So, now finally … after “everyone else” did it:
The reason is that I discovered that I did it already, I think before the change actually occurred but certainly in anticipation of it. And I was very pleased that – unconsciously – I AM still more optimistic than I feel. That was when I sampled a new playlist as part of my “anti-corona measures”, and the first song that got into it was “Wind of Change” by Y&T. I hadn’t listened to any of their music for over a year, I am sure. This CANNOT have happened by chance! But I only discovered it recently - when I was well enough to actually LISTEN to my music again. And loved it: subconscious text relationships – my favourite!
The reason why this is a good introduction to a post about poetry is that it IS poetry: “Wind of change WHISPERING strongly”. It actually is a good example for my implicit definition of poetry. Not that something I read IS a poem – short form, preferably in verse or at least containing some kind of binding element that makes the text close in on itself. Poems are certainly an environment where poetry often occurs, often probably in a way I don’t recognize, but still - in my recent experience – much less frequently than I thought. I noticed that my useful Oxford anthology is called: “The Oxford Book of English VERSE” – because it doesn’t limit itself to individual poems but contains lots of samples of verse taken from other – epic or dramatic – texts. But the title played into my observation that most of the poems I had tried were not very “poetic” – that what I was actually looking for is POETRY, not poems.
In my experience, poetry always works with some kind of contradictory construction or surficial inconsistency – something slightly or hugely disturbing - which in “modern” (=post medieval) poetry often is concealed/contained in a metaphor, but not always. (“Whispering strongly” is not a metaphor!). Irony, for example, can be extremely “poetic” as it is often based on a very subtle contradiction – sometimes quite difficult to trace. Talking with Claudia about “The Tyger” and William Blake, I discovered that his poems are a lot more ironic and playful than I realized. As I discovered, looking for and dwelling on inconsistencies – like “a marriage of true minds” or “whispering strongly” - helps me to get into a place where I can – and want to - act “poetically” myself. Never in a million years could I write a relevant poem, but I am always prepared to act on it. To let go of my simplistic and utilitarian view of the world in order to look out for what is really REAL.
And this means: real in a way that I am genuinely affected by it. There was a sad and very therapeutic reason for me to look into poetry when I realized the havoc the virus had wreaked with my life through social and sensual deprivation – without me noticing it at first. I don’t want to say that poetry can be the CURE, but it somehow raised my awareness of my state of mind. I realized that the reason to look into poems was that they are often a special “breeding ground” for poetry – which can occur in all kinds of literary contexts but somehow had ceased to do so – together with all the many(?) other exciting things in my life. Trying to revive this necessary feature, I was looking for the kind of text designed to express and excite a strong emphatic REACTION to some part of reality. To be able to tell what I am feeling, but also to feel connected. To try to strike this relation with another human mind – or lots of them. In this respect, the image of the American flag fluttering freely in the wind is certainly a poetic response, but the wind of change “whispering strongly” proved to be an even stronger one to the same thing – with the idea of all these social media channels silently buzzing, and billions of people’s minds and lives getting behind the message until nothing else can be heard anymore. Completely inaudible, yet so strong …
In a case like this – when I know exactly to what to react! – poetry is not at all difficult to understand. In fact, it is entirely irrelevant to what “Y&T” were reacting themselves because my reaction is instantaneous and complete. As it is often the way with pop songs. As I noted earlier, a Beatle’s song is an excellent means to COMMUNICATE feelings. “Everybody” knows the feelings it is referring to. At the other end of the scale, one of my current favourite songs – “Harmony Hall” by Vampire Weekend – proved completely impenetrable.
We took a vow in summertime
Now we find ourselves in late December
I believe that New Year’s Eve
Will be the perfect time
For their great surrender
But they don’t remember
Anger wants a voice
Voices wanna sing
Singers harmonize
‘Til they can’t hear anything
Thought that I was free
From all that questioning
But every time a problem ends
Another one begins
And the stone walls of Harmony Hall bear witness
Anybody with a worried mind can never forgive the sight
Of wicked snakes inside a place you thought was dignified
I don’t wanna live like this, but I don’t wanna die
(Ooh ooh ooh ooh)
I don’t wann live like this, but I don’t wanna die
Within the halls of power lies
A nervous heart that beats
Like a young pretender’s
Beneath these velvet gloves I hide
The shameful crooked hands
Of a money lender
‘Cause I still remember
Anger wants a voice …
Not just for me - Wikipedia doesn’t provide any context either, apart from the information that the dorm where the group had been founded was called “Harmony Hall”, which - even if the connection hadn’t been denied by members of the group, which means absolutely nothing, by the way! - doesn’t yield enough to make sense. I’d say, AS A POEM, I’d just dismiss it, but, being a song, the CONTRAST between the lofty tune and the eerie content becomes alluring and totally “poetic”. In fact, the choice of words suggests a traumatic, kind of damaging or crippling experience that left lasting wounds, and which might or might not have taken place in Harmony Hall …? There certainly IS a context – which makes me curious, but in this case it is not even my place to ask because the experience is obviously too PERSONAL to be revealed. And this might be the case for many poems, probably most of the poems that are truly “poetic”. It is certainly one of the reasons why somebody reacted in verse to a certain personal experience, not in long prose. Nobody expects them to explain everything. And there are already the two reasons I discovered so far why poems are often so difficult to read, compared to long prose or drama. With the latter, we usually don’t NOTICE the process of adding context all the time because there is so much content already in the text to choose from – and so much “non-subjective” content, as we don’t usually interpret this content as a PERSONAL choice. In fact, in my experience, taking the author into consideration is usually disruptive to the reading process. With poems, I am immediately presented with the difficulty WHICH context to add because there isn’t much. (Lots of poems, like “Dover Beach”, even leave gaps for the reader to fill in!) And because of this unique situation – that there is somehow the speaker-author and me in this, and nobody else - I am aware that I will never be able to add the COMPLETE context if I don’t know anything about them. Especially the kind of “sub-personal” stuff that I won’t find on Wikipedia … (It is nothing like a first-person narrator – whom we automatically suspect of “pretending”!)
Far from being able to overcome this difficulty, I feel as if I made progress insofar as I consider adding context not as a chore that has to follow certain rules but as some kind of game that I enjoy. I don’t have to find the “right” context – if this was even possible! – although, with poems, I have to be extra thorough and follow the text word for word, painstakingly fill in the gaps, and pursue every trail it lays out for me – as these are the rules of the game. This is what can become time-consuming and exhausting – at the moment, I am rather happy to slave at work and in my mum’s garden rather than hunting down poems! - but it is exactly what makes poetry so effective. I just acquired an absolutely fascinating poem which I cannot make head or tail of. Maybe I never will, but it is constantly tempting me to try. (Of course it’s ultra-scary …)
Not Waving but Drowning (by Stevie Smith, 1902-1971)
Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.
Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he’s dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.
Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.
I should be unable to add any context, as I cannot put my reaction into words – but the reaction is there nonetheless, and it is strong. Kind of horrified, yet there is an ironic twinkle all the same … Which means, IF I am reacting, I AM already adding context! In fact, I am doing this as soon as I start reading, and it only ceases when I stop. I am even adding context when I don’t understand a thing … which is kind of absurd. But, thinking about it, I had a few experiences of this kind that were some of the best I ever had reading. And the absurd idea of constantly trying to add context even when I am clearly unable to do it, somehow helps to explain it to myself. I remember reading Goethe’s “Märchen” (=“fairy-tale”) a long time ago at uni with absolute delight. It is probably the only “context-free” text I ever read, there is absolutely nothing in it that makes any sense, but it is absolutely beautiful to read nonetheless. It was one of the most intense experiences reading I remember, just the sheer delight that somebody might have achieved to write something like this, hundreds of years ago, and me able to read it … And right now I have a similar experience that is repeated every morning - or rather between four and half past four every NIGHT when I inexplicably wake up and cannot go back to sleep – with a novel called “The Master and the Margarita” by Mikhail Bulgakov, which is one of the few wonderful absurd texts I have read. Instead of being annoyed that I cannot sleep, I take up this book and read about half an hour before getting up, and I already know that my life will be sadly diminished once I am through with it. Nothing about this book makes the least bit of sense, I cannot get my head around all these Russian names anyway, and there is not a single character in it that I find the least bit interesting, so – shouldn’t be something I would enjoy reading! I don’t know – maybe it is just this feeling of being able to read something without any RESTRICTONS whatsoever that come from context. To CONSCIOUSLY exercise the freedom I ALWAYS have when I am acting poetically. When I am in a world where I can do absolutely everything.
And there is another observation I made: All these texts - except “Märchen” - are really about the most terrible things in life: oppression, danger, fear, isolation, death, mutilations, total chaos, and heartbreak … and it is delightful to move them about in this way, as if they were light as feathers, not dragging them along like heavy chains. Going about this for half an hour before getting up and into the yoke again appears like this unexpected privilege …
Weird, that THIS seems to be what really works. The way I most enjoy being alive - before anything else is added to it, before I START getting connected – and fettered – to anything. The way I enjoy being ALONE. (I don’t even want to read it at any other time of the day.) At the beginning of my post, it was all about being connected – trying to understand other people and feeling understood. But there appears to be the opposite as well which is important. It is like going on a brief trip to Antarctica every morning – something I always wanted, I think, but knew I would never do. To go where there would be absolutely NOTHING I understand. A feeling of total emptiness and isolation. But still I am here - where I understand nobody, and nobody understands me - but it doesn’t matter. I am here, and I am fine because I enjoy being alive and “doing it”.
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