"Life is integrated" - Don Van Vliet
"You gone need somebody on your bond" - Blind Willie Johnson
"I ain't got no use for your red rocking chair"- Doc Boggs
Monday, October 18, 2010
Improv Week 9
History
Robert Lowell
History has to live with what was here,
clutching and close to fumbling all we had--
it is so dull and gruesome how we die,
unlike writing, life never finishes.
Abel was finished; death is not remote,
a flash-in-the-pan electrifies the skeptic,
his cows crowding like skulls against high-voltage wire,
his baby crying all night like a new machine.
As in our Bibles, white-faced, predatory,
the beautiful, mist-drunken hunter's moon ascends--
a child could give it a face: two holes, two holes,
my eyes, my mouth, between them a skull's no-nose--
O there's a terrifying innocence in my face
Drenched with the silver salvage of the mornfrost.
---------------------------------------------------------------
To live with what was here, History has
all we had too close, clutching and fumbling --
how we die, it is so gruesome and dull,
never finishing, writing unlike life.
Death was remote; Abel is not so finished,
a flash-in-the-pan electrifies the skeptic,
like skulls, his cows, crowding against high-voltage wire,
a new machine, crying all night like a baby.
As in our Bibles, white-faced, predatory,
the hunter's beautiful moon ascends, mist-drunken--
Two holes, a child could give it a face: two holes,
them a skull's no-nose, 'tween my eyes, be my mouth--
O in my terrifying innocence there's a face
with silver salvage of the drenched mornfrost.
Robert Lowell
History has to live with what was here,
clutching and close to fumbling all we had--
it is so dull and gruesome how we die,
unlike writing, life never finishes.
Abel was finished; death is not remote,
a flash-in-the-pan electrifies the skeptic,
his cows crowding like skulls against high-voltage wire,
his baby crying all night like a new machine.
As in our Bibles, white-faced, predatory,
the beautiful, mist-drunken hunter's moon ascends--
a child could give it a face: two holes, two holes,
my eyes, my mouth, between them a skull's no-nose--
O there's a terrifying innocence in my face
Drenched with the silver salvage of the mornfrost.
---------------------------------------------------------------
To live with what was here, History has
all we had too close, clutching and fumbling --
how we die, it is so gruesome and dull,
never finishing, writing unlike life.
Death was remote; Abel is not so finished,
a flash-in-the-pan electrifies the skeptic,
like skulls, his cows, crowding against high-voltage wire,
a new machine, crying all night like a baby.
As in our Bibles, white-faced, predatory,
the hunter's beautiful moon ascends, mist-drunken--
Two holes, a child could give it a face: two holes,
them a skull's no-nose, 'tween my eyes, be my mouth--
O in my terrifying innocence there's a face
with silver salvage of the drenched mornfrost.
Pedagogy Forum Week 9
Plunging into the work of John Berryman this semester has provided me with a newly discovered appreciation of poetic form. If you had asked me earlier, I would have written it off--no doubt partly due to my own ignorance of it, but also, because I thought it was something archaic and long past in relevance.
Indeed, I agree with what Davidson and Fraser say in Writing Poetry that, especially in the outset of writing, to remain "committedly detached" from form and to "ride your drafts." Of course this is sage advice and promotes a wonderfully freeing writing environment. However, the authors also admit that to wholly ignore form would be, borrowing from Frost, "like playing tennis without a net." Ok, got it. Dig it. "Discover" form instead of writing 'into' it.
However, I also recall a class from a few weeks back where we discussed the imperative of writing everyday--possibly in relation to The Triggering Town, where Hugo mentions the famous Jack Nicholas quotation: "the more I practice, the luckier I get." In the same conversation, I also recall the mention of a Miles Davis quotation, which I located online: "When I am working on a piece of music, I will study the music, I will learn the music. Maybe that is what I meant when I said there is some kind of formal aspect to this, so I learn the melody, the chord progression, in preparation for my instrumental improvisation. Now when I improvise after learning formally these things, I forget them. I don't go up on the stage and think of them. I forget them and that is where the creativity comes in." I can totally relate to this as a musician. In fact, as a trained guitarist, the point at which I "forgot" my training, was the moment that I felt my creativity multiply infinitely.
So, while I'm reading Berryman, Lowell, Bishop--those confessionalists that gave a sardonic pat on the proverbial rear to the New Critics--I feel like I need to know about form, which I am embarrassingly ignorant of. Furthermore, in my own writing--while I feel I can grasp the "musicality" of words, I am but an novice. I feel I need to know these things, not only to watch how my favorite poets work in tthis sort of "give and take" with form, but also so I can ascribe it to my own writing--to see how I can, also, work with poetic form. It'll be a bit of catch-up game. Sign me up.
Indeed, I agree with what Davidson and Fraser say in Writing Poetry that, especially in the outset of writing, to remain "committedly detached" from form and to "ride your drafts." Of course this is sage advice and promotes a wonderfully freeing writing environment. However, the authors also admit that to wholly ignore form would be, borrowing from Frost, "like playing tennis without a net." Ok, got it. Dig it. "Discover" form instead of writing 'into' it.
However, I also recall a class from a few weeks back where we discussed the imperative of writing everyday--possibly in relation to The Triggering Town, where Hugo mentions the famous Jack Nicholas quotation: "the more I practice, the luckier I get." In the same conversation, I also recall the mention of a Miles Davis quotation, which I located online: "When I am working on a piece of music, I will study the music, I will learn the music. Maybe that is what I meant when I said there is some kind of formal aspect to this, so I learn the melody, the chord progression, in preparation for my instrumental improvisation. Now when I improvise after learning formally these things, I forget them. I don't go up on the stage and think of them. I forget them and that is where the creativity comes in." I can totally relate to this as a musician. In fact, as a trained guitarist, the point at which I "forgot" my training, was the moment that I felt my creativity multiply infinitely.
So, while I'm reading Berryman, Lowell, Bishop--those confessionalists that gave a sardonic pat on the proverbial rear to the New Critics--I feel like I need to know about form, which I am embarrassingly ignorant of. Furthermore, in my own writing--while I feel I can grasp the "musicality" of words, I am but an novice. I feel I need to know these things, not only to watch how my favorite poets work in tthis sort of "give and take" with form, but also so I can ascribe it to my own writing--to see how I can, also, work with poetic form. It'll be a bit of catch-up game. Sign me up.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Sign Inventory Week 9
Dream Song # 29
John Berryman
There sat down, once, a thing on Henry's heart.
So heavy, if he had a hundred years
& more, & weeping, sleepless, in all them time
Henry could not make good.
Starts again always in Henry's ears
the little cough somewhere, an ordour, a chime.
And there is another thing he has in mind
like a grave Sienese face a thousand years
would fail to blur the still profiled reproach of. Ghastly,
with open eyes, he attends, blind.
All the bells say: too late. This is not for tears;
thinking.
But never did Henry, as he thought he did
end anyone and hacks her body up
and hide the pieces, where they maybe found.
He knows: he went over everyone, & nobody's missing.
Often he reckons, in the dawn, them up.
Nobody is ever missing.
----------------------------------
Inventory:
* The poem shifts rapidly from opposing "voices." It juxtaposes rather "elevated" language to, what I can best describe as the opposite of "elevated"--uneducated, simple, typically "un-poetic" language ( Ex. "in all them time," "Henry could not make good.")
*Similarly, the poem also contains a number of strange syntactical inversions. (Ex. " starts again always in Henry's ears" "like a grave Sienese face a thousand years would fail to blur the still profiled reproach of" "Often he reckons, in the dawn, them up." This might be read as a facet of my first sign. However, I won't argue that these inversions are particularly "un-poetic" ( like I found the juxtaposition of "high" and "low" language to operate.) Instead, these syntactical inversions call attention to themselves in a poem that seems to place a strict emphasis on poetic form- it consists of three, six line stanzas ( much like the rest of The Dream Songs. I think some further research'll help here: is this a traditional form? how closely has he followed it?
*Alhough its form appears to be "definite", or "traditional," Berryman continually obscures any literal surface level understanding of this poem. (ex. "there sat down, once, a thing," "and there is another thing he has in mind.) What these "things" are the reader is unclear of.
*The poem appears fixated on some sort of guilt or regret. (ex. the thing is described as "so heavy." Further more, we see words like " weeping, sleepless" and the mention of a"still profiled reproach of." Lastly, the poem ends with Henry thinking that he has murdered someone. This is interesting in the poem, because, however obscure the surface level meaning, we know that Henry hasn't committed this act--"he went over everyone, & nobody's missing." It's interesting--the one thing explicit in a poem largely focused around guilt has not occurred.
*The poem contains one metaphor--more of a simile, rather--and its highly specific, perhaps the most specific image in the poem: " And there is another thing he has in mind/ like a grave Sienese face a thousand years would fail to blur the still profiled reproach of." Though its a highly specific image--probably referring the Sienese portraits of the Madonna--its totally buried in this weird moment of syntactical breakdown.
* I noticed a rather intricate movement through the three, six line stanzas. The first sestet focuses on the "thing" that "starts again always in Henry's ears." The second sestet revolves around what Henry sees: "the grave Sienese face would fail to blur," "with open eyes, he attends, blind." And finally the last stanza chronicles Henry's "reckoning" "them up."
*There seem to be a heavy preoccupation with negation here. Ex. Henry is "sleepless" and can "NOT make good." "the gave Sienese face FAILS to blur," though Henry has "open eyes" he is "blind." The bells say "this is NOT for tears." "NEVER did Henry" "end anyone." Finally, Henry finds that "Nobody is missing."
John Berryman
There sat down, once, a thing on Henry's heart.
So heavy, if he had a hundred years
& more, & weeping, sleepless, in all them time
Henry could not make good.
Starts again always in Henry's ears
the little cough somewhere, an ordour, a chime.
And there is another thing he has in mind
like a grave Sienese face a thousand years
would fail to blur the still profiled reproach of. Ghastly,
with open eyes, he attends, blind.
All the bells say: too late. This is not for tears;
thinking.
But never did Henry, as he thought he did
end anyone and hacks her body up
and hide the pieces, where they maybe found.
He knows: he went over everyone, & nobody's missing.
Often he reckons, in the dawn, them up.
Nobody is ever missing.
----------------------------------
Inventory:
* The poem shifts rapidly from opposing "voices." It juxtaposes rather "elevated" language to, what I can best describe as the opposite of "elevated"--uneducated, simple, typically "un-poetic" language ( Ex. "in all them time," "Henry could not make good.")
*Similarly, the poem also contains a number of strange syntactical inversions. (Ex. " starts again always in Henry's ears" "like a grave Sienese face a thousand years would fail to blur the still profiled reproach of" "Often he reckons, in the dawn, them up." This might be read as a facet of my first sign. However, I won't argue that these inversions are particularly "un-poetic" ( like I found the juxtaposition of "high" and "low" language to operate.) Instead, these syntactical inversions call attention to themselves in a poem that seems to place a strict emphasis on poetic form- it consists of three, six line stanzas ( much like the rest of The Dream Songs. I think some further research'll help here: is this a traditional form? how closely has he followed it?
*Alhough its form appears to be "definite", or "traditional," Berryman continually obscures any literal surface level understanding of this poem. (ex. "there sat down, once, a thing," "and there is another thing he has in mind.) What these "things" are the reader is unclear of.
*The poem appears fixated on some sort of guilt or regret. (ex. the thing is described as "so heavy." Further more, we see words like " weeping, sleepless" and the mention of a"still profiled reproach of." Lastly, the poem ends with Henry thinking that he has murdered someone. This is interesting in the poem, because, however obscure the surface level meaning, we know that Henry hasn't committed this act--"he went over everyone, & nobody's missing." It's interesting--the one thing explicit in a poem largely focused around guilt has not occurred.
*The poem contains one metaphor--more of a simile, rather--and its highly specific, perhaps the most specific image in the poem: " And there is another thing he has in mind/ like a grave Sienese face a thousand years would fail to blur the still profiled reproach of." Though its a highly specific image--probably referring the Sienese portraits of the Madonna--its totally buried in this weird moment of syntactical breakdown.
&usg=__ukvlOfq-FSDrhFyGDeg83BtQxgk%3D&h=533&w=711&sz=176&hl=en&start=0&sig2=aCtCRBIAzX6jwP33MHVkHA&zoom=1&tbnid=AMGjswBr9QlXEM:&tbnh=138&tbnw=165&ei=5Uy7TILQEIL78AbH9fWjDg&prev=/images?q%3Dsienese%2Bpainting%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26sa%3DN%26biw%3D1358%26bih%3D849%26tbs%3Disch:1&um=1&itbs=1&iact=hc&vpx=1060&vpy=335&dur=1455&hovh=194&hovw=259&tx=128&ty=77&oei=5Uy7TILQEIL78AbH9fWjDg&esq=1&page=1&ndsp=32&ved=1t:429,r:15,s:0){kind=link}
* I noticed a rather intricate movement through the three, six line stanzas. The first sestet focuses on the "thing" that "starts again always in Henry's ears." The second sestet revolves around what Henry sees: "the grave Sienese face would fail to blur," "with open eyes, he attends, blind." And finally the last stanza chronicles Henry's "reckoning" "them up."
*There seem to be a heavy preoccupation with negation here. Ex. Henry is "sleepless" and can "NOT make good." "the gave Sienese face FAILS to blur," though Henry has "open eyes" he is "blind." The bells say "this is NOT for tears." "NEVER did Henry" "end anyone." Finally, Henry finds that "Nobody is missing."
Junkyard Quotes week 9
"I give it you back when I finish the lunch tea"
"As we roll down the highway toward the setting sun, I reflect on the life of the highway man yum-yum"
-Robert Wyatt
"As we roll down the highway toward the setting sun, I reflect on the life of the highway man yum-yum"
-Robert Wyatt
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Free Write week 9
It is the armpit of the morning
and I am a factory: a column of smoke,
a swarthy hull striking deep in the drunken paws
of the blackstrap afternoon...
By contemporary standards, it felt twice
as important as the entire state of Mississippi.
You know what I'm talking about:
the rolling of those of four syllables,
the thing imposed on me like an obligation,
the breaking and tumbling of it into the half-lit sky.
Often in these long mornings, I consider, again those bird-shaped days.
Perpetually beginning again
and again--I just had something on my mind
and wanted to tell you about it.
and I am a factory: a column of smoke,
a swarthy hull striking deep in the drunken paws
of the blackstrap afternoon...
By contemporary standards, it felt twice
as important as the entire state of Mississippi.
You know what I'm talking about:
the rolling of those of four syllables,
the thing imposed on me like an obligation,
the breaking and tumbling of it into the half-lit sky.
Often in these long mornings, I consider, again those bird-shaped days.
Perpetually beginning again
and again--I just had something on my mind
and wanted to tell you about it.
Classmate Response week 9
This entry is in response to Melissa's free write entry from week 8.
Melissa,
I don't think you're alone in your concern about the poem project. The thought of leading an hour long, in-depth semiotic discussion of a poem freaks me out too. Here's how I've been thinking about it--maybe it'll help shift your perspective as well.
** You know what you're talking about. I've read many of your sign inventories, heard your comments in class--you always offer brilliantly excavated signs and ways to place them in historical/cultural contexts. It's a skill you seem to have down.
** I think the purpose of this poem project is to facilitate discussion, to activate collaboration . You're not giving a lecture on your analysis of a poem. Instead, think of ways you can bring your ideas to the table ( the stuff you've gathered from your own sign inventory, your interpretation, historical/cultural contexts) and also collect ideas from other members of the class. Remember, everyone should come prepared--taking notes and coming up with signs of their own. They're probably going to come up with ideas of their own that will surprise you, stuff you didn't originally see. For me, this is going to be the most important and helpful aspect in my project overall. I saw this happen to James in last night's class--a few times, as a class, we found a few possible signs that he didn't see on his own. Similarly, he went down avenues I didn't think of. In this way, when James sits down to flesh out his finished project, this collaboration will ultimately help him. I recall Dr. Davidson saying something to the effect of " come well prepared, but with no plan."
So, this is how I've thought about approaching this thing. Thinking about it this way helps quell some of the natural anxiety about leading class for an hour. I hope this helps.
Melissa,
I don't think you're alone in your concern about the poem project. The thought of leading an hour long, in-depth semiotic discussion of a poem freaks me out too. Here's how I've been thinking about it--maybe it'll help shift your perspective as well.
** You know what you're talking about. I've read many of your sign inventories, heard your comments in class--you always offer brilliantly excavated signs and ways to place them in historical/cultural contexts. It's a skill you seem to have down.
** I think the purpose of this poem project is to facilitate discussion, to activate collaboration . You're not giving a lecture on your analysis of a poem. Instead, think of ways you can bring your ideas to the table ( the stuff you've gathered from your own sign inventory, your interpretation, historical/cultural contexts) and also collect ideas from other members of the class. Remember, everyone should come prepared--taking notes and coming up with signs of their own. They're probably going to come up with ideas of their own that will surprise you, stuff you didn't originally see. For me, this is going to be the most important and helpful aspect in my project overall. I saw this happen to James in last night's class--a few times, as a class, we found a few possible signs that he didn't see on his own. Similarly, he went down avenues I didn't think of. In this way, when James sits down to flesh out his finished project, this collaboration will ultimately help him. I recall Dr. Davidson saying something to the effect of " come well prepared, but with no plan."
So, this is how I've thought about approaching this thing. Thinking about it this way helps quell some of the natural anxiety about leading class for an hour. I hope this helps.
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