Rabu, 10 Februari 2010

Kenneth Irby & the Words in his New Book



Under the gently undulant, once-fertile prairie of the Great Plains States, covering a vast and swirling matrix, everywhere bearing the trace of man's hand, there is a musick. First heard by Whitman, as a distant rumor, and summons to dream, of what lay there in a future lyric of labor and increase. Undeviating sight-lines and tantalus of wandering, broad extent. Her sons called then beneath a boundless cloudy, to that murmuring eructation spread out under eternity, her musick, her pullulating contours.




And so the first question on my lips is do we really deserve this book, this man, in particular if we did not already know of this work, the extraordinary fact of what he has given us, his gift, our bounty. The Intent On: Collected Poems, 1962-2006 [Berkeley: North Atlantic Books], a collection of work spanning these five fervent, troubled decades, from an unique writer tuned to an oft-neglected aspect of our American landscape. I think of him, along with his late fellow Kansan and poet of spiritual kinship Ronald Johnson--both men of the epic inheritance indigenous to their common region, starting from there, outward to encompass, cosmologies of scale and purpose generous in their unfolding, precise and delicate in their respective graceful styles.
 
 

 
I first knew of Irby's work shortly before the appearance of his Relation: Poems 1965-1966 [Los Angeles: Black Sparrow Press, 1970], a beautiful book whose holistic ingenium, persuasive inclusion and thrall to minute circumstance and widening implication found ample precedent in the unconscious strain of my own lineage (all three of my parents Wisconsonians, and back of that Norwegian and West Country Welch two centuries aft). It spoke to me in a voice at once seductive and ennobling, evoking a commonality which stretched from Albion to Paumanok to the headwaters of the Missouri and beyond.     
 
This new book is so full, so generous, so brimming with propagating echoes, so measured and flickering with delicate prosodic turns and swirls, soaring flights. I am poor beside its richness, at an impasse to choose a quotation--one more apt than another, all are fine, each will do--
 
Streams out of us, words, acts in silence, singing
from the land under foot
from the common land held inside us
Strawberry Creek carrying to the Pacific tides 
these silts and erosions 
(p. 151)
 
--as then this sense of my first understanding of my connection to the very ground moving underneath us, was brought home, a specific local detail connecting us each one to another in adjoining human bodies, cousins in purpose, was here named, cited. A confirmation and present example in exile from the flat American conviction, exotic/domestic, far and near, familiar and strange. The rolling twiggy extentless acres and hectares of grassland out and beyond our knowing--
 
I will not let blood and I do not know
if there is any turning back upon the land
to traverse, how much
traversing now will reopen
what spaces seem nowhere
ease us together--it is not different to go past
the endless misuse of landscape
here in Berkeley or there in New Mexico, what space
is open beyond is open across the whole world
Looks past whatever salvations of individuals
realizing salvation is only to pass
into the space all people live in
--(p. 134)   
 
--by what permission or allowance were we, was I, entitled by his brief passage through this corner of my country where I've chosen, fated perhaps, to live (in)? He returned in due course to his Kansas and teaching, where he still corrupts the innocent minds and imaginations of those Prairie kids with Shakespeare and Milton, among whom, in which, by all accounts, he belongs. 

Senin, 08 Februari 2010

125



  What is a pause
before the cause ceases
to be a river.  It is
  
never the muscle of
ARM & HAMMER BAKING SODA.
America was a horse.

Kamis, 04 Februari 2010

BAG BALM - Another Product Endorsement from the Crypt



  
This unencrypted blog message is to recommend a product that has been on the market--essentially unchanged--for over a century in America. I don't think the Chinese have bought it yet.
  
The familiar green can was unknown to me until about 5 years ago, when my wife brought the tin home, and told me it could be used for a multitude of purposes. 
  
I've never lived or worked on a farm, never had the opportunity to experience milking cows, though my stepfather, Harry Faville, grew up on a farm in Wisconsin, and told me all about it. Given the death of the family farm in America, and the rise of "scientific agriculture" there are far fewer people than there used to be, in America, who milk cows by hand. Still, that wouldn't suggest that cows' udders are any less likely to develop sores or cankers or abrasions. Bag Balm@ was originally invented as a salve for udder tissue, but farmers are famously inventive and handy, and other uses, both animal and human, were eventually discovered for this high Gothic American down home product. When Bag Balm@ was introduced, people still used horses to pull wagons, got their dry goods in general stores, and products like this would have been stocked, among other places, on the shelves of livery stables. 
 
Today, over a hundred years later, it's being used by people for much the same purpose. Ever since I was a child, Chapstick@ product dispensers have cheated customers of the last half inch of waxy balm from their screw-up-top cylinders. I tried using the stuff on my lips, and decided that I'd never have to buy another Chapstick@ as long as I lived. In addition, it works wonders for those little razor cuts that tend to bleed freely on the underside of my chin or neck. No problem with Bag Balm@: just put a touch on it and the wound coagulates immediately. That first can my wife brought home 6-7 years ago, is only half used and I expect it to last longer than I will, unless I buy a milking cow.  
 
When I was a boy, we guys who played baseball would use a product called Glovolium@ to lubricate the pockets of our gloves. When you rubbed it in into the leather, it made it malleable, and kept it fresh. Hell, I bet you could use Bag Balm@ for the same purpose, though I haven't tried it yet.
 
Probably isn't suited for sexual enhancement, but I'd wager it would do just fine for certain irritations in unmentionable places. I haven't looked into the chemistry--the FDA only certifies Bag Balm@ for use on animals--but it wouldn't surprise me if the formula wasn't much different than Preparation H@!
 
Anyway, Bag Balm@. Give it a try if you haven't yet. A little bit of Americana surviving into the 21st Century.          

Senin, 01 Februari 2010

Watten and Prose - In a New Key



 
Reading over Barrett Watten's Lecture text "The Expanded Object of the Poetic Field, Or, What is a Poet/Critic?" along with the two responses he references on his website, I was moved to comment on some of the issues raised, back-channeling from memory to reinstate various biographical aspects which do not seem to have been remarked about his aesthetic choices over the years.
  
In the past, I have denigrated attempts to privilege "confessional" tropes, since that tends to engage the "biographical fallacy" of imputing personal etiology of theme and consequence in literary works--making of criticism a kind of psycho-analytical franchise. Nevertheless, the question has been reopened--with the professional retrospective emphases they (the Language Poets) have indulged in (i.e., most visibly the recent Grand Piano project edited by Watten, though Silliman has also attempted--both in print, and online, for some time--to mount an historical argument built around the hegemony and mutually reinforcing achievements of these same participants), insisting upon a plateau of ulterior authority which depends to a significant degree upon social connections, rather than gratuitous, accidental association. 
 
Pertinently, Watten, it should be noted, was a service kid, who spent much of his childhood in foreign countries. This separation from a stateside background, I regard as a key aspect of his alienated status as a de-facto "outsider" considered in the context of a proto-American literary identity. He was early on exposed to the vivid realities of America's foreign policies, graphically contrasted against the exotic foreign cultural tapestry that served as the backdrop for his familial setting. Further, his relationship to his parents was colored by the internal conflicts generated by his Father's archetypical position as a physician employed by the American military, complicating the Oedipal drama of having a patriarch comprised of doctrinal power, and personifying the ethical enigmas inherent in military authority, igniting a potent radicalism and disaffection familiar to our generation (1960's).   
  
In addition to this--and this is a fact I see nowhere explored, to my surprise--is his original educational track as a pre-med biological sciences major, beginning at MIT, then transferring to UC Berkeley, finishing the Bachelor's Degree despite experiencing a full renunciation of the sciences career track in favor of his adopted role as an aspiring avant garde poet, among the mixed milieus of the Left Coast. This delayed transformation--which Watten himself reminded us of momentarily ago, reproducing a Life Magazine/Life Science Library photo op including himself (at age 17) in a science classroom at MIT in 1966--was in large measure the cause of his late entry into the literature game, and the delay in his exposure to the standard textual works ordinarily required of those majoring in the Humanities, specifically English, Classics or Comparative Literature, as well as to readings in aesthetics, literary criticism, sociology and political science. 
   
The scientific background, as well as the delayed exposure to canonical, and allied texts, may account in part for the directions his interests have taken him. Initially resistant, for instance, in the early 1970's, to the post-Structuralist revolution in the disciplines of linguistics, leftist historiography and literary criticism, he was unfamiliar then with the work of Adorno, Lacan, Derrida, Foucault, Barthes, Kristeva--though he may have been aware of the work of Marcuse, and possibly of Levi-Strauss. The continued emphasis upon highly technical critical apparati, with multiple levels of abstraction and elaboration, seems to me to derive from a quasi-scientific approach to materials, one guided by a desire for resistant antinomies, and unassailable proclamations. 
 
It wasn't until Watten had resumed his studies at Berkeley in the 1980's, that he was drawn into the contemporary debates within the academic linguistics community, and the wider spheres of Structuralist and post-Structuralist theorizing, that would constitute his special areas of emphasis. Crucially, this coincided with his professional commitment within the academic institution, with all its attendant hierarchies of status, conferment, and duty, to a critical function for which he was specifically qualified and positioned. In other words, on a purely aesthetic level, he had rejected the functional artist profile in favor of an identity that would afford him the opportunity to "attack" the problems inherent in language and society simultaneously, while benefitting from the insulation and authority of academic freedom, a position familiar to the American Left throughout the post-War period. And the ambiguities of extended theoretical elaboration would undermine and liberate the frustrated empiricist of his youthful misadventures into science.             
    
In a note I wrote for L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E newsletter #12 in 1980, I cited Lacan's proposition about the dissociation of the sign from signifier "The father...gives him a personality by means of a Speech which is Law...The subject remains riveted to the imaginary, which is taken for real, to non-distinction between signifier and signified...The cause of this incapacity to distinguish between signifier and signified is the absence of an original substitute for self, itself due to an unfavourable outcome of the Oedipus." [Jacques Lacan, by Anika Lemaire, 1970, English version 1977, Routledge & Kegan Paul.] Though this was a generalized implied criticism of the Language Poetry movement's early attempts at combining a radical political positioning with an avant critical program, I see now it applied to individual members as well.     
   
In Watten's lecture, written in a characteristically turgid style bristling with neologisms from "cultural criticism" and overburdened with long-winded phrases (addressed, in effect, to the community to whom this vocabulary gratefully belongs--my recalling here, Barry, once having remarked to me, about the density of  Merleau-Ponty's Phenomenology of Perception "that's the point, isn't it?"), he basically sets out the very simple proposition that criticism and poetry may indeed occur as twin enterprises in the same head, and nominates William Carlos Williams's example of Spring & All as his key obligatory text. Why such a tendency might be expected of a former sciences major, whose academic preoccupation up to his 20th year was in cycling through empirical and testable equations of verifiable theory about phenomena, strikes me as hardly worth mentioning. But why this same intelligence should embrace cultural 
analytics as a defense of a kind of non-syntactic and/or synthetic compositional technique in creative writing is a more tempting question.
   
When Barry and I attended the University of Iowa's Writers' Workshop in the early 1970's, a matriculation which he notably de-emphasizes nowadays, the primary object-lesson was our observation of the relationship between social behavior, and literary form. We could see how ambitious and careerist-minded students adapted their materials to the prevailing modes of literary fashion. For them, the literary activity they carried on related directly to the life-styles, academic positions, and publication hierarchies they aspired to, which struck us as aesthetically "unethical"--at least it did to me. I previously tried to suggest that Watten's first original work--at the earliest stages of the formation of an individual voice and approach to form--was, perhaps unconsciously, an attack on the didactic signifiers which were presented as object forms. Watten did not "come out of" the lyrical tradition; he hadn't entered the academy planning or imagining to place himself in a milieu in which the exercise of a lyric skill would be a sufficient accomplishment, as a middle-class fulfillment of duty or artistic enterprise. In short, mere "poetry"--in the sense in which it was being passed down through the Modernist canon of examples--would never adequately repay the commitment of effort and frustration which characterized his sense of mission. 
  
Even if Watten had been capable of turning in a high mimetic like that of Creeley's middle period, or of Coolidge's early, doctrinaire meta-epics (like The Maintains or Polaroid), such an enterprise would have been insufficient to his means. What was needed--and he shares this with Bernstein and Silliman--was an art which could be interpreted as uniting the concerns of the School of Vienna's socio-political conscience, while setting itself apart from the registered Modern or post-Modern stylistic modes of composition--in short, an art of non-syntactic poetic formality which purported to take a total responsibility for (incorporating) all spheres of awareness simultaneously: Aesthetic, political, social, historical, relational, personal. But no verbal structure of this breadth, as such, that did not have as its basis a narrational flow, has ever been conceived, or would be likely to be. Only by juxtaposing the illogic (secret internal logic) of a non-tradition organizing principle within a verbal structure--with an inspired exegesis of the intention behind the structure's plan, could the competing requirements be honored, could, that is, the professed responsibility for a correctly positioned political and aesthetic stance be supplied, while at the same time defending (protecting) the poem from all accusations of derivation (from the Tradition). 
  
It was immediately obvious at the outset that Watten's power of insight and analysis were so great as to present a challenge to all but the most innocent (or, conversely, integrated) impulses of raw inspiration. His critical faculty was many times more impressive and fluid than his emotive faculty. What this would eventually lead to, would be a consciousness of the complex interconnectedness of contexts which determine a work (e.g., the Structuralist's turf--which seems adroitly designed to accommodate a mind like Watten's), and an increasingly arid metier (Watten hasn't published any poetry to speak of, for almost 20 years, and has devoted himself exclusively to ever more intricate explications of his unique cultural/critical vantage-point from the crumbling outlands of Detroit). The biographical paradigm suggests, naturally, Duchamp, for whom the early performance of generating artifacts became an irrelevancy, truncated by an abandonment--witty and evasive at all points--that lasted half a century. Rather than a turn to language in the mid-Seventies, the crucial tendency was towards factors external to the act, the critical faculty short-circuiting any impulse to inspiration flowing from mere enactment.          
  
It has been suggested that works such as Adorno's Negative Dialectics, or Wittgenstein's On Certainty or Remarks On Colour are in fact--in every sense in which post-Modern, post-Structuralist theory could devise--themselves poem-works, since what they essay is the penetration of areas of inquiry or research which once were thought to belong to the realm of aesthetics or rhetoric. Though these works emerge from the study of the problems of philosophy, on a heuristic level poetry itself may be a kind of short-hand for the expression of formulaic transcriptions, and so a poetics peppered with metaphors and dense abstraction may accountably qualify as artistic behavior.  
    
The critics of Watten's extended lecture, Anthony Mellors ("Postmodern Self-fashioning") and Scott Thurston ("The Poet as Critic, Criticism and as Poetics: On Barrett Watten and Robert Sheppard"), each take him to task for "transgressively" crossing the line that would separate critical observation from self-interested poetics advocacy. The Modernists (Pound, Eliot, Moore, etc.) were all routinely vilified, both in their time, and by their successors, for mixing aesthetic programs with artistic performance, and the same charges were made against Olson and Cage and Bly, later on, for attempting to justify their art, or influence the critical community into accepting their whole work--both poetry and rubric--as the expression of a coherent, or responsive/sible dogma. 
   
What I see in this idea of the combinative ingenuity of linking critical descriptives with "raw" inspired poetry, in Watten, is a retreat into a false mimetic--fashioned out of surrealist methodology, purportedly responsive to "historical imperatives" (i.e., politically correct positions with respect to socialist theory) but actually chaotic in its formality. Where does this lead? If the poet/critic is a mediator between the stuff of literature (even his own) and its augmented reception, are we thus required to deny the existence of an objective reader, one not soiled by the context of his/her own preconceptions?  
  
Ironically, post-Modernism had already begun to generate new formal models, in advance of the vaunted "Language Poetry" revolution which its participants now wish to imagine as their own construct from the mid-1970's, born immaculate from the head of Olson's Projective Verse (1950) or Breton's Manifesto (of 1924). But Ashbery's Rivers and Mountains, Tennis Court Oath and Three Poems, Palmer's Blake's Newton and Circular Gates, Coolidge's Ing, Space and The Maintains, Eigner's another time in fragments, Mac Low's Stanzas, and Grenier's Dusk Road Games, Water Farmer and A Day at the Beach had already happened. Greenwald, Gallup and Mayer, to take just three random examples, had already begun to fashion structures which separately challenged the "new poetry" of 1960. What these works now lacked, was a critical framework from which to view their meaning and significance, an outline of presumed purpose and an edifice of highly selective and shrewdly integrated historical antecedents, and the myth of a "movement" to canonize their activity as "social" and properly motivated--work which Silliman--with his background in radical political theory--and Watten--with his keen critical acumen--were well-qualified to provide. 
  
The problem with this program was that the substance--the specimen works themselves--were either yet to be produced, or had not been adequately buttressed by a theoretical framework. The contingent activities of writing, publishing, criticizing, and promoting (through the adaptation of theory and ideal of "shared" purpose(s)) would occur simultaneously, incorporating and consolidating new work before it (the participants) had even exerted any real influence among the fragmented "community" of readers for new work. Indeed, the severely limited dimensions of this new community insured that overlaps, incestuous interaction, borrowing and appropriation, vanquishing of progenitors real or imagined, would go hand in hand with the gradual (and inevitable) generational "adoption" of the "new" even as it positioned itself as oppositional and excluded (complaining all the way). 
  
Predictably, then, the idea of a "Language Poetry," by and large, has become an academic phenomenon. Even within itself, fragmentation and exclusivity have prevented a perfection of the dialectical drama which Watten and Silliman are now at pains to historicize, with its competing Eastern contingent (Bernstein, Andrews, and the L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E stream) vying for authority, or standing tacitly apart.
  
With the "expanded object"--
  
"the poet/critic refuses both monumentality and the accretion of objects (discourse in a static, normative sense) and engages the effective horizons of the critical act. Moving from the rejected concrete universal, with its moral project of regulating the value of complexity, to an open and productive engagement with complex logics that subtend the making of the object, the poet/critic refunctions the mode of production of meaning and value that once went under the name of literature but which has, of necessity, taken new forms. There is no particular genre now to which his or her activity is restricted; the poetic is a made relation motivated by the conditions of its possibility and the necessity of its occurrence in a larger cultural field. The poet thus becomes the maker of an object that enacts and criticizes the considerations of its own possibility, while the critic becomes the site [sic!] of discursive knowledge that [who] explains and expands the resulting reflexivity of the object. It should go without saying that both sides of this dyad refuse to externalize institutional structures, in which the poem is a disciplinary object or the critic the disciplinary subject as they displace the interpellative call [summons] of the autonomous poem toward a social imperative that is, after Althusser, delivered at many sites of meaning. Even more, we can look for a logic in which dyadic structure of this opposition itself is recast, even as a mere positivity of their identity would risk losing the force of the negative 'slash' of nonidentity between the two opposed functions. I began by claiming that gender and sexuality were key aspects of  the concrete universal—in Goethe’s notion of a living and embodied  spirit contained by the form—that necessitated its refunctioning in other terms. While my critique has been mainly to recover the social logics of the poet/critic dyad, gender and sexuality appear at key points. Of course, seeing the poem as object in a psychodynamic sense is gendered by definition, even as one possibility of gender would be to see the ‘critical’ element of poetic making as something like an act of parthenogenesis, the birth of Athena out of the head of Zeus. In moving  from the ‘sclerotic Hegelianism’ of the concrete universal to an open spatio-temporal field of objects in the postmodern, parthenogenesis often appears as the first move toward a better account of the object in terms of desire. Such an early postmodern challenge to the dualism  of subject/object is readable in Charles Olson’s spatial allegory of  ‘The Moebius Strip,’ which refuses the object status of the poem in its complexity."
   
--the so-called hybrid "poet-critic" has the freedom, therefore, to posit the terms and conditions of the poem's reception in advance of its creation--rather like attempting to furnish a proof for the existence of a poem that may, or may not, yet exist, but which could, or ought to, given the right conditions and the validity (veracity) of the equation. Thus the aesthetic is subsidiary to the political ("toward a social imperative"), while the personal priority, the advancement of a program of individual progress through a public, institutionalized setting is facilitated--"the conditions of its possibility and the necessity of its occurrence"--authorized by the histrionic accession of successive tenures in the academy. This kind of circular posturing, in which a theory of progressive overthrow of the "old" centers of power is reenacted in a continuous unfolding of struggle, is tiresomely familiar; and can, and often is, used to defend the dullest and least imaginative literary activity, in this instance a literature posited as dense cultural theory itself.
    
Does activity like Watten's lecture itself--as an example of the "poet/critic" production it insists upon--qualify as "literature"? Are Conduit or Bad History to be considered alongside Spring & All and Kora in Hell or Ashbery's Three Poems as an example of simultaneity of function called for in this injunctive summons? By refusing to authorize an object specimen, offering instead the work as a "site" of active engagement (interaction between competing spheres of ideology ("sites of meaning")), the poem is demystified, shorn of reliably describable techniques, qualities or references. Further, "parthenogenesis often appears as the first move toward a better account of the object in terms of desire," so we can expect novel genders of identity in the forefront of the struggle to reinvigorate (give "a better account of the object in terms of desire" in) the poem. Perhaps the new genders can "give birth" to new versions, through new forms of pro-genesis? Will these, then, even look and feel like art at all?   
   
Ironically, from a vantage now, thirty some years later, I note an attempt to pretend as if the real progenitive "language" works themselves, enumerated in paragraph #13 above, have been ignored, so that the artifacts of the "Language School" can occupy their place(s). I sometimes think that the "Language School's" singular accomplishment is in describing the descent of post-Modernism from Zukofsky, Williams and Oppen down through Olson, Creeley, Eigner, Ashbery and Coolidge, larded with reams of vaguely familiar ratiocination. Who will read these texts when the controversies they stirred have faded out? Won't it still be more enjoyable to read the originals, than imagine what people thought they ought to have meant in a future they couldn't predict?                                

Reading as a Creative Act - An Herbal Knotgarden of Queries


If one could live, say, 200 years, would that be sufficient enough time to read all the books, see all the movies, hear all the music--in order not to feel cheated of the full breadth of living experience? Already, aetat 62, I feel myself scratching off titles I know I'll never get around to. All those ponderous Victorian novels--Dickens, Trollope, Eliot, Thackary, Balzac--I know I'll never get the chance to read. All those narrative poems by Pope, Dryden, Browning, Tennyson & Co. I feel a sad sense of inevitability in this, but how much energy one has left should be spent in mourning? There are hundreds of books we'll never get to, any of us, even if we spend every waking hour at it. Our bodies weren't made for sedentary drudgery, and the less exercise and physical stimulation we get, the less healthy we become. 
 
Computers exert such a powerful pull--vast involutions of data, exchange, matrices of interpolation, dispersal--which seem almost to promise an alternative to live experience--its retarded pace and pathetic capacities. Between television, radio, computers, and the new telephonic devices now swiftly proliferating, it's a wonder any of us finds time to sleep, eat, or just enjoy the day. 
 
Given this overwhelming, and seemingly endless burden of passive obligation--which began back in the age of mechanical print reproduction, gathering steam through the Industrial Revolution, the media explosion of the 20th Century (books, magazines, radios, telephones, phonographs, tape recorders, movies, and personal computers with fax and e.mail, with increasing portability and compression of capacity)--how might the individual mind properly discriminate amongst the welter of information which threatens to bury it in irrelevancy, trivia and pointless diversion.
 
Is the world more complex, now that we have an increasingly sophisticated means of recording and replaying it, of "storing" its essence in larger and larger repositories of data, than it once had been, before written language, before verbatim, before electronic data storage? Are people smarter, or better informed, than they were before this expansion of the electronic universe of gadgets and "interactive" devices? Or are they dumber, more dependent, less creative and responsible for themselves (and their opinions) than they used to be? Are they more passive, less earnest, and somehow disengaged from reality, as the shadow-land of the internet universe comes more and more to occupy their waking consciousness? Are we becoming somehow psychologically "inverted" from reality, as an involution into fantasy, an alternate reality more "entertaining" than simply living?
 
Are the reading habits which I've mentioned in my own life becoming more common among people?--i.e., skip-reading, sampling (both random and profiled)? Is the relentless tendency towards abbreviation a sign of impatience with complexity, some sort of new mental short-hand designed to skate over problems and contradictions as if these could be ignored simply by summarizing them with acronyms and trite camp phrases? Is the use of hand-helds and short-text electronic messaging driving us towards an ever-shortening attention-span, defined as what can be said in 10-15 seconds on a tiny keyboard, or the time it takes to punch the television clicker? Is the half-life of the public's fixation on any event or idea no more than the length of a 30 second commercial slot?     
  
What is the sum value of human interaction, if/when reduced to the framing of duration and content, common to devices of limited capacity? There is, apparently, now, a whole generation of kids for whom the daily conceit of identity and relationship is formed out of just such networks of frequent interaction. The first telephonic generation--which lasted between the invention of the telephone by Bell (in 1876)--and the wireless hand-held phone which came into common usage about 2001--was characterized by the romance of elaborated conversation: As party-lines and operators gave way to automated, private land-lines, and privacy and convenience were increased, traditional telephonic communication linked users into an emotional network of confirmation, developed aural relationships, and "brought people closer" than mail or telegrams could. This perception of shared intimacy and familiar human community made the telephone a warm, reassuring presence in households, and brought a significant degree of streamlining and technological authority to the commercial sphere as well.
   
But the era of e.mail and cell-phones and the new generations of "hand-helds" has usurped this plateau of interconnectedness, proliferating contact at a geometric rate, and rivaling or supplanting ordinary physical interaction with a "remote" connection that erases space and time, replacing them with the immediacy of impulse and emergency ("everything happening at once"). Someone in China climbing a mountain can be in touch with someone lying in bed in Toronto--with an efficiency and ease that undermines the significance of distance, and borders both real and imaginary. Vast regional networks of individuals, tendered "online"--then segue out into the broad band of hand-helds, literally almost instantaneously, transforming the plugged-in human "user" into a cipher on the super-highway of streaming data. "Online" time is meted out in online charges, as usage is perceived as "up" (on the energy grid) as opposed to "down" (unhooked). To be disconnected from this burgeoning vast matrix is a form of exclusion from the circulation of vitality, like a robot whose juice has been pulled. 
 
This new paradigm of electronic dependency is unlike anything dreamed of by Huxley, or Orwell, or the Sci-Fi gurus of the 20th Century. What is its flavor, and where is it taking us? Do the William Gibsons and Neil Gaimans of the old "literature" sphere have anything on the fast-paced technological revolution now taking place?

Perhaps reading, as a form of data sharing and inculcation, will recede in the decades to come. Will literature become a phase, leading to graphic novels and animated programmatization? Will we wear head gear that links us up to cyber spaces and identities which are more powerful than the physical bodies genetics have enabled for us?                      

Minggu, 31 Januari 2010

Presence and Absence - 3 Poems on a Theme



Here are three of my favorite poems, all on a single theme, by Mark Strand [1934- ], Daniel Halpern [1945- ] and Donald Justice [1925-2004]. Each speaks, in its way, of presence and absence, in each instance the speaker's (or poet's) presence against the emptiness of an implied, or an addressed, sense of absence. Nothingness, as a quality one might go about describing, is a riddle--an imagined space within which presence might exist, or the lack of an agency outside one's sense of consciousness (of being itself), or as an audience of none, a projection into a void from which nothing returns. 
 
 
Keeping Things Whole
 
In a field
I am the absence
of field.
This is
always the case.
Wherever I am
I am what is missing.
 
When I walk
I part the air
and always
the air moves in
to fill the spaces
where my body's been.
 
We all have reasons
for moving.
I move
to keep things whole.
 
--Mark Strand    
 
 
Strand's poem proposes an abstract "field"--the field of the poem, a literal field of grey grass perhaps, or an energy field. The self is both the literal body (and consciousness) of a single human being, moving across, or through, this field, a fluidity of air which surrounds it, and which closes in behind as he passes. The "wholeness" of the universe is a conception, a mental impression only made possible by a conscious observer, therefore wholeness can only be achieved through the literal vitality of a self-consciously moving being. But self-consciousness is a kind of absence, too: Non-being can only be imagined by a being with consciousness. The self's separateness--its "absence" within the greater field of the universe--conjugates its own mortality, its eventual effacement, "missing" forever after death. 
 
 
White Field
 
It is like standing beyond
a snowfield with a single
set of footprints across it
and you say, Those prints are mine
because no one else has ever been here.
All day the snow comes down,
all day you tell yourself what you feel,
but you remain in that place
beyond the snowfield.
Is there better proof
of your presence than
this open field, where you stand
now looking back across the white
expanse that is once more new to you?
As snow fills the places
where you must have walked,
you start back to where you began,
that place you again prepare to leave,
alone and warm, again intact, starting out.
 
--Daniel Halpern
 
 
Aside from a couple of quibbles--I see no reason for such "filler" lines as "and you say" or "all day you tell yourself what you feel" and I would put the lines "where you stand/now looking back across the white/expanse that is once more new to you" after "As snow fills the places/where you must have walked" closing up the space so that "This open field" [full-stop] leads directly into "As snow fills...."--this poem's a brilliant description of a common feeling or sensation many people have had.   
 
As in Strand's poem, this one addresses a "field"--a field of snow, which is continuously being replenished, or re-covered, by more falling snow--the sense of the passage of a mortal consciousness through the universal force field of matter, time, leaving a temporary trace, which is effaced gradually by the filling in of one's footsteps or passage, through the field, of an erosion or covering over, in the material flux. The brief evidence of having even existed at all, its fragility and temporariness, is vividly evoked. The sense of a cyclical rehearsal of the movement through time (and space)--"you start back to where you began"--rather like Eliot's circular reincarnation trope in Four Quartets--and the sense of an individual identity ("Those prints are mine/because no one else has ever been here") vouchsafed from eternity, but whose presence will eventually become an absence. 
 
 
Fragment: To a Mirror
 
Behind that bland facade of yours,
What drafts are moving down that intricate maze
Of halls? What solitude of attics waits,
Bleak, at the top of the still hidden stair?
And are those windows yours that open out
On such spectacular views?
Those still bays yours, where small boats lie
At anchor, abandoned by their crews?
The parks nearby,
Whose statues doze forever in the sun?
The stricken avenues,
Along which great palms wither and droop down
Their royal fronds,
And the parade is drummed
To a sudden inexplicable halt?
                                                      Tell me,
Is this the promised absence I foresee
In you, when no breath any more shall stir
The milky surface of this sleeping pond,
And you shall have back your rest at last,
Your half of nothingness?  
 
--Donald Justice 
 
 
Justice's poem is a much more complex effort, addressed "to a mirror" rather than to an imagined audience of reader(s). The mirror is almost a character, in the sense of an imagined consciousness of an other, in a blank dialectic of a single voice reflected off itself. The metaphors--the maze of halls, the attic, the bay views, the boats, statues and great palms in the parks and "stricken" avenues, the halted parade--all summoned to evoke a premonitory absence (of the poet), enumerate details which will continue to exist long after the conscious perceiver is departed. The other "half" of loneliness is the poet's own ephemeral reflection, the mirror's passive replication of his physical presence, his performance of memories of events and objects beyond (his) time, echoing in ever-multiplying symmetry, forever.               

Sabtu, 30 Januari 2010

The Wunderkind Who Faded Away

 
 
Writing about the Beats last January 9th, I got to thinking again about Ron Loewinsohn, whom I stubbornly relegated to non-Beat status, primarily on the basis of his age (he was born in 1937, which would have made him only 20 in 1957, when his first work began to appear). A loyal follower of William Carlos Williams, whom he did his doctoral dissertation on at Harvard in the late 1960's, Loewinsohn was the wunderkind of the San Francisco poetry scene of the 1950's, two years younger than Brautigan, and three years younger than Wieners. Mostly on the basis of style and notoriety, I think Brautigan belongs to a later generation. But Loewinsohn may be a special case. Strongly influenced by the character and suasions of the San Francisco Renaissance during the heady early days of the Sixties Psychedelic/Flower/Hippie era, he soon segued away from the risky life-styles of bohemia, becoming a traditional academic, eventually retiring as a professor of English at UC Berkeley some years back.
  
    
 
  
Loewinsohn was among the most visible young poets of his age-group in the 1960's and '70's, publishing a number of pamphlets and collections--notably those from John Martin's Black Sparrow Press--culminating with his Meat Air Poems 1957-1969 [Harcourt, Brace, 1970]--after which, he mostly fell silent, publishing a couple of short novels, and nothing since 1987; and, crucially, the rumored long study of Williams never materialized. 
 
Reading over the poems in Meat Air, I'm reminded that Loewinsohn was never an experimental poet. He derived his poetics from late Williams--the Williams of the Collected Later Poems--with an innocent appreciation of imagism, piquant observations delivered in a colloquial style, the sentiment ingratiating and warm. The opening lines of that collection:
  
The thing made real by
a sudden twist of the mind:
  
--summon the ghost of Williams at the outset. 
  
Was Loewinsohn an enfant prodige whose inspiration dried up in the academy? It wouldn't be the first instance of that. Perhaps the title of one of his best known titles "Against the Silences to Come"--is a knowing predictive, that he would one day fall silent. 
  
Loewinsohn's engagement with Williams seems trapped in a loop that was popularly regarded as the elder's American "roots" during the immediate post-War period. Randall Jarrell's introduction to Williams's Selected Poems [New Directions, 1949] laid the groundwork for an appreciation based on the picturesque/picaresque American Gothic populist vision of Williams, as a quaint indigenous imagist with mildly abstract pretensions. Spring & All--clearly Williams's strongest collection, and his most unified presentation of original aesthetic principles, was set aside in favor of Paterson (which was just being concluded at that point), and the charming descriptive portraits of citizens and urban decay linked to Thirties' social consciousness: The condescending reinterpretation of Williams as a gentle country physician, kicking Fall leaves in the Autumn of his life, a familiar avuncular figure of fantasy. Williams's immediate post-War reputation, in this respect, is rather like the neglect of the Objectivists (Zukofsky, Oppen, Reznikoff, Niedecker) which occurred for reactionary political as well as critical reasons. Shortly after this, of course, Williams embarked upon the final stage of his career, proposing the so-called "shifting foot" of The Desert Music, Journey to Love and Pictures from Brueghel, with their characteristic three-stepped lines. But this last period would seem to have occurred posterior to Williams's influence on the post-War generation (Creeley, Blackburn, Levertov, Corman, Jonathan Williams, Dorn, Eigner, Duncan, Spicer, Ginsberg, etc.), as if it had never happened, or had happened in a vacuum. By the 1950's, Williams was no longer at the forefront of the literary advance, having begun to suffer the debilitating strokes which afflicted him during the last decade of life. Perhaps it was only Creeley, among all those who had read and understood Williams's importance, who picked up on the jagged, zig-zaggy electric force-fields of Spring & All. Certainly, Loewinsohn picked up from Williams what he wanted and needed, but it wasn't the packed, elided cubistic constructions--"crustaceous/wedge/of sweaty kitchens/on rock/overtopping/thrusts of the sea"--of the 1920's, but the measured, balanced Williams of the 1930's, and it's in perfect evidence in this short poem from early on--
 
Watermelons
 
The pieces of watermelon
lying shattered
on the black pavement
resemble strange jewels,
jade & ruby clumped together,
but they're pieces of watermelon.
 
 
--which manages to combine the deadpan delivery of Williams's poem about cold plums, and the one about the green glass bottle fragments in an alley. The fact that this is a derivative of those works, suggests that Loewinsohn was content to occupy a subsidiary position in the outline of literary history, not venturing to alter either the message or the technique of the model(s). 
 
Despite the fact that Loewinsohn belongs among the figures of the San Francisco Renaissance and was included in Allen's New American Poetry [Grove Press, 1960], there was nothing essentially new about his work. His work was not political, nor formally adventurous. Like other contemporaries with a similar approach (like Blackburn, Levertov, Corman), he was satisfied with belonging to a group of subordinate followers of one aspect of Modernism, i.e., the early Pound/Williams Imagist "little machine made of words." No knowledge of history or music or perhaps even of prosody was needed--it might now appear to have been the least demanding of approaches to the occasional short lyric. Though Loewinsohn was precocious--the same age, for instance, as David Meltzer, and three years younger than John Wieners (poets who share a similar entree into the scene)--he was never an experimental writer, the way figures such as Ashbery, Olson, or Elmslie were. 
 
Most of Loewinsohn's poems that do not rehearse the imagist routine are addressed as traditional love poems, in the standard Metaphysical manner--i.e., we are safe and isolated from the world's confusion, and have no stake in its distracting static or decay. It may be seen that his adoption of an accomplished style locks him in historically to a specific niche, mid-way between the earliest examples of simplified Modernist declaration ("faces in the Metro--petals on a wet black bough") and the conservative post-War reaction of the Fugitives and the followers of middle Eliot, particularly the essays. Ignoring the Russians, the Williams of Spring & All or Kora in Hell, and the Objectivists--as if, indeed, these developments had never occurred--Loewinsohn and those like him were content to stand pat.  
                        
Loewinsohn, though chronologically parallel to the Beat period (during its later stages of the 1950's and early 1960's) displayed no originality of vision or technique; and, as might have been expected, matriculated into the academy, taking his Ph.D. at Harvard and running out the string at Cal Berkeley--and, perhaps even more predictably, never publishing the obligatory book on Williams, and basically leaving the field in his mid-forties. 
 
What might Loewinsohn have accomplished had he pushed beyond the cliche'd homilies ("no ideas but in things") of late Williams? Wieners, Elmslie, Dorn, Guest, (or, had they lived, O'Hara and Spicer) were not content to repeat the Gothic American nativist speech mantra of the 1950's, and struck out into new territory. Even granting that their attempts may have fallen short of the mark, it's instructive to look at a diligent, though ultimately uninspired poet like Loewinsohn, to see where his choices took him.  
 
Any individual writer may experience periods of inspiration which exhaust themselves over time, leading either to repetition, or complete silence. In 1970, one might have previsioned Loewinsohn as a major figure in American verse, but that didn't happen. Already, by the mid-1970's, movements and developments in the avant garde were brewing, which would make even more irrelevant the icons and ideals of the decades of his youth, than they were when he adopted them.