a poem that I really like, I have this instinctive obsession to transform into search mode to discover if my idea of the poem is consistent with that of others. I search for all articles and scholarly opinions that I can find regarding the poem. Since we've been discussing poetic authority in class, I thought about instances where I had been disappointed by studying other people's interpretations of poems that I liked. I remembered writing my "favorite poem project" for Professor Downing's intro class. I chose Gwendolyn Brooks' "The Preacher Ruminates: Behind the Sermon:"

I think it must be lonely to be God.
Nobody loves a master. No. Despite
The bright hosannas, bright dear-Lords, and bright
Determined reverence of Sunday eyes.

Picture Jehovah striding through the hall
Of His importance, creatures running out
From servant-corners to acclaim, to shout
Appreciation of His merit’s glare.

But who walks with Him?—dares to take His arm,
To slap Him on the shoulder, tweak His ear,
Buy Him a Coca-Cola or a beer,
Pooh-pooh His politics, call Him a fool?

Perhaps—who knows?—He tires of looking down.
Those eyes are never lifted. Never straight.
Perhaps sometimes He tires of being great
In solitude. Without a hand to hold.

I did the assignment, carefully composing my paragraph about why I chose this as my favorite poem and ensuring that I used enough complex sentences and rid it of all the "to be" verbs. I liked the poem because of its perspective; it contemplates God through similar standards which we use to evaluate other people. He has the whole world in his hand, but there is no being with whom he can affectionately intertwine fingers. Yet, I searched articles to find out about other people's perceptions of the poem. I found an article which speculated that in writing this poem, Brooks intended to address the problem of people valuing formal religious doctrines and practices above compassion. I found that really interesting, but it was almost disappointing to find that the element that drew me into the poem was only the surface of something deeper that Brooks might have intended. But at the same time, it added an extra element that I could also appreciate. I guess I can only conclude that the matter of intention is a blurry one, and so is the matter of interpretation.