Kate Litterer here. I just finished up Incident at the Edge of Bayonet Woods and I have to say that the back cover's description of it as "a kind of mystery novel" was pretty apt, not necessarily because the collection had a progressive plot and denouement, but because of the character's development through Bohince's ordering for the poems. All of the collections we've read thus far told one speaker's voice (even though CWBK hosted other speakers, i.e. the Chisums, it centered on Billy's story; IEBW also hosts a few others' voices, i.e. farmhands, but centers on the speaker's story).
The speaker seems to me like a grown woman who describes her childhood through an adult's memories, using words that might not have been accessible to a young girl but are through an adult's vernacular. The use of the young girl's view of the world is instrumental to the collection, as even when the book nears its end, a tone of fear or abandonment or powerlessness exists. An example of the adult voice/child memory take place in "Landscape with Sheep and Deer", page 4:
I remember the arrhythmia of their movement
across the drenched pasture,
stuttering by my father would say.
What I'm trying to say is remote as a cloud
passing through woods, his face
in a window above the pen,
a clot of feeling. (1-7)
While the girl speaker has intense emotions of grief and pleasure, she most probably wouldn't say "arrhythmia," and the line "What I'm trying to say is [...]" makes me feel that the speaker now vividly remembers her childhood spent beside her father. This makes her loss of her father striking; she misses him tenderly and remembers many seemingly insignificant things about their life together. I agree with some who have already posted on Bohince: her diction is precise and allows her to create a tone of twistedness or grotesque discomfort, even when she discusses softer objects, like sheep or family. That precise voice and clarity of detail showed me that the speaker must be the now older, more mature daughter, and because her feelings of loss and loneliness continue to throb in the present, through the poems, I couldn't resist reading it through in one sitting to see if she finds solace.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Obadike: And then it was over.
Kate Litterer here (alias Carol Caravan). Especially after reading Shannon's carefully-worded post, I am a little smokey in regards to Obadike's collection, but not because I feel she is not a talented writer. In fact, I thought her use of epigraphs and footnotes were meaningful, and although I feel she could have used hip-hop lyrics more evidently and instrumentally to tackle questions of race and personhood, I thought those were important to her collection.
I felt that once I hit "Shook" (p. 9), Obadike pulled me into the themes of her collection, which investigate racism and womanhood, or specifically her speaker's attempt to find a place of safety and comfort both in her personhood and outwardly. I give her a lot of credit for creating a multi-faceted, multi-personalized speaker whose voices aren't quite in dialogue with one another and I feel that this poem makes obvious the plight of feeling comfortable with oneself when one wants to act in different ways. Obadike's speaker is uncomfortable in the dinner situation: "At dinner, I sit next to a woman who speaks as if hemorrhaging" and "One of me can hear a rumbling, but she can't locate it" (lines 1 and 5). The speaker's discomfort comes out when "another of [her]" begins crying violently: "She thinks they mistake / my convulsive weeping for something else" (lines 9-10). But, as the narrative speaker assures the reader, "She doesn't know I am still dry" (lines 10-11). Another speaker emerges and "wants / to protect the talking women," although "She is the weakest among me and fears / the one who shakes" (lines 16-18). Ultimately, Obadike unites her three women-selves to a voyeuristic state: "We only hear the forks on ceramic / and the murmuring at other tables" (lines 23-23). The word "murmuring" shows the reader that the speaker/s has/have not gained stability or comfort and that she/they crave to act emotionally like the fast-speaking woman in the beginning of the poem, but do not. This sense of discomfort or weakness as a female speaker reemerges in the collection.
My blog title, "And then it was over," refers to the way I felt after the last poem, "Residue." "Residue" details the speaker's relationship with her period, which, in relation to the questions of femininity and sex throughout the book, might have symbolized a sense of strength and power. But the poem only briefly allows the speaker to recognize the special, individual power she holds, first as an attraction to a "nasty boy" and then as a house for eggs. Obadike writes: "[...] I bent to witness / unused eggs leak out of me, secret / words whispered from my uterus / to no one" (lines 17-20). While the speaker's blood is an object and does hold mystical power (to create; sexually attractive to the nasty boy), it is also a private thing, something for "the bookstore bathroom toilet" and something that to be "[lost] down a foreign drain" (line 1, line 24). Reading this poem, I thought "the speaker is finally finding a sense of comfort and strength that she derives from her womanhood"...and then I turned the page and it was over.
While the book didn't completely create closure for the female speaker's sense of comfort or protection, I don't think Obadike necessarily meant for it to close up happily so the reader could say, "Right on, girlfriend!" Instead, I was left contemplating the ways that the female speaker was strong, facing racist institutions and telling about it, and bringing up women's discomforts so they could be made obvious--I had the feeling throughout this collection that the speaker was yelling with her mouth wide open but no sound was coming out (and I mean that in a good way, because obviously I, as the reader, could hear what she was saying).
I felt that once I hit "Shook" (p. 9), Obadike pulled me into the themes of her collection, which investigate racism and womanhood, or specifically her speaker's attempt to find a place of safety and comfort both in her personhood and outwardly. I give her a lot of credit for creating a multi-faceted, multi-personalized speaker whose voices aren't quite in dialogue with one another and I feel that this poem makes obvious the plight of feeling comfortable with oneself when one wants to act in different ways. Obadike's speaker is uncomfortable in the dinner situation: "At dinner, I sit next to a woman who speaks as if hemorrhaging" and "One of me can hear a rumbling, but she can't locate it" (lines 1 and 5). The speaker's discomfort comes out when "another of [her]" begins crying violently: "She thinks they mistake / my convulsive weeping for something else" (lines 9-10). But, as the narrative speaker assures the reader, "She doesn't know I am still dry" (lines 10-11). Another speaker emerges and "wants / to protect the talking women," although "She is the weakest among me and fears / the one who shakes" (lines 16-18). Ultimately, Obadike unites her three women-selves to a voyeuristic state: "We only hear the forks on ceramic / and the murmuring at other tables" (lines 23-23). The word "murmuring" shows the reader that the speaker/s has/have not gained stability or comfort and that she/they crave to act emotionally like the fast-speaking woman in the beginning of the poem, but do not. This sense of discomfort or weakness as a female speaker reemerges in the collection.
My blog title, "And then it was over," refers to the way I felt after the last poem, "Residue." "Residue" details the speaker's relationship with her period, which, in relation to the questions of femininity and sex throughout the book, might have symbolized a sense of strength and power. But the poem only briefly allows the speaker to recognize the special, individual power she holds, first as an attraction to a "nasty boy" and then as a house for eggs. Obadike writes: "[...] I bent to witness / unused eggs leak out of me, secret / words whispered from my uterus / to no one" (lines 17-20). While the speaker's blood is an object and does hold mystical power (to create; sexually attractive to the nasty boy), it is also a private thing, something for "the bookstore bathroom toilet" and something that to be "[lost] down a foreign drain" (line 1, line 24). Reading this poem, I thought "the speaker is finally finding a sense of comfort and strength that she derives from her womanhood"...and then I turned the page and it was over.
While the book didn't completely create closure for the female speaker's sense of comfort or protection, I don't think Obadike necessarily meant for it to close up happily so the reader could say, "Right on, girlfriend!" Instead, I was left contemplating the ways that the female speaker was strong, facing racist institutions and telling about it, and bringing up women's discomforts so they could be made obvious--I had the feeling throughout this collection that the speaker was yelling with her mouth wide open but no sound was coming out (and I mean that in a good way, because obviously I, as the reader, could hear what she was saying).
Failure in "Armor and Flesh"
Mendi Lewis Obadike's first book of poetry, "Armor and Flesh" is transparent in the themes it attempts to tackle - sexual and racial identity, the battle within the self between love, apathy and anger, articulation and silence. The speaker in Obadike's book is "wanting softness, but "needing hardness." I feel this book is born of trauma, and regardless of whether it is truly an autobiography, is clearly confessional in nature. This is evident not only because of the consistent use of the I, but also the nature of poems, such as "Gassed," which seem only concerned in providing a background (of life events) in which other poems can be considered, as in, the weight of a particular piece cannot survive, but this may act as something as an unconscious influence. Many of the shorter pieces in this book seem far from complete, and in fact, they act more like small connector blocks to drive home the issues of larger more complex ones. For example, "How She Figures," while yes, incredibly vague, could easily attach itself to poems considering the women of Haiti, Dominican Republic, and Caracas, or the confessional pieces involving the inability to speak, or the pieces involving racism. I think "Tug of War" works in much the same way, as a poem standing on one leg, which has no particular context, but existiing as an elaboration on other pieces. "Strategy" also applies here ("She sneezes/on the chance/someone will bless her"). When I consider that for this class, we are studying how a book is created, thematically and structurally, I see Obadike's "connectors" as immature and not quite thought out, perhaps poems which were started but never finished, yet could have been stanzas in other pieces.
It is immediately noticeable that Obedike lacks a mature and refreshing language with which to tackle these issues. There are perhaps a few lines which I might not have heard before, but certainly I have seen all of her forms before. She relies on the audience's cultural connection with her experiences, such as our knowledge of racism in the South, the Rodney King decision, a cursory knowledge of the hardship ridden lives of Haitian women, to engage us, rather than attempting to redefine our perceptions, deepen them. Also, her extensive use of the shadow poem reveals to me that she is more comfortable working with the language and form of others, rather than inventing her own (not to mention her use of song lyrics). It is a shame to me, that in trying to articulate a unique and personal experience, one which, in its human suffering and identity confusion, many could emotionally connect with, she makes little attempt to confront cliche. An amazing example of this is "Excess Makeup Reverie" where she speaks of the woman as wearing a makeup mask. Although, I am unaware of whether her work is mostly cliche, or just unoriginal, or maybe didn't go through enough revision.
This book was disappointing, but I feel I have learned, in a sense, what not to do with a book of poems. How blatant connections and language can ruin the mystery and complexity of poetry, and how shadow poems can be used as a crutch.
It is immediately noticeable that Obedike lacks a mature and refreshing language with which to tackle these issues. There are perhaps a few lines which I might not have heard before, but certainly I have seen all of her forms before. She relies on the audience's cultural connection with her experiences, such as our knowledge of racism in the South, the Rodney King decision, a cursory knowledge of the hardship ridden lives of Haitian women, to engage us, rather than attempting to redefine our perceptions, deepen them. Also, her extensive use of the shadow poem reveals to me that she is more comfortable working with the language and form of others, rather than inventing her own (not to mention her use of song lyrics). It is a shame to me, that in trying to articulate a unique and personal experience, one which, in its human suffering and identity confusion, many could emotionally connect with, she makes little attempt to confront cliche. An amazing example of this is "Excess Makeup Reverie" where she speaks of the woman as wearing a makeup mask. Although, I am unaware of whether her work is mostly cliche, or just unoriginal, or maybe didn't go through enough revision.
This book was disappointing, but I feel I have learned, in a sense, what not to do with a book of poems. How blatant connections and language can ruin the mystery and complexity of poetry, and how shadow poems can be used as a crutch.
Monday, January 26, 2009
I Don't Know...Maybe I Just Don't Like the Pictures...?
The most intriguing aspect of Ondaatje's ...Billy the Kid is his understanding of poetry. There is gong to be much debate whether or not his foray into poetry was worthwhile; however, his UNDERSTANDING of the beast is what fascinates me.
While for the most part his poetic pattern is lower-cased, three stanza, almost no articles, it fascinates me that he tries to take a turn for the nuanced in poems such as that on page 29--a mirror poem, though I'm having a hard time understanding precisely what it is that made him decide on that tactic. My problem is that there seems to be a desire for him to be a poet rather than his actually being a poet. What I mean to say is, he suffers from many poets’ plight of trying to seem poetic—through such tactics as the mirror poem on page 29.
Though I'd be lying to myself if I said his poetry superseded his prose, I would also be doing his poetry a disservice if I didn't mention his ability to create natural image. That is, he uses language that very intricately gives a tangible depiction of the sensual body, death, and fear. Poems such as that on page 11 show Ondaatje’s ability to work within image strongly and creatively: “moving across the world on horses / body split at the edge of their necks / neck sweat at eating at my jeans”. His imagery is very visceral and it leaves nothing to the imagination (thank Jah). However, that’s not to say that at times his word choice takes a turn for the campy and incredibly trite, as in the poem on page 16 when describing his ejaculation as “love juice” (which, for all those interested, is also the title of a cheesy J-Pop song). But, I have to wonder if his word choice is a product of the need to explore the indiscretion of the “Wild West” and one of its biggest heroes, Billy the Kid?
By far and away the most uninteresting aspect of the book is the use of physical images--that is, the photography. Though they are historical in terms of their attachment to the literal reading of the "Wild West", they underscore the ability of the words to do the work for themselves. There is something to say for the scrapbooking nature of the book, but I wonder if, perhaps, the use of images is nothing more than an immature poet’s way to collide literal image with lyrical image?
However, something that I'd like to explore is the use of blank picture frames at what seems to be the beginning of a new era in the character of Billy the Kid. Those moments, indicated with a square of empty space and italicized words, not only do the work of preparation. They seem to forcibly open the readers mind to something new. This image is the most important in terms of a literal picture on the page.
Whether or not the prose outshines the poetry, one thing that I almost refused to do was force meaning on the words through the images. If anything, what I can glean from this book is its attention to capturing what can only be described as the inner monologue/diary of one Mr. Billy the Kid. Though journal-esque collections come a dime a dozen, what interests me is the books refusal to answer the question of its historical relevance. The focus should be, not on the accuracy of the times, but rather the accuracy of one character's experiences and interactions.
I also see a common thread among this collection, the Lichtenberg Figures, and The Sonnets: there's most definitely a move to create collages through ideas, styles, images, etc. A poet's collection turns into his obsession, turns into his book of poetry. If that's all that we can get from Ondaatje's poetry, at least that's something fascinating, right?
While for the most part his poetic pattern is lower-cased, three stanza, almost no articles, it fascinates me that he tries to take a turn for the nuanced in poems such as that on page 29--a mirror poem, though I'm having a hard time understanding precisely what it is that made him decide on that tactic. My problem is that there seems to be a desire for him to be a poet rather than his actually being a poet. What I mean to say is, he suffers from many poets’ plight of trying to seem poetic—through such tactics as the mirror poem on page 29.
Though I'd be lying to myself if I said his poetry superseded his prose, I would also be doing his poetry a disservice if I didn't mention his ability to create natural image. That is, he uses language that very intricately gives a tangible depiction of the sensual body, death, and fear. Poems such as that on page 11 show Ondaatje’s ability to work within image strongly and creatively: “moving across the world on horses / body split at the edge of their necks / neck sweat at eating at my jeans”. His imagery is very visceral and it leaves nothing to the imagination (thank Jah). However, that’s not to say that at times his word choice takes a turn for the campy and incredibly trite, as in the poem on page 16 when describing his ejaculation as “love juice” (which, for all those interested, is also the title of a cheesy J-Pop song). But, I have to wonder if his word choice is a product of the need to explore the indiscretion of the “Wild West” and one of its biggest heroes, Billy the Kid?
By far and away the most uninteresting aspect of the book is the use of physical images--that is, the photography. Though they are historical in terms of their attachment to the literal reading of the "Wild West", they underscore the ability of the words to do the work for themselves. There is something to say for the scrapbooking nature of the book, but I wonder if, perhaps, the use of images is nothing more than an immature poet’s way to collide literal image with lyrical image?
However, something that I'd like to explore is the use of blank picture frames at what seems to be the beginning of a new era in the character of Billy the Kid. Those moments, indicated with a square of empty space and italicized words, not only do the work of preparation. They seem to forcibly open the readers mind to something new. This image is the most important in terms of a literal picture on the page.
Whether or not the prose outshines the poetry, one thing that I almost refused to do was force meaning on the words through the images. If anything, what I can glean from this book is its attention to capturing what can only be described as the inner monologue/diary of one Mr. Billy the Kid. Though journal-esque collections come a dime a dozen, what interests me is the books refusal to answer the question of its historical relevance. The focus should be, not on the accuracy of the times, but rather the accuracy of one character's experiences and interactions.
I also see a common thread among this collection, the Lichtenberg Figures, and The Sonnets: there's most definitely a move to create collages through ideas, styles, images, etc. A poet's collection turns into his obsession, turns into his book of poetry. If that's all that we can get from Ondaatje's poetry, at least that's something fascinating, right?
Billy the Kid
From only my brief past knowledge of BTK, as well as what I've discovered following a brief perusal on the Wikipedia, I find that the element of paradox strikes the very core of his mythic legend. A man who lusted for murder and the occasional Mexican sombrero should, by all conventional standards, be reviled in his cloak of infamy. This was (is) not the case for young Billy, however, whose mythical status is still adored/disputed by contemporary historians and occasionally families through oral tradition. As it is difficult for these qualities to effectively coexist, here is Ondaatje's The Collected Works of Billy the Kid which mixes historical account and multi-layered mythology through the juxtaposition of poetry and prose. The text blends a variety of perspectives in order to establish a frequently filth-laden account that feels surprisingly natural, even when considering the jarring collision that comes from stylistic shifts. I appreciate the recurrent mention of characters (as with Sally Chisum), although I felt more inclined to drink in the lack of stability in overall terms of narration; narration is probably the wrong word, but rather the sense of credible authenticity. This is much like history more broadly, cultivated from news clippings and word of mouth that eventually build legend. Take “The Kid Tells All” (81), which incorporates an account of the conflicting character traits for which the Kid stands; “I: But you were wanted for cattle rustling weren’t you?. Yes… [but] they had to practically catch me with stolen cattle in my bed.” Ondaatje occasionally facilitates this kind of humor when constructing pieces within the collection; in this case, it paints Billy as a somewhat likeable, certainly accessible, hero of sorts. The counterpoint to this argument is that he is allegedly performing this interview from jail, with the Texas Star granted rights to exclusivity. The selected images of BTK accompany the media fixation well, and Ondaatje manages to keep the focus fresh despite the relatively narrow scope of the surface subject matter. One of the poems, on page 27, utilizes a dark agenda (involving internal damage) with a strict poetic device. Through the variance in the lenses, Ondaatje’s collection provides a surprisingly deep pool for interpretation that likely makes a statement about myth in perpetuity more generally.
the ORIGINAL btk --- found here http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Billy_the_kid
The Collected Works of Billy The Kid by Michael Ondaatje is a story stooped in fantasism and legend. Ondaatje attempts to enter the mind of the American West’s most famous celebrities. Not one of Hollywood though. Rather, Ondaatje brings the reader through the life of the western frontiers greatest murderers, Billy the Kid.
The book is sprinkled with both prose and lyrical poetry. Ondaatje tries numerous different forms of writing, and often even includes pictures in order to make his case. This allows him to penetrate the minds of different types of readers, and accommodates for many different preferences. He begins a piece of prose in all italics accompanied by a “pictures”. This picture however is just a blank box, leaving the readers imagination to figure out what lies between its lines. The first line of this italicized piece of prose reads “I send you a picture of Billy…”. Right off the bat Ondaatje wishes the reader to begin picturing Billy the Kid, because from this point on it will be his task to change and alter that picture with stories from his life.
Another great example of the forms Ondaatje expresses is found on page 81 in a piece entitled “The Texas Star March 1881. The Kid Tells All: ‘Exclusive Jail Interview’”. On display here is a completely unique way of attacking the poetic form. This long question and answer session allows Ondaatje to fill the reader in on a large amount of information about Billy’s life, without ever having to say it. He lets Billy tell all, in response to questions from a reporter (who might as well be the reader). One of my favorite lines in this sequence is the interviewer’s third question asking “I: You were reported as saying, as adding, to that phrase – ‘If I make it’ when asked that question before. B: Well, sometimes I feel more confident that at others”. These lines not only made me chuckle, but also really helped capture an overall theme of the novel.
In looking at the poetry in the book verses the prose I find that they have a strong symbiotic relationship. The prose is much more story based, and we learn a lot about interactions and specific stories relating to Billy. The poetry is much vaguer, and I see it as a venue for Billy’s personally feelings to be unleashed. Less so actions and interactions going on around him, and more so thoughts and even feelings that I believe come straight from Billy himself.
Despite the books lack of consistent poetic form, I find the collage almost soothing, in that I am never bombarded with one type of interpretation. Ondaatje was able to aptly fuse two forms, without either being to constricting, or too overpowering, upon the other.
Ondaatje Response...by me!
In focusing on the formation of Michael Ondaatje’s collection, The Collected Works of Billy the Kid, I am left with both inquisitiveness and amazement at the accomplishments of the works. Ondaatje introduces his collection with an empty frame over an italicized description of an unseen picture. Initially, this opening passage filled me with curiosity. The are several references to unidentified things, “the Perry shutter,” “Pyro,” the horses, etc. The frame and caption give explanation to and represents the pictures and specimen the reader finds throughout the book both figuratively and literally. To better understand the purpose of Ondaatje’s introduction, I compared it to that of a movie introduction. If this collection were a movie, the caption would be read while soft music plays in the background as the camera spans across various pictures soon to be encountered in context. Then, the movie begins…
Following the open ended introduction, Ondaatje kicks off his collection with two different opposing poetic styles, poetry and prose. The first poem is frank with minimal detail. “These are the killed.// By me) –” It leave you with several questions, many of which are modestly addressed in the subsequent prose poem on the opposing page. These poems play off of each other in placement and content. In the prose poem, a story is explained. To reference the movie example again, the first poem would be a scene of people being killed. The audience/reader is not sure of who or why. After the violent opening scene, the story begins to unravel and we see people together (as described on page 7) while a voice narrates what’s taking place; then the actors take over….
Throughout the first part of the book, many of the poems serve as narrations. They give brief summaries of general info, while the prose offers more detailed explanations.
During the collection, Ondaatje uses several artistic devices to share the story. The prose, poetry, photographs, interviews, and captions are compiled in a way that leaves you with questions and answers at the same time. Most of the questions arising in the poetry, and being answered in the other included forms. I think the arrangement of different types of writing successfully work in keeping the reader’s attention. The switching up artistic inclusions comes just before the audience may get tired of one writing style. Ondaatje never goes more than four or five pages with the same artistic style. Even the poems have different poetic devices such as spacing (p.53), indentation (p.67), or reflection (p.27) that make each poem different in more than content.
Following the open ended introduction, Ondaatje kicks off his collection with two different opposing poetic styles, poetry and prose. The first poem is frank with minimal detail. “These are the killed.// By me) –” It leave you with several questions, many of which are modestly addressed in the subsequent prose poem on the opposing page. These poems play off of each other in placement and content. In the prose poem, a story is explained. To reference the movie example again, the first poem would be a scene of people being killed. The audience/reader is not sure of who or why. After the violent opening scene, the story begins to unravel and we see people together (as described on page 7) while a voice narrates what’s taking place; then the actors take over….
Throughout the first part of the book, many of the poems serve as narrations. They give brief summaries of general info, while the prose offers more detailed explanations.
During the collection, Ondaatje uses several artistic devices to share the story. The prose, poetry, photographs, interviews, and captions are compiled in a way that leaves you with questions and answers at the same time. Most of the questions arising in the poetry, and being answered in the other included forms. I think the arrangement of different types of writing successfully work in keeping the reader’s attention. The switching up artistic inclusions comes just before the audience may get tired of one writing style. Ondaatje never goes more than four or five pages with the same artistic style. Even the poems have different poetic devices such as spacing (p.53), indentation (p.67), or reflection (p.27) that make each poem different in more than content.
One of the more interesting elements in Ondaatje's Billy the Kid the woven elements of language and texture. Apparently the poet is known for his approach to the senses, but it seems overwhelmingly so in this book. I'm in complete agreeance with Shannon's comment about Ondaatje exploring the myth of Billy the Kid, rather than necessarily the real guy. By using heavily textured/image-rich/sometimes overly romantic and overly emotional language, Ondaatje asks the reader to "come closer" and form a more personal relationship with the myth of Billy. It seems as though one language (that of intensely violent/dark text) is layered and sewn within another language (that of fantastical/mythical text). The passages and poems are dense and compact, like his words are meant to be taken seriously, almost like we should be reading BTK as a biography and not as a "Collected Works."
It seems like he's really dealing with a push and pull of formal vs. content. On the obvious side, there is a super strong tension between the poetry and the prose. Added into the mix is the graphic images, for example on page 13 after the Charlie Bowdre poem, or the interview on pages 81-84 (is that real or created? I love the idea of putting something into a book that you wrote but it looks like you didn't. Ondaatje is basically begging the reader to step out of their comfort zone and experience his work beyond the typical "poem-poem-poem-poem" structure. While I was reading I was sufficiently uncomfortable with the graphics and also with the constant change in form. However, after analyzing my reaction, I'm pretty sure this is how Ondaatje wanted the Works to be heard/felt/experienced. Considering the text relies on image and sensory detail, it seems to be a primary concern to him that the reader is communicating and gripping each section (prose, graphic, poem) for what it is, rather than what it is not.
Going along with an idea that Nicolette brought up, I also feel that death is so commonplace and mundane in the community brought forth in Billy the Kid that you're essentially forced to pay attention to other stories going on in the book. Normally death is pretty shocking, but it seems as though Ondaatje would rather focus on multiple lives rather than the numerous deaths and killings.
It seems like he's really dealing with a push and pull of formal vs. content. On the obvious side, there is a super strong tension between the poetry and the prose. Added into the mix is the graphic images, for example on page 13 after the Charlie Bowdre poem, or the interview on pages 81-84 (is that real or created? I love the idea of putting something into a book that you wrote but it looks like you didn't. Ondaatje is basically begging the reader to step out of their comfort zone and experience his work beyond the typical "poem-poem-poem-poem" structure. While I was reading I was sufficiently uncomfortable with the graphics and also with the constant change in form. However, after analyzing my reaction, I'm pretty sure this is how Ondaatje wanted the Works to be heard/felt/experienced. Considering the text relies on image and sensory detail, it seems to be a primary concern to him that the reader is communicating and gripping each section (prose, graphic, poem) for what it is, rather than what it is not.
Going along with an idea that Nicolette brought up, I also feel that death is so commonplace and mundane in the community brought forth in Billy the Kid that you're essentially forced to pay attention to other stories going on in the book. Normally death is pretty shocking, but it seems as though Ondaatje would rather focus on multiple lives rather than the numerous deaths and killings.
The Myth of Billy the Kid
It has come to my attention while reading previous posts that a great amount of attention is given to the "informative" or historical accounts/pieces within this work. I think, coming to this piece, especially if it is with only a cursory knowledge of Billy the Kid, it is only natural to look for sign posts or guides into the "real life" and "real person" of "William Bonney" (his birth name was Henry McCarty). However, I see Ondaatje's project here as a look into the nature of myth, with the clear intent of challenging and complicating our view of yes, a historical person, but more essentially, a name, a time, and a way of life (the outlaw).
To me, this intent was made clear on the first page, which is conviently lacking the photograph that is referred to in the prose underneath. I feel that the blank photograph is an introduction about what the reader really knows about Billy the Kid- nothing. A photograph of him is given on the book's cover, and yet Ondaatje chooses within the book's pages not to represent Billy, but the acquaintances and settings in which he interacted. There are a fem moments where Billy (as the speaker) recalls certain photographs taken of him, but these are never shown. I believe this allows Ondaatje the free reign to construct a theoretical universe for Billy in which what is believed to be known contends with the unknown.
In speaking about the relationship in the book between "prosaic" sections (most all of which I catagorize as prose poems) and the "poetic" sections, I agree their is a tension. The imagination of the poems where Billy interprets his the memories of his life (the deaths he witnessed, his friends, the western landscape) are beautiful (not childish, as someone else mentioned), haunting, and provide a complex emotional character. I do not believe Ondaatje created a coherent character, but a many-faceted amalgamation of conflict. Just as society as a whole is unable to agree on his character, his horror or his heroism, the reader is unable to get a clear idea of what Billy thought of himself. This is often brought up in the recurring them of madness. A particularly telling image of Billy, I think, occurs on page 33, when he recounts an experience with Sallie Chisum. He places her in the bath with her bedsheet wrapped around her, lifts her out, and watches while she tries to escape from the entanglement - all used as an illustration for "a mad man's skin." I feel here that Billy's mind, his ego, and his violence are all struggling in the net that legend has wrapped around him.
Despite this being my second time reading this book, I felt with immediacy again the confusion imposed on the reader by Ondaatje's inverted chronology and multiple speakers (some of which must be guessed by context). (Actually, I was suprised when I accidentally read a poem in the voice of Billy, when it actually turned out to be Garrett.) Again, I feel this confusion further contributes to the inability to grasp a clear picture.
One thing I found particularly interesting was the tension between Sallie's rather ambiguous accounts in juxtaposition with the later portrayal of her complicated (perverse?) affair with Billy. I love Sallie's description of Billy as "a courteous little gentleman" who was "the pink of politeness."This image is certainly difficult to reconcile with the image of him watching her naked struggle in a mad man's skin.
Rather than looking for the truth in any of the events and relationships Ondaatje portrayed in the book, I reveled in his imagination of Billy's mind. I feel "getting into the mind of the myth" is really what drives the piece, and collects together all of its disjunct parts. One of the most artful and moving books of poetry I have ever read.
To me, this intent was made clear on the first page, which is conviently lacking the photograph that is referred to in the prose underneath. I feel that the blank photograph is an introduction about what the reader really knows about Billy the Kid- nothing. A photograph of him is given on the book's cover, and yet Ondaatje chooses within the book's pages not to represent Billy, but the acquaintances and settings in which he interacted. There are a fem moments where Billy (as the speaker) recalls certain photographs taken of him, but these are never shown. I believe this allows Ondaatje the free reign to construct a theoretical universe for Billy in which what is believed to be known contends with the unknown.
In speaking about the relationship in the book between "prosaic" sections (most all of which I catagorize as prose poems) and the "poetic" sections, I agree their is a tension. The imagination of the poems where Billy interprets his the memories of his life (the deaths he witnessed, his friends, the western landscape) are beautiful (not childish, as someone else mentioned), haunting, and provide a complex emotional character. I do not believe Ondaatje created a coherent character, but a many-faceted amalgamation of conflict. Just as society as a whole is unable to agree on his character, his horror or his heroism, the reader is unable to get a clear idea of what Billy thought of himself. This is often brought up in the recurring them of madness. A particularly telling image of Billy, I think, occurs on page 33, when he recounts an experience with Sallie Chisum. He places her in the bath with her bedsheet wrapped around her, lifts her out, and watches while she tries to escape from the entanglement - all used as an illustration for "a mad man's skin." I feel here that Billy's mind, his ego, and his violence are all struggling in the net that legend has wrapped around him.
Despite this being my second time reading this book, I felt with immediacy again the confusion imposed on the reader by Ondaatje's inverted chronology and multiple speakers (some of which must be guessed by context). (Actually, I was suprised when I accidentally read a poem in the voice of Billy, when it actually turned out to be Garrett.) Again, I feel this confusion further contributes to the inability to grasp a clear picture.
One thing I found particularly interesting was the tension between Sallie's rather ambiguous accounts in juxtaposition with the later portrayal of her complicated (perverse?) affair with Billy. I love Sallie's description of Billy as "a courteous little gentleman" who was "the pink of politeness."This image is certainly difficult to reconcile with the image of him watching her naked struggle in a mad man's skin.
Rather than looking for the truth in any of the events and relationships Ondaatje portrayed in the book, I reveled in his imagination of Billy's mind. I feel "getting into the mind of the myth" is really what drives the piece, and collects together all of its disjunct parts. One of the most artful and moving books of poetry I have ever read.
Billy the Kid - Not BTK
I thought I would mention briefly that the blog references to "BTK" are a bit scary. I am not sure if any of you know about the "BTK killer," however, I would appreciate if from now on we merely called him "Billy" or "Bonney." Thank you. If you would like more information on the true "BTK killer," please visit this quick and convient wikipedia article. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/BTK_killer
Sunday, January 25, 2009
BTK
Ondaatje’s collection was very interesting to me, because while reading it I didn’t exactly get the feeling that I was reading poetry or a narrative story. I guess it kind of felt like reading a book of short stories with the same theme or characters sprinkled throughout them. I’m not really sure, but it felt different than most books I’ve ever read, and I definitely enjoyed it.
This collection’s goal seemed to be one of recording a life (perhaps a “famous” or “infamous” life) through the lenses of many different people, people that didn’t like Billy, people that did, authority figures out to get him, close friends, lovers, and Billy himself. Though I don’t know how much truth is inside any of these accounts, their stories are lively and beautifully written.
I found a close attention to lighting throughout the book’s entirety. The first page of the book begins this obsession as the speaker notes to “please notice when you get the specimens that they were made with the lens wide open and many of the best exposed when my horse was in motion” (5). Lighting seems as if it is something very close to Billy’s heart, though perhaps I am reading it wrong and it is close to Ondaatje’s heart, or it has a deeper symbolic meaning throughout the book that I haven’t grasped yet. Either way, the light in the house of the Chisum’s is constantly mentioned. The way Sallie shuts out the light from 11-3 in the afternoon, the way Billy wakes up in the white room of their house feeling happy and as if the walls have been pushed back to make the room wider, more inviting.
The writing is often very exact, pointing out every cobweb in a room, every dust particle stirring in a face, every glint of light from a doorway (“I am 4 feet inside the room / in the brown cold dark / the doorway’s slide of sun / three inches from my shoes” (74).) The sun is wonderfully personified. Its hands pluck the hair off Billy’s head and pull the skin raw, causing blood and bubbles and pain.
Many of the characters in the book seem to see death as ordinary, everyday, mundane, so much so that they continue a poker game since they cannot bury a body until morning. There are gruesome descriptions strung against eloquent accounts of the human body and the natural world. There is humor and an unemotional quality about death that makes reading about it all the more emotional. Overall a very multidimensional and well-written biography of a multidimensional man.
Nicolette Telech
This collection’s goal seemed to be one of recording a life (perhaps a “famous” or “infamous” life) through the lenses of many different people, people that didn’t like Billy, people that did, authority figures out to get him, close friends, lovers, and Billy himself. Though I don’t know how much truth is inside any of these accounts, their stories are lively and beautifully written.
I found a close attention to lighting throughout the book’s entirety. The first page of the book begins this obsession as the speaker notes to “please notice when you get the specimens that they were made with the lens wide open and many of the best exposed when my horse was in motion” (5). Lighting seems as if it is something very close to Billy’s heart, though perhaps I am reading it wrong and it is close to Ondaatje’s heart, or it has a deeper symbolic meaning throughout the book that I haven’t grasped yet. Either way, the light in the house of the Chisum’s is constantly mentioned. The way Sallie shuts out the light from 11-3 in the afternoon, the way Billy wakes up in the white room of their house feeling happy and as if the walls have been pushed back to make the room wider, more inviting.
The writing is often very exact, pointing out every cobweb in a room, every dust particle stirring in a face, every glint of light from a doorway (“I am 4 feet inside the room / in the brown cold dark / the doorway’s slide of sun / three inches from my shoes” (74).) The sun is wonderfully personified. Its hands pluck the hair off Billy’s head and pull the skin raw, causing blood and bubbles and pain.
Many of the characters in the book seem to see death as ordinary, everyday, mundane, so much so that they continue a poker game since they cannot bury a body until morning. There are gruesome descriptions strung against eloquent accounts of the human body and the natural world. There is humor and an unemotional quality about death that makes reading about it all the more emotional. Overall a very multidimensional and well-written biography of a multidimensional man.
Nicolette Telech
Billy the Kid, a failure
The Collected Works of Billy the Kid is a strange collection from Ondaatje, an author best known for his dense novels. I feel that much of the book was concerned with the power of the image in creating a historical narrative. By including the photographs (what most of us would consider the truest form of an image) side by side with prose and poetry, he has made the insufficiency of the image apparent. We get much more background of the character of Billy the Kid or William Bonney from the sprawling prosaic sections, and perhaps to a lesser extent the poetic ones. Certainly the least historical content, or more generally the least information, comes from the photographs.
The most vivid description comes from the prosaic sections and I take this as a clear sign that Ondaatje believes in the power of prose. He often relegates the poetic sections to fanciful childishness or jagged/incomplete description. There seems to be a hierarchy of usefulness established by Ondaatje in this work: prose is most informative, poetry is less informative and the image alone is the least informative. (This comes as no surprise, Ondaatje goes on from writing this book to become a famous novelist.) I got the sense of the violence of the Old West from the prosaic sections to be sure, but the poetic sections failed to fail properly. If Ondaatje is trying to argue for the insufficiency of the image (i.e., poetry), he has it wrong. If one equates poem with image, then yes Ondaatje's use of poetics is a sufficient failure, however I for one do not equate the image directly with the poem. Although I agree that the image (alone) is not in service to us in this age of mechanical reproduction, Ondaatje's attempt to demonstrate this by simply making the poetics half-assed(for lack of a better word) falls a little short.
The most successful aspect of this collection for me is Ondaatje's use of anachronism to demonstrate the tendency we often have to impose modern ideologies on past events. The most glaring situation being when he talks at length about a modern movie theater (p. 24). I would have enjoyed seeing this understated aspect to be explored further.
The other part that I enjoyed was the selection from Billy the Kid (1971, Charlton Press):
The juxtaposition of the violent and sexual tale that Ondaatje weaves with the cleaned-up for kids version that the comics presents is indicative of how mythology gets prepared for consumption by children. Although the violence and sex are still there, they are expressed in (what would be deemed in our society) child-appropriate forms.
The most vivid description comes from the prosaic sections and I take this as a clear sign that Ondaatje believes in the power of prose. He often relegates the poetic sections to fanciful childishness or jagged/incomplete description. There seems to be a hierarchy of usefulness established by Ondaatje in this work: prose is most informative, poetry is less informative and the image alone is the least informative. (This comes as no surprise, Ondaatje goes on from writing this book to become a famous novelist.) I got the sense of the violence of the Old West from the prosaic sections to be sure, but the poetic sections failed to fail properly. If Ondaatje is trying to argue for the insufficiency of the image (i.e., poetry), he has it wrong. If one equates poem with image, then yes Ondaatje's use of poetics is a sufficient failure, however I for one do not equate the image directly with the poem. Although I agree that the image (alone) is not in service to us in this age of mechanical reproduction, Ondaatje's attempt to demonstrate this by simply making the poetics half-assed(for lack of a better word) falls a little short.
The most successful aspect of this collection for me is Ondaatje's use of anachronism to demonstrate the tendency we often have to impose modern ideologies on past events. The most glaring situation being when he talks at length about a modern movie theater (p. 24). I would have enjoyed seeing this understated aspect to be explored further.
The other part that I enjoyed was the selection from Billy the Kid (1971, Charlton Press):
The juxtaposition of the violent and sexual tale that Ondaatje weaves with the cleaned-up for kids version that the comics presents is indicative of how mythology gets prepared for consumption by children. Although the violence and sex are still there, they are expressed in (what would be deemed in our society) child-appropriate forms.
Ondaatje and Billy
Ondaatje creates a beautiful and violent account of Billy The Kid through his mixture of form and content. First, he takes the happenings of this figure and makes a historical and exaggerated fiction style to develop the strange events during his life. Ondaatje does this well with the different forms of poetry and fusion of prose, dialog, and pictures. The prose provides a voice of narration to allow the reader to delve into the personality of Billy The Kid, while the short block poetry and interludes show the voice of Ondaatje trying to account the events as if he were there witnessing them. The dialog creates a sense of history for the reader to maybe grasp that the dialog was the actual words of Billy and his interviewer. Also, the pictures appear to be the closest to the actual account of this figure. His devices not only function well in this sense, but also in the vast amount of speakers in this collection. With the many intertwined characters, the collection serves as a type of documentary. I also enjoy the fact that the story follows a sort of stereotypical western plot with the undertone of historical “accuracy.”
The tension between the beautiful descriptions and the violent juxtaposition serves as a means to the graphic American storytelling. For example, the grotesque account of drinking too much allows this image to be defamiliarized and seen in a more artistic way: “…I start throwing up, the wind carrying it like a yellow ribbon” (70). Then, even more light and beautiful: “flies out like a pack of miniature canaries. A flock. A covey of them, like I’m some magician or something” (70). I love this tension, showing an ugly side to the cliché party, drinking, sex story. I also noticed Ondaatje’s repetition of oranges and orange peels, which kind of represent the feminine quality or contribution to this cowboy story: “oranges/peeled half peeled/bright as hidden coins against the pillow/…sits on her leg here/sweeping off the peels/traces the thin bones on me” (21).
My favorite part of the book is the “book” on pages 98-102. This sort of collage serves like an excerpt to show the exaggeration and fast-paced storytelling that is stereotypical of a Western. The media in here shows a sort of fabrication among the historical documentation of Billy The Kid that justifies his legacy. It shows what a charismatic, cool under pressure, and ruthless brute showing some compassion. Basically, it pegs his personality in mere pages that shows what the whole collection was trying to convey. It also shows the improbability of some of the actions of Billy. I believe this medium was intended to be recounted for children, which omits the realistic gore and sex and adult themes and happenings that much of the collection conveys. I like how it contrasts with the story about the cat under the floorboards: a violent account versus the glorified one you read in novels and see in the movies. Overall, Ondaatje’s strength lies in the ability to capture different mediums in order to tell a layered biography and story, which incorporates appearance versus reality and the idea of realism.
The tension between the beautiful descriptions and the violent juxtaposition serves as a means to the graphic American storytelling. For example, the grotesque account of drinking too much allows this image to be defamiliarized and seen in a more artistic way: “…I start throwing up, the wind carrying it like a yellow ribbon” (70). Then, even more light and beautiful: “flies out like a pack of miniature canaries. A flock. A covey of them, like I’m some magician or something” (70). I love this tension, showing an ugly side to the cliché party, drinking, sex story. I also noticed Ondaatje’s repetition of oranges and orange peels, which kind of represent the feminine quality or contribution to this cowboy story: “oranges/peeled half peeled/bright as hidden coins against the pillow/…sits on her leg here/sweeping off the peels/traces the thin bones on me” (21).
My favorite part of the book is the “book” on pages 98-102. This sort of collage serves like an excerpt to show the exaggeration and fast-paced storytelling that is stereotypical of a Western. The media in here shows a sort of fabrication among the historical documentation of Billy The Kid that justifies his legacy. It shows what a charismatic, cool under pressure, and ruthless brute showing some compassion. Basically, it pegs his personality in mere pages that shows what the whole collection was trying to convey. It also shows the improbability of some of the actions of Billy. I believe this medium was intended to be recounted for children, which omits the realistic gore and sex and adult themes and happenings that much of the collection conveys. I like how it contrasts with the story about the cat under the floorboards: a violent account versus the glorified one you read in novels and see in the movies. Overall, Ondaatje’s strength lies in the ability to capture different mediums in order to tell a layered biography and story, which incorporates appearance versus reality and the idea of realism.
Billy the Kid
On Michael Ondaatje
Michael Ondaatje’s poems as the outlaw Billy the Kid are unlike any collection of poems I have ever read before. There was such an in-depth immersion of Ondaatje in this character of his, “Billy the Kid,” that it was hard to fully comprehend the reason for the poetry. From what I gain of this author’s other works, Ondaatje is one to develop all aspects of the story in vigorous detail. I came into the reading of this book knowing very little of the story of Billy the Kid, so I let the text construct what it wanted on a blank sheet.
The book seemed to be conflicting between wanting a prose project and semi-structured poetry. I cannot understand the contrast between the poetry and prose, but it would seem as if the prose works were a background for the characters and the poetry is some sort of character development portion. The prose from pg.32-37 to me seemed almost purely informational, and then the switch to poetry allows for a small interpretation of the character’s mannerisms. The different photographs in between the written work come to legitimize the sort of journal feel that the collection seems to illustrate. The language remains consistent throughout, allowing the switches from prose work to poetry to remain subtle, establishing a flowing narration alongside poetic development. It is almost as if someone has broken up an autobiographic novel with some poetic notes.
Michael Ondaatje’s poems as the outlaw Billy the Kid are unlike any collection of poems I have ever read before. There was such an in-depth immersion of Ondaatje in this character of his, “Billy the Kid,” that it was hard to fully comprehend the reason for the poetry. From what I gain of this author’s other works, Ondaatje is one to develop all aspects of the story in vigorous detail. I came into the reading of this book knowing very little of the story of Billy the Kid, so I let the text construct what it wanted on a blank sheet.
The book seemed to be conflicting between wanting a prose project and semi-structured poetry. I cannot understand the contrast between the poetry and prose, but it would seem as if the prose works were a background for the characters and the poetry is some sort of character development portion. The prose from pg.32-37 to me seemed almost purely informational, and then the switch to poetry allows for a small interpretation of the character’s mannerisms. The different photographs in between the written work come to legitimize the sort of journal feel that the collection seems to illustrate. The language remains consistent throughout, allowing the switches from prose work to poetry to remain subtle, establishing a flowing narration alongside poetic development. It is almost as if someone has broken up an autobiographic novel with some poetic notes.
Ondaatje Creates a "Western Gothic"
Although it seems like everyone else has beaten me to the punch, I’d like to add my praise for Ondaatje’s book. Part of the reason I enjoyed this book so much, was its ability to take an approach I normally wouldn’t like. Photos, drawings and faux newspaper interviews would probably be placed in the category of kitschy, or at least campy, but somehow the mundane authenticity of much of Ondaatje’s poetry and prose make an otherwise gimmicky concept, quiet, old and sad.
I really enjoyed the shifting between poetry and prose, and although I know the matching of medium and content was deliberate, I haven’t quite figured out the reasoning behind it. What stood out most to me was the tone, which I can really only think to categorize as Western Gothic. Ondaatje uses irony, the grotesque, and our conceptions of frontier culture to construct complex characters, which surprise us, and simultaneously fall into some stereotype or another. There’s also an element of exaggeration or embellishment for the sake of allegory or illusion to a biblical or mythological figure (all of which are present in the established Southern Gothic genre).
The poem detailing the death of Gregory (page 15) utilizes nearly all of the devises of what would be considered this idea of Western Gothic. The poem is written in a distinct western dialect (“I’d shot him well and careful”), and employs both absurdity and the grotesque. The image of a chicken ripping a vein from a man’s neck is certainly misshapen, but the inclusion of “it was 12 yards long/ as if it held that body like a kite” is nothing short of ridiculous. Also, the poem for me seemed to have a strong illusion to Prometheus, despite my inability to relate the two figures. Lastly, the poem ends with an almost inappropriate irony- a stereotypical western saying made laughable by a literal chicken.
The prose piece on 22 also has a strong gothic presence, mainly in the dramatization of the scene. Charlie walks in a straight line, bleeding from the stomach, “already dead” towards Pat Garret, who simply says “Hello, Charlie,” is an obvious heroism of what would have otherwise been another mundane casualty of the west. Once again, Ondaatje ends with a strong illusion, this time to the apocalypse, writing “No windows, the door open so we could see. Four horses outside.”
It seems all the characters are given an unexpected depth and complexity that’s directly juxtaposed by the inconsequential nature in which most of them die. Aside from BTK, (whose intrigue is in large part to his position as the narrator), Pat Garrett commands the most attention, and is more developed than most characters in poetry. The prose piece detailing the complexity of Garrett (page 28-29) draws on the reader’s inability to identify Garrett as a protagonist or antagonist. Also, the absurdity of his biography seems typically Southern Gothic, an “academic murderer,” fluent in unused French and drinking enough to kill another man.
The Collection's originality and authenticity of Ondaatje’s voice that allow him to delve so completely into a world that is rarely examined through a poetic scope.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Fiction or Prose Poem in CWBK; Does it matter?
It's Kate Litterer here. First, I have to mention that CWBK is one of the best works I've read in regards to developing a speaker in a group of poems. We learn all about Billy (BTK) through his personal accounts of his experiences, others' voices, and non-fictional accounts, such as interviews or photographs. Reading through the book with attention to the sequence of different types of writing (poems, prose poems/fiction, photos, etc.) really helped me to get a rounded view of BTK's experiences.
I definitely see a different style of writing between the poems and the works of fiction (or prose poems). The poems appear mostly through Billy's voice and I feel that they work almost like he's telling secrets through them. Interestingly, (perhaps this is a bias I hold against the rural badass character whom I'm assuming didn't study poetry) the poems are written very beautifully and provide me with insights into how Billy felt during his experiences. For example, on page 16, Billy's character says "[...] later my hands cracked in love juice / fingers paralysed by it arthritic / these beautiful fingers I couldn't move / faster than a crippled witch now" (lines 18-21). Realistically, this scene makes sense for a rough-and-tumble guy like Billy to have a sexual encounter and feel romantically toward a woman, but regarding the actual diction, descriptions like "arthritic" "beautiful fingers" that move as slow as a "crippled witch" really create a sensitive and vulnerable character. I think that Ondaatje uses the shorter poems to show the speaker a vulnerable, safer Billy, unlike the Billy we see in his prose or fiction; the conniving, story-telling Billy.
One of my favorite passages of prose in the collection starts on page 59. Billy is speaking and relays to us a story originally told by John Chisum: Livingstone, whom he had sung with, turned out to be a mad dog-breeder. This section of prose has a stronger narration than available through the small poems and brings life, death, and closure to Livingstone across the span of 4 pages. Lines like "When people asked him how the dogs were coming along, he said fine; it was all a secret system and he didn't want anyone looking in. He said he liked to get a piece of work finished before he showed it to people" help to progress John's story and to develop Livingstone's character (61). Although the prose works like a story, it broadcasts lines like "It was like breeding roses" in juxtaposition to the mad dog-breeding--this incorporates the poetic method of specifying Livingstone to the reader. For reasons such as that, I believe that the prose poems in CWBK don't necessarily work like pieces of fiction...they don't pick up where the last one left off and they link themselves to ideas that appear in the shorter poems. I had no difficulty reading them in succession to the shorter poems, but I do feel that they present Billy as a more guarded individual.
I viewed the pictures in the novel similarly to the way Virginia Woolf uses photos in Orlando (I'll bring a copy to class). Orlando is a biography of a fictional character and the transparent narrator is Orlando's biographer. Interspersed throughout the novel are photos of Orlando and his/her (he magically transforms into a woman halfway through the novel, making its biographical genre obviously fictional) friends. However, these photos are not really of the novel's characters, as made obvious through the appended notes. In CWBK, I could not help but to read the photos in the same manner...are these photos really of BTK and his friends? Why did Ondaatje pick those photos, real or not? This question riled me up to ask another question: IS THIS COLLECTION EVEN BIOGRAPHICAL IN NATURE AT ALL? I know that Ondaatje uses BTK's character to create a narrative sequence and shows us varied aspects of BTK, but does he fabricate occurences? He would have to. And I don't mind that at all--hearing BTK talk about sex in such a stereotypically/typically non-Western/rural/badass type of way is very gratifying.
I definitely see a different style of writing between the poems and the works of fiction (or prose poems). The poems appear mostly through Billy's voice and I feel that they work almost like he's telling secrets through them. Interestingly, (perhaps this is a bias I hold against the rural badass character whom I'm assuming didn't study poetry) the poems are written very beautifully and provide me with insights into how Billy felt during his experiences. For example, on page 16, Billy's character says "[...] later my hands cracked in love juice / fingers paralysed by it arthritic / these beautiful fingers I couldn't move / faster than a crippled witch now" (lines 18-21). Realistically, this scene makes sense for a rough-and-tumble guy like Billy to have a sexual encounter and feel romantically toward a woman, but regarding the actual diction, descriptions like "arthritic" "beautiful fingers" that move as slow as a "crippled witch" really create a sensitive and vulnerable character. I think that Ondaatje uses the shorter poems to show the speaker a vulnerable, safer Billy, unlike the Billy we see in his prose or fiction; the conniving, story-telling Billy.
One of my favorite passages of prose in the collection starts on page 59. Billy is speaking and relays to us a story originally told by John Chisum: Livingstone, whom he had sung with, turned out to be a mad dog-breeder. This section of prose has a stronger narration than available through the small poems and brings life, death, and closure to Livingstone across the span of 4 pages. Lines like "When people asked him how the dogs were coming along, he said fine; it was all a secret system and he didn't want anyone looking in. He said he liked to get a piece of work finished before he showed it to people" help to progress John's story and to develop Livingstone's character (61). Although the prose works like a story, it broadcasts lines like "It was like breeding roses" in juxtaposition to the mad dog-breeding--this incorporates the poetic method of specifying Livingstone to the reader. For reasons such as that, I believe that the prose poems in CWBK don't necessarily work like pieces of fiction...they don't pick up where the last one left off and they link themselves to ideas that appear in the shorter poems. I had no difficulty reading them in succession to the shorter poems, but I do feel that they present Billy as a more guarded individual.
I viewed the pictures in the novel similarly to the way Virginia Woolf uses photos in Orlando (I'll bring a copy to class). Orlando is a biography of a fictional character and the transparent narrator is Orlando's biographer. Interspersed throughout the novel are photos of Orlando and his/her (he magically transforms into a woman halfway through the novel, making its biographical genre obviously fictional) friends. However, these photos are not really of the novel's characters, as made obvious through the appended notes. In CWBK, I could not help but to read the photos in the same manner...are these photos really of BTK and his friends? Why did Ondaatje pick those photos, real or not? This question riled me up to ask another question: IS THIS COLLECTION EVEN BIOGRAPHICAL IN NATURE AT ALL? I know that Ondaatje uses BTK's character to create a narrative sequence and shows us varied aspects of BTK, but does he fabricate occurences? He would have to. And I don't mind that at all--hearing BTK talk about sex in such a stereotypically/typically non-Western/rural/badass type of way is very gratifying.
Ondaatje Response
In the past year or so I've been very interested in the area called "Documentary Poetry." In high school, when my interest in poetry was first beginning to grow, I found an online article about Donald Rumsfeld being a "poet," while researching a project for English class. At the time I was confounded. Rumsfeld seemed to me certainly NOT a poet, but there it was, on the internet for the whole world to see. More than anything, I was captivated by the notion of an individual's words (even if they're Donald Rumsfeld's) constantly being extremely precise and poetic, which, being young and naive, I thought would be my modus operandi for a career as a world-famous poet. What I eventually gained from the Rumsfeld work was the notion of a reporting poetry, a poetry that, by using the everyday and a set of information thoughtfully, can revitalize poetry in the world today. Readers tend to seek out work that rewards them in someway -- my friend's mom reads Romantic poets because it is "fun stories" and she likes the meter; my friend reads Allen Ginsberg because he likes the social commentary and the outsider feeling he gets reading it. How can different elements of didacticism, narrative, entertainment, so on and so on... be harnessed by the poet?
As there's nothing new under the sun, when I eventually stumbled onto Rankine's Don't Let Me Be Lonely, I was glad to see there was someone trying to blur the lines. When I saw Rankine's reading last fall here at Pitt, I was extremely glad to see it being so capably handled. Somehow, in all of my reading and researching, I overlooked Ondaatje's The Collected Work of Billy the Kid until this class. I feel like Ondaatje's project is unique for its breadth and scope. I've read a memoir in verse, but never something as focused as Billy the Kid's mixed-media biography. Ondaatje manages to reveal Willam Bonney through various personal and second-hand details & accounts, pictorial evidence and even the lore that is the most familiar source of information on Billy the Kid. It is the way the Ondaatje manages to avoid cliche and legend in his project that interested me most after having read the book. Through consistent means of narrative, employing prose and verse, Ondaatje makes a credible and very human Willam Bonney. We see him with friends and lovers and in moments of terrible normalcy, like a calm evening. By avoiding the sensational, Ondaatje welcomes the reader into a more intimate relationship with the subject that any report or biography ever could.
Rumsfeld article: http://www.slate.com/id/2081042/
A good, recent blog about Documentary Poetry: http://kenyonreview.org/blog/?p=809
As there's nothing new under the sun, when I eventually stumbled onto Rankine's Don't Let Me Be Lonely, I was glad to see there was someone trying to blur the lines. When I saw Rankine's reading last fall here at Pitt, I was extremely glad to see it being so capably handled. Somehow, in all of my reading and researching, I overlooked Ondaatje's The Collected Work of Billy the Kid until this class. I feel like Ondaatje's project is unique for its breadth and scope. I've read a memoir in verse, but never something as focused as Billy the Kid's mixed-media biography. Ondaatje manages to reveal Willam Bonney through various personal and second-hand details & accounts, pictorial evidence and even the lore that is the most familiar source of information on Billy the Kid. It is the way the Ondaatje manages to avoid cliche and legend in his project that interested me most after having read the book. Through consistent means of narrative, employing prose and verse, Ondaatje makes a credible and very human Willam Bonney. We see him with friends and lovers and in moments of terrible normalcy, like a calm evening. By avoiding the sensational, Ondaatje welcomes the reader into a more intimate relationship with the subject that any report or biography ever could.
Rumsfeld article: http://www.slate.com/id/2081042/
A good, recent blog about Documentary Poetry: http://kenyonreview.org/blog/?p=809
Monday, January 12, 2009
berrigan and lerner response
i feel that these two books are knee deep in confusion, whether they intend to be or not. this confusion stems from each poet's goal of incorporating the sonnet form into poems that each poet must have known would prove to be challenging. berrigan's poems include characters of whom were some of berrigan's friends, lovers, and inspritations, as well as particular iconic american persons of whom were central figures in the time period berrigan wrote the sonnets. many of berrigan's poems are choppy and very unrefined or unedited-seeming, which probably is not the case as he most likely made this choppy writing the style that was most conducive to his aim at challenging the accepted sonnet form.
i feel lerner's poems are more successful in challenging and refiguring the idea of the sonnet form, though at the same time, like berrigan, the concept of pure confusion takes a strong hold of the reader. Lerner's characters seem to be a bit more elusive to an understanding of the poems, ranging from made up character's like Orlando Duran to repeated mentionings of Matisse. Lerner's book is filled with unique images and lines which keep the reader interested in finding out what exactly the poet might be getting at with the purposful confusion in the rest of the lines and poems. But at the end, at least at a first reading or two, Lerner's book feels over-exaggerated with intended cleverness and wit, rather than providing any kind of solid foundation for a reader to begin and remain on. When finding out what the Lichtenberg Figures were and reading of their relation to fractals, i was not able to clearly notice the similarities that might be found.
I'll admit that upon my initial reading of both the books i was turned off by the irrational juxtaposiiton of images amongst either unknown characters or uncertain messages.
i feel lerner's poems are more successful in challenging and refiguring the idea of the sonnet form, though at the same time, like berrigan, the concept of pure confusion takes a strong hold of the reader. Lerner's characters seem to be a bit more elusive to an understanding of the poems, ranging from made up character's like Orlando Duran to repeated mentionings of Matisse. Lerner's book is filled with unique images and lines which keep the reader interested in finding out what exactly the poet might be getting at with the purposful confusion in the rest of the lines and poems. But at the end, at least at a first reading or two, Lerner's book feels over-exaggerated with intended cleverness and wit, rather than providing any kind of solid foundation for a reader to begin and remain on. When finding out what the Lichtenberg Figures were and reading of their relation to fractals, i was not able to clearly notice the similarities that might be found.
I'll admit that upon my initial reading of both the books i was turned off by the irrational juxtaposiiton of images amongst either unknown characters or uncertain messages.
Berrigan and Lerner Response
Ted Berrigan’s The Sonnets opens with a poem that characterizes the purpose and aim of the collection. Berrigan’s book plays with variation of form and word formation while simultaneously telling a story. I honestly can’t say that I don’t know exactly what the story is, but the focus of the collection is on both content and configuration. Experimenting and “updating” the sonnet style of poetry, Berrigan freely navigates the effectiveness and failures of the form. Some of the most successful poems in the explorative sonnet form (successful meaning an effective and comprehensive use of form and language) are the ones addressed to different people (Marge or Ron). It is in these poems, like “XVIII” that the stories and form collaborate in a piece that encompasses time, comprehension, and creativity.
Time as well as arrangement played a questionable role in Berrigan’s collection. The book begins with six poems numbered Roman numerically followed by various traditional, modern, and regularly titled poems. The non-numerical poems introduce and reveal the story aspects of Berrigan’s work. Yet, there is a reason Berrigan chose to open with the numerically titled poems. I suspect that his reasoning behind this is to use the first six poems to play with and rearrange poetic techniques, while the next five titled poems bring in the substance of story. Consequently you have moved passed the beginning of the book when you reach the end of the titled poems, when substance meets sequence.
In comparison to Berrigan’s beginning, Ben Lerner’s introductory poems (in The Lichtenberg Figures) have a different focus. Lerner’s opening poem is very dark and violent, which is an underlying and sometimes surfacing theme throughout the collection. Much shorter than, Berrigan’s opening, the shift from the beginning of Lerner’s poems come after about the third poem. The first three poems setup the rebellion and negativity that will be explored throughout the book in relation to form, relationships, and events. Lerner uses the violence in the collection in association with his idea of form opposition.
I like and agree with Nicolette’s interpretation of the Lichtenberg Figures. The poem on page nine incorporates the idea of aftermath. Lerner composed a poem of responses, excuses, and reactions which emit the sense of frustration and anger found throughout the book. The mood and emotions of Lerner’s poems is not just the result of events, but also in response to what Lerner considers to be an unsuccessful form. Lerner’s explanation to his alternative style is embedded in his poem on page 10.
Time as well as arrangement played a questionable role in Berrigan’s collection. The book begins with six poems numbered Roman numerically followed by various traditional, modern, and regularly titled poems. The non-numerical poems introduce and reveal the story aspects of Berrigan’s work. Yet, there is a reason Berrigan chose to open with the numerically titled poems. I suspect that his reasoning behind this is to use the first six poems to play with and rearrange poetic techniques, while the next five titled poems bring in the substance of story. Consequently you have moved passed the beginning of the book when you reach the end of the titled poems, when substance meets sequence.
In comparison to Berrigan’s beginning, Ben Lerner’s introductory poems (in The Lichtenberg Figures) have a different focus. Lerner’s opening poem is very dark and violent, which is an underlying and sometimes surfacing theme throughout the collection. Much shorter than, Berrigan’s opening, the shift from the beginning of Lerner’s poems come after about the third poem. The first three poems setup the rebellion and negativity that will be explored throughout the book in relation to form, relationships, and events. Lerner uses the violence in the collection in association with his idea of form opposition.
I like and agree with Nicolette’s interpretation of the Lichtenberg Figures. The poem on page nine incorporates the idea of aftermath. Lerner composed a poem of responses, excuses, and reactions which emit the sense of frustration and anger found throughout the book. The mood and emotions of Lerner’s poems is not just the result of events, but also in response to what Lerner considers to be an unsuccessful form. Lerner’s explanation to his alternative style is embedded in his poem on page 10.
Barrigan/Learner
The first thing that I found interesting about Ted Berrigan's book, "the sonnets", is that this book went against what I believed sonnets to be. When I think of sonnets I think of Shakespeare's particular structure, believing that the form is pretty much cut and dry. This is not the case in this book; Berrigan works to creatively revive the sonnet in a way that is not boring and bland. He maintains the different elements that are past along with the tradition of sonnets, but twists and reshapes the form of the sonnet to fit his desires. To me this re-shaping of the sonnet is struggled against towards the beginning of the book, and then Barrigan creates a gradual move from the conventional into the experimental. Yet, the underlying form is not manipulated; he maintains the integrity of the sonnet while manipulating it.
Berrigan/Lerner Response
Lerner's The Lichtenberg Figures and Berrigan's The Sonnets seem a very ideal pairing. Both struggle with & against form, as Ryan has pointed out in his response, and I agree that Lerner seems to "win." Berrigan's book collects disjointed words, phrases, characters, et cetera and then forces these things into the lines and shapes necessary to the sonnet. As a reader, it becomes convoluted and, sometimes, contrived. The language isn't quite smooth enough to create an aesthetic of sounds, and its lack of rhythm isn't regular enough to seem an intentional device. From this, it must be that the words, and meanings are what the poet seeks to emphasize. The juxtaposition of images and language is so disparate the most common effect is confusion. Berrigan sometimes writes one image per line, but other times the images are enjambed or fragmented into whatever room is available in a given line. And this seems to me to be one of the major headaches of this work - it becomes too chaotic. My initial thought was that the inclusion of white space, the use of line breaks could help with the pacing of a peace, and provide the reader with a moment to collect himself. Berrigan eventually does make such a move in the later half of the book, and I found it helpful, but was disappointed because it seems the notion of "fitting" into the sonnet form remains too apparent in the poems.
Lerner, too, seems to struggle against the form, but I found his effort much more manageable as a reader. While images and language are still jarring and surprisingly juxtaposed, there is a maintained familiarity in the use and contradiction of cliche. I saw the same effort in Berrigan's book, concerning his inclusion of location and (often culturally-relevant) characters, but Lerner's decision to use language as the primary connection for the reader seems a wiser choice. For example, Ben uses the character of Orlando Duran several times, and the character can be as unknown and ambiguous yet revealed through familiar language. It is more difficult (for me at least) to gather meaning of language out of the positioning of a character than visa versa.
The major success of both of these books is the engagement of the reader in details. The narratives built across these works are apparent, but it becomes necessary to draw out every detail and repeated image/word/phrase/et cetera in order to gain the story being told. This is why the poems don't necessarily have titles, because they are all parts of one whole. Of course, this is true of most books, but in the case of The Lichtenberg Figures and The Sonnets, the notion of the whole is what is most important.
Lerner, too, seems to struggle against the form, but I found his effort much more manageable as a reader. While images and language are still jarring and surprisingly juxtaposed, there is a maintained familiarity in the use and contradiction of cliche. I saw the same effort in Berrigan's book, concerning his inclusion of location and (often culturally-relevant) characters, but Lerner's decision to use language as the primary connection for the reader seems a wiser choice. For example, Ben uses the character of Orlando Duran several times, and the character can be as unknown and ambiguous yet revealed through familiar language. It is more difficult (for me at least) to gather meaning of language out of the positioning of a character than visa versa.
The major success of both of these books is the engagement of the reader in details. The narratives built across these works are apparent, but it becomes necessary to draw out every detail and repeated image/word/phrase/et cetera in order to gain the story being told. This is why the poems don't necessarily have titles, because they are all parts of one whole. Of course, this is true of most books, but in the case of The Lichtenberg Figures and The Sonnets, the notion of the whole is what is most important.
Berrigan/Lerner
Examining these two books concurrently was an interesting exercise. The two "sonnet sequences" have,
superficially at least, a lot in common. Seeing how this relates to our seminar, I find the way
that both collections navigate the experience of moving through time to be striking. How does experience move through
time? The Lichtenberg figures are still-frames of the experience of being
struck by lightning, the problematic and violent sense of standing at one point in time and relating an
experience that spans many points. I think that this is what motivates the progress of both collections, they are attempts (and
failures) at capturing the experience of experience.
Both collections demonstrate the insufficiency of poetic form, specifically the sonnet, and show dissatisfaction
by attempting destruction of the form itself. As these collections progress, so too our expectation of sonnet progresses,
or degrades, as the case may be. Both books are pursuing the failure of established forms to convey our multivalent temporal
existence.
I admire deeply the attempt by both authors to subvert the historical importance of the sonnet form. No other poetic
form has inserted itself into Western culture quite so inextricably as the sonnet. All of history was at one point
conveyed by means of meter and rhyme. How can this possibly be the way to capturing experience? The limitation
of rhyme itself leaves little room to breathe. The authors are attempting to explore this failure by limiting
themselves formally and yet, neither author escapes the trappings of these established formal constraints. There are
occasions where the authors break from the traditional rules (Berrigan moreso than Lerner), but to move so completely
outside of the rules as Berrigan does in Sonnet XXXVI removes the author from any possibility of subverting the
form. One has to play by the rules in order to properly bend them. For Lerner, the sonnet in all its ugly
violence wins. He pushes the rules as far as he can, but in the end he is still a sonnet-maker. Berrigan on the
other hand almost completely degrades the sonnet at points, but to what effect? Many of the poems are nonsensical,
fragmented. Is it worth absolutely breaking the rules if one is left with nonsense?
superficially at least, a lot in common. Seeing how this relates to our seminar, I find the way
that both collections navigate the experience of moving through time to be striking. How does experience move through
time? The Lichtenberg figures are still-frames of the experience of being
struck by lightning, the problematic and violent sense of standing at one point in time and relating an
experience that spans many points. I think that this is what motivates the progress of both collections, they are attempts (and
failures) at capturing the experience of experience.
Both collections demonstrate the insufficiency of poetic form, specifically the sonnet, and show dissatisfaction
by attempting destruction of the form itself. As these collections progress, so too our expectation of sonnet progresses,
or degrades, as the case may be. Both books are pursuing the failure of established forms to convey our multivalent temporal
existence.
I admire deeply the attempt by both authors to subvert the historical importance of the sonnet form. No other poetic
form has inserted itself into Western culture quite so inextricably as the sonnet. All of history was at one point
conveyed by means of meter and rhyme. How can this possibly be the way to capturing experience? The limitation
of rhyme itself leaves little room to breathe. The authors are attempting to explore this failure by limiting
themselves formally and yet, neither author escapes the trappings of these established formal constraints. There are
occasions where the authors break from the traditional rules (Berrigan moreso than Lerner), but to move so completely
outside of the rules as Berrigan does in Sonnet XXXVI removes the author from any possibility of subverting the
form. One has to play by the rules in order to properly bend them. For Lerner, the sonnet in all its ugly
violence wins. He pushes the rules as far as he can, but in the end he is still a sonnet-maker. Berrigan on the
other hand almost completely degrades the sonnet at points, but to what effect? Many of the poems are nonsensical,
fragmented. Is it worth absolutely breaking the rules if one is left with nonsense?
Berrigan: Line Repetition
Shannon and Nicolette have already addressed Berrigan's use of repetition, but I'd like to spend a little time investigating the repetition of key lines across poems. In poem IV, Berrigan describes the city with the lines, "And high upon the Brooklyn Bridge alone, / to breathe an old woman slop oatmeal" (lines 4, 5, page 4). Line 4 helps to create a setting and a tone of lonliness, which he again addresses on line 6: "loveliness that longs for a butterfly!" However, that middle line, "to breathe an old woman slop oatmeal" alludes me at first. Is the figure/character/person in New York breathing in the smells of women, slop, and oatmeal? Is the oatmeal slop? Is the old woman breathing "slop oatmeal" and the syntax is reversed? I didn't come to a definite solution for that one, but I got a sense of the scene of the city (as Shannon or Nicolette alludes to).
On "Poem in the Traditional Manner," Berrigan reinstates a line from poem IV: "And grawk go under, and grackle disappear, / And high upon the Brooklyn Bridge alone, / An ugly ogre masturbates by ear" (emphasis mine) (lines 10-12, page 7). I immediately recognized that line (Brooklyn Bridge is a memorable image) and then tried to read it in this new context. There are some images in "Traditional Manner" that don't lend themself to a city setting (sea, Asiatic, etc.) but there are images that encourage a city scene (chevrolets, gat). What is important here, however, is that Berrigan is reusing a line in a different manner and calling the attention of the reader who has been reading these poems sequentially. Like Ben Lerner, Berrigan is messing with our perception of a sonnet and makes his poet-ing obvious.
Flip the page to "Poem in the Modern Manner" and observe Berrigan as he reuses and tampers with another line from "IV." Lines 3-5 read: " [...] But I am young, just old enough / to breathe, an old woman, slop oatmeal / lemongrass, dewlarks, full draught of, fall thud" (emphasis mine) (8). Unlike the repetition of "And high upon the Brooklyn Bridge alone," Berrigan almost rewrites the line "to breathe an old woman slop oatmeal" by turning it into a list through the addition of commas. Again, this line is very poignant and memorable, but now that I've read the book I wonder if there are less obvious versions of these repetitions and rewrites that I've missed. Regardless, these beginning examples show me that Berrigan's sometimes (often) confusing juxtapositions of images and loss of punctuation are a part of his larger project to make obvious the fact that these are, in fact, NOT traditional sonnets. Poems "IV," "Poem in the Traditional Manner," and "Poem in the Modern Manner" show how lines of images are not reserved for only one use or meaning, and how Berrigan is challenging the traditional sonnet form.
On "Poem in the Traditional Manner," Berrigan reinstates a line from poem IV: "And grawk go under, and grackle disappear, / And high upon the Brooklyn Bridge alone, / An ugly ogre masturbates by ear" (emphasis mine) (lines 10-12, page 7). I immediately recognized that line (Brooklyn Bridge is a memorable image) and then tried to read it in this new context. There are some images in "Traditional Manner" that don't lend themself to a city setting (sea, Asiatic, etc.) but there are images that encourage a city scene (chevrolets, gat). What is important here, however, is that Berrigan is reusing a line in a different manner and calling the attention of the reader who has been reading these poems sequentially. Like Ben Lerner, Berrigan is messing with our perception of a sonnet and makes his poet-ing obvious.
Flip the page to "Poem in the Modern Manner" and observe Berrigan as he reuses and tampers with another line from "IV." Lines 3-5 read: " [...] But I am young, just old enough / to breathe, an old woman, slop oatmeal / lemongrass, dewlarks, full draught of, fall thud" (emphasis mine) (8). Unlike the repetition of "And high upon the Brooklyn Bridge alone," Berrigan almost rewrites the line "to breathe an old woman slop oatmeal" by turning it into a list through the addition of commas. Again, this line is very poignant and memorable, but now that I've read the book I wonder if there are less obvious versions of these repetitions and rewrites that I've missed. Regardless, these beginning examples show me that Berrigan's sometimes (often) confusing juxtapositions of images and loss of punctuation are a part of his larger project to make obvious the fact that these are, in fact, NOT traditional sonnets. Poems "IV," "Poem in the Traditional Manner," and "Poem in the Modern Manner" show how lines of images are not reserved for only one use or meaning, and how Berrigan is challenging the traditional sonnet form.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Lerner/Berrigan response
Lerner’s The Lichtenburg Figures begins with the language of something minuscule and imprinted that questions its preservation or length of stay. This idea stems from the Lichtenburg Figures, which claims to be fern-like patterns that briefly stay after a lightning strike. This idea is mentioned in the second to last line of the first poem: “on forever in a good way? A brain left lace from age or lightning?” I believe the beginning defines the close attention Lerner has to things that appear after a violent happening, only to disappear shortly after. It opens the book to his creation of violence through language and juxtaposition. His cover enacts this phenomenon with a petri dish resembling the fern marks with a lot of black space. Also, the first and last poem of his book focuses on a line of poetry: “Real snow on the stage. Fake blood on the snow.” Lerner shows a sense of confusion in juxtaposition where the reality of things is skewed, much like his characters, shift in speakers, and heightened versus slang rhetoric.
I would compare this beginning and ending to the work of Lerner’s Topeka friend, Cyrus Console. Console’s Brief Underwater uses sequence poetry in order to show the failure of autobiography through detached narrative and heightened rhetoric. His first and third to last poem repeats the first line, “When I first saw the need for a study of this kind…” In relation to Lerner, Console reflects on assessment. Similarly, his ability to use observation or evaluation in order to discover the failure or violence of something brilliantly shows the failure and violence of language. Overall, both poets books’ function circularly, that the entire context of the poem “runs in a circle” to the first question of language or autobiography.
Also, poet Ada Limon, in her book, This Big Fake World, tackles the beginning and ending similarly to Lerner in format, but functions differently. Limon’s appropriately titled first and last poems, Prologue: This Big Fake World, and Epilogue: This Big Fake World, appear outside of her experiment: a story in verse. The poems allow for an omnipotent speaker to provide insight to the language and events of the characters in the story. This functions like Lerner’s in the sense that Limon’s book is assessed by these two poems as “before and after” pieces: a circular resolution that ties the book together.
Upon viewing how the book moves beyond the beginning, Lerner’s last line of the first poem and first line of the second poem have a conversation with the reader that invites the reader to move forward in assessing the violence of language: “The chicken is a little dry and/or you’ve ruined my life” with “I had meant to apologize in advance.” The speaker’s apologetic tone in a way serves as a disclaimer to the immediate violence and parataxis/syntaxis Lerner proposes in his opening poem: diving right into the assessment of language and juxtaposition. This opening transition defines the core of Lerner’s book. Instead of his book flowing through rising and falling action, it flows through parataxis (language next to another) and syntaxis (long and unraveling language). For example, page 38 appears to be a poem of cliché and made phrases, which have juxtaposed lines that propose and answer (parataxis): “‘Have you met my mother?’ I won’t dignify that with an answer” (Lerner 38). Also, some of his references focus on syntaxis: “I am Diego Rodriguez Velazquez. I am a dry/and eviscerated analysis of the Russian Revolution,” “I, Dr. Samuel Johnson, experience moments of such profound alienation…care of my sister, Elisabeth Forster-Nietzsche,” and I am Charlie Chaplin” (Lerner16). This shows confusion and violence in language through description and metaphor. This shapes his book in the ultimate experiment to have juxtaposition frame the violence of language.
Lerner’s shifting characters/speakers propose more confusion, where the linkage of poems becomes an interesting part to analyze. First, the poems do not have titles, just decorative symbols to separate each poem. I think this allows his book to connect by a sort of snowballing effect: where ideas are constantly questioned, and sometimes repeated. Also, it blurs the recurring characters, setting, and time zones. It’s hard to decipher where a poem flashes back to when it projects the future. This also resembles Console’s book, where it shows the failure of autobiography.
Looking closely at the linkage with dedication, the three poems for Benjamin operate on a confusing level as to who Benjamin is…is it Lerner himself? Pages 24-26 are in dedication. The obvious linkage is in the repetition of the last line to flow into the first line of the next poem. These three poems focus on the themes of metaphysics, at times asking rhetorical questions: “How then to justify our margins?” (Lerner 26). My question is, is Lerner asking himself these questions? Is he trying to make sense of the dreams he has and the thoughts he possesses? Is he trying to make sense of his poems? His book? Is this the theme he is trying to create in the book? Is this the ultimate question?
Many of the critiques of Lerner’s book is the attempted 14-line sonnets. I believe this is his experiment: I think Lerner uses a structured form of poetry in order to fully utilize the volta of a sonnet: the turning point of attitude/mood/tone of the piece. Even though his poem estranges from the traditional happy to sad tone of a traditional love sonnet or sonnet of beauty, he confuses the form with his tension of defamiliarized rhetoric and shift in narrative/speakers. However, he uses the traditional form of a sonnet in order to show the obvious violence of language.
Now for Berrigan…
Upon closely reading The Sonnets, I believe the beginning ends when the Roman Numerals start. It seems like the sonnets with titles, such as “Poem In the Traditional Manner,” begin the book off with some clever juxtaposition and parataxis. I am still questioning as to why Berrigan focuses on six Numeraled poems before introducting the titled poems. I’m not sure why they are stuck in the middle of the numerals. Does this reflect his carefully constructed “chaos?” It seems that his poetry flows in a spastic way, mirroring lines from previous poems, only to be incorporated in one fluid sonnet. I feel that Berrigan has a sort of “snowball” effect, where the poems individually represent a chaotic approach to understanding happenings in life, while one sonnet finally puts the lines together in a somewhat understood text. I especially like the links of the line: “On the green a white boy goes” (Berrigan 19). Also, I noticed the structure of his sonnets at the beginning of his book are fluid with no gaps, while nearing the end of the book, his poetry formulates gaps and pauses in the middle of the formal sonnet. This may show the failure of telling a perfect story or autobiography. I also like the idea of incorporating famous poets, actors, and public figures into his work in a way that makes these names familiar to him and the reader. It shows a nice tension between dreams versus reality. I think this is a major theme of his work along with the obvious theme of time. I feel that these two themes create a certain anxiety in his work, playing up the parataxis- having completely unrelated lines/objects/phrases being set side by side in a seemingly put together line of poetry. Quickly, I want to take note of the cover art. I mentioned in class about my first impressions. I believe the art was a representation of Americana, however, I was stumped by the feet with arrows. Here’s a thought: Does “Lord, it is time. Summer was very great./ All sweetly spoke to her of me/about your feet, so delicate, and yet double E!” (Berrigan 4) have any influence on the art? Does the arrow point to the division of how a foot can represent the double E? I see it. Am I crazy? This line is beautiful by the way. I’m curious as to who the her is and why is it positioned so I read that the Lord told her about his feet? Is there religious connotation to this? Does this represent the message Berrigan is trying to explain? :)
I would compare this beginning and ending to the work of Lerner’s Topeka friend, Cyrus Console. Console’s Brief Underwater uses sequence poetry in order to show the failure of autobiography through detached narrative and heightened rhetoric. His first and third to last poem repeats the first line, “When I first saw the need for a study of this kind…” In relation to Lerner, Console reflects on assessment. Similarly, his ability to use observation or evaluation in order to discover the failure or violence of something brilliantly shows the failure and violence of language. Overall, both poets books’ function circularly, that the entire context of the poem “runs in a circle” to the first question of language or autobiography.
Also, poet Ada Limon, in her book, This Big Fake World, tackles the beginning and ending similarly to Lerner in format, but functions differently. Limon’s appropriately titled first and last poems, Prologue: This Big Fake World, and Epilogue: This Big Fake World, appear outside of her experiment: a story in verse. The poems allow for an omnipotent speaker to provide insight to the language and events of the characters in the story. This functions like Lerner’s in the sense that Limon’s book is assessed by these two poems as “before and after” pieces: a circular resolution that ties the book together.
Upon viewing how the book moves beyond the beginning, Lerner’s last line of the first poem and first line of the second poem have a conversation with the reader that invites the reader to move forward in assessing the violence of language: “The chicken is a little dry and/or you’ve ruined my life” with “I had meant to apologize in advance.” The speaker’s apologetic tone in a way serves as a disclaimer to the immediate violence and parataxis/syntaxis Lerner proposes in his opening poem: diving right into the assessment of language and juxtaposition. This opening transition defines the core of Lerner’s book. Instead of his book flowing through rising and falling action, it flows through parataxis (language next to another) and syntaxis (long and unraveling language). For example, page 38 appears to be a poem of cliché and made phrases, which have juxtaposed lines that propose and answer (parataxis): “‘Have you met my mother?’ I won’t dignify that with an answer” (Lerner 38). Also, some of his references focus on syntaxis: “I am Diego Rodriguez Velazquez. I am a dry/and eviscerated analysis of the Russian Revolution,” “I, Dr. Samuel Johnson, experience moments of such profound alienation…care of my sister, Elisabeth Forster-Nietzsche,” and I am Charlie Chaplin” (Lerner16). This shows confusion and violence in language through description and metaphor. This shapes his book in the ultimate experiment to have juxtaposition frame the violence of language.
Lerner’s shifting characters/speakers propose more confusion, where the linkage of poems becomes an interesting part to analyze. First, the poems do not have titles, just decorative symbols to separate each poem. I think this allows his book to connect by a sort of snowballing effect: where ideas are constantly questioned, and sometimes repeated. Also, it blurs the recurring characters, setting, and time zones. It’s hard to decipher where a poem flashes back to when it projects the future. This also resembles Console’s book, where it shows the failure of autobiography.
Looking closely at the linkage with dedication, the three poems for Benjamin operate on a confusing level as to who Benjamin is…is it Lerner himself? Pages 24-26 are in dedication. The obvious linkage is in the repetition of the last line to flow into the first line of the next poem. These three poems focus on the themes of metaphysics, at times asking rhetorical questions: “How then to justify our margins?” (Lerner 26). My question is, is Lerner asking himself these questions? Is he trying to make sense of the dreams he has and the thoughts he possesses? Is he trying to make sense of his poems? His book? Is this the theme he is trying to create in the book? Is this the ultimate question?
Many of the critiques of Lerner’s book is the attempted 14-line sonnets. I believe this is his experiment: I think Lerner uses a structured form of poetry in order to fully utilize the volta of a sonnet: the turning point of attitude/mood/tone of the piece. Even though his poem estranges from the traditional happy to sad tone of a traditional love sonnet or sonnet of beauty, he confuses the form with his tension of defamiliarized rhetoric and shift in narrative/speakers. However, he uses the traditional form of a sonnet in order to show the obvious violence of language.
Now for Berrigan…
Upon closely reading The Sonnets, I believe the beginning ends when the Roman Numerals start. It seems like the sonnets with titles, such as “Poem In the Traditional Manner,” begin the book off with some clever juxtaposition and parataxis. I am still questioning as to why Berrigan focuses on six Numeraled poems before introducting the titled poems. I’m not sure why they are stuck in the middle of the numerals. Does this reflect his carefully constructed “chaos?” It seems that his poetry flows in a spastic way, mirroring lines from previous poems, only to be incorporated in one fluid sonnet. I feel that Berrigan has a sort of “snowball” effect, where the poems individually represent a chaotic approach to understanding happenings in life, while one sonnet finally puts the lines together in a somewhat understood text. I especially like the links of the line: “On the green a white boy goes” (Berrigan 19). Also, I noticed the structure of his sonnets at the beginning of his book are fluid with no gaps, while nearing the end of the book, his poetry formulates gaps and pauses in the middle of the formal sonnet. This may show the failure of telling a perfect story or autobiography. I also like the idea of incorporating famous poets, actors, and public figures into his work in a way that makes these names familiar to him and the reader. It shows a nice tension between dreams versus reality. I think this is a major theme of his work along with the obvious theme of time. I feel that these two themes create a certain anxiety in his work, playing up the parataxis- having completely unrelated lines/objects/phrases being set side by side in a seemingly put together line of poetry. Quickly, I want to take note of the cover art. I mentioned in class about my first impressions. I believe the art was a representation of Americana, however, I was stumped by the feet with arrows. Here’s a thought: Does “Lord, it is time. Summer was very great./ All sweetly spoke to her of me/about your feet, so delicate, and yet double E!” (Berrigan 4) have any influence on the art? Does the arrow point to the division of how a foot can represent the double E? I see it. Am I crazy? This line is beautiful by the way. I’m curious as to who the her is and why is it positioned so I read that the Lord told her about his feet? Is there religious connotation to this? Does this represent the message Berrigan is trying to explain? :)
The Lichetenberg Figures/ The Sonnets
Looking up “Lichtenberg figures” and discovering that they are branching electric discharges that appear on insulating materials. I was drawn to the fact that these discharges are 2D and 3D and are examples of fractals (a fractal being many things such as something that “is too irregular to be easily described in traditional Euclidean geometric language.”). While all this language is certainly beyond me in many ways, not knowing much about any type of physics or geometric language, I did see a distinction in the way these poems seem to have multiple meanings (2D, and 3D, etc) in their content as a whole and in particular words such as Kate pointed out. The undertone of many poems seemed to be that of creating a piece of writing, or practicing a way of life, as a lover, a politically invested person, or someone invested in language.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lichtenberg_figure
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fractals
Moving to Ted Berrigan...
Berrigan’s poetry in “The Sonnets” is pretty striking. From the beginning, there is a lot of repetition of words throughout single poems and throughout the book’s entirety. It almost seems a little overdone to me, but as the book continues on it seems to have a purpose. There is everyday language mixed with scientific and natural language, talk of the night and the sky, mixed with nursery rhyme-esque language (“Is there room in the room that you room in?) all in the first poem. Often, lines don’t seem to fit in sequential order with one another… having “I read / It’s 8:30 p.m. in
These poems are powerful because in a way they seem to be snippets of a life, of multiple lives, intertwined lives in multiple places. Often a poem contains multiple speakers, a French phrase, something that seems clipped from a newspaper, often only half of the whole of its importance. The natural is mixed with the sexual. There are questions posed, and while single sonnets stand linguistically by themselves as lovely pieces of art, its hard to stop reading the sequence, and its hard to stop trying to connect the people and the images that are repeated throughout the book.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Multiple Meanings of Words in LF
Hi all. It's Kate Litterer here. I'm doing a 2nd, closer reading of The Lichtenberg Figures and I've just chipped away at something in the page 3 poem.
I know that Lerner is depositing high diction throughout the poems (alongside and sometimes pushed up against or agitating "lower" or more colloquial language), but in Wiki-ing (I know, I should be OED-ing instead) I found 3 meanings for "valence" (line 12):
i. in Chemistry, a binding sight for atoms
ii. in Linguistics, the number of arguments a verb can have (like "it rains" has one; verb does one thing)
iii. in Psychology, a one-dimensional value to an object, idea, situation, etc; usually negative or positive (http://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/valence)
Because the "valences assumed" "baleful forms" (baleful=ominous), I thought that Lerner was possibly using example iii. and that the characters' valences are their judgments, which are ominous. These same characters are immediately addressed by the speaker: "My people, are you not // horrified of how these verbs decline-- [...]" (lines 12-13). On first reading, I thought that "decline" might mean go down in number, symbolizing a loss of action, which might somehow connect to the idea of stagnancy/inaction ("Like a blouse, the most elegant crimes were left undone" line 9). But when I Wiki-ed it, I found that decline can also mean to list inflected forms of nouns for case and number (like Ablative, Genitive, Nominative, etc. and single/plural) (http://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/decline#Verb).
So, now, if I think that Lerner is using "decline" to think of the ways that verbs act in regards to numbers, I wonder if "valences" might instead have dealt with ii. the number of arguments a verb can have. If that were true, then the tone of "baleful forms" may be multiplied significantly, and that the "winter light" may then increase coldness or bleakness.
And then I thought, Ben Lerner, your entire selection is confronting writing. Your first poem discusses "glyphs," your second discusses "substance [receiving] the shape of the instrument with which it's cut" (perhaps poetry=substance; the cutter is the poet, instrument is the diction?). Now, on page three, you discuss the "baleful forms" that arguments can have (which, I assume, can be quite negative and multiple). Just the fact that Lerner is using words with multiple meanings and applications suggests that he's making obvious the ambiguous number of ways of reading a poem; he's making obvious his handiwork as a writer, as the being who wields the instrument that cuts and impresses. Could poem three also be investigating the act of writing poetry? I think that it might, but I could be totally off the mark, and now I've got my eagle eyes out to look for multiple meanings in more poems.
If anyone has feelings about this or sees it in other poems, respond!
Thanks, Kate
I know that Lerner is depositing high diction throughout the poems (alongside and sometimes pushed up against or agitating "lower" or more colloquial language), but in Wiki-ing (I know, I should be OED-ing instead) I found 3 meanings for "valence" (line 12):
i. in Chemistry, a binding sight for atoms
ii. in Linguistics, the number of arguments a verb can have (like "it rains" has one; verb does one thing)
iii. in Psychology, a one-dimensional value to an object, idea, situation, etc; usually negative or positive (http://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/valence)
Because the "valences assumed" "baleful forms" (baleful=ominous), I thought that Lerner was possibly using example iii. and that the characters' valences are their judgments, which are ominous. These same characters are immediately addressed by the speaker: "My people, are you not // horrified of how these verbs decline-- [...]" (lines 12-13). On first reading, I thought that "decline" might mean go down in number, symbolizing a loss of action, which might somehow connect to the idea of stagnancy/inaction ("Like a blouse, the most elegant crimes were left undone" line 9). But when I Wiki-ed it, I found that decline can also mean to list inflected forms of nouns for case and number (like Ablative, Genitive, Nominative, etc. and single/plural) (http://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/decline#Verb).
So, now, if I think that Lerner is using "decline" to think of the ways that verbs act in regards to numbers, I wonder if "valences" might instead have dealt with ii. the number of arguments a verb can have. If that were true, then the tone of "baleful forms" may be multiplied significantly, and that the "winter light" may then increase coldness or bleakness.
And then I thought, Ben Lerner, your entire selection is confronting writing. Your first poem discusses "glyphs," your second discusses "substance [receiving] the shape of the instrument with which it's cut" (perhaps poetry=substance; the cutter is the poet, instrument is the diction?). Now, on page three, you discuss the "baleful forms" that arguments can have (which, I assume, can be quite negative and multiple). Just the fact that Lerner is using words with multiple meanings and applications suggests that he's making obvious the ambiguous number of ways of reading a poem; he's making obvious his handiwork as a writer, as the being who wields the instrument that cuts and impresses. Could poem three also be investigating the act of writing poetry? I think that it might, but I could be totally off the mark, and now I've got my eagle eyes out to look for multiple meanings in more poems.
If anyone has feelings about this or sees it in other poems, respond!
Thanks, Kate
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