In a letter to Paul Demeny, Rimbaud argues “All ancient poetry culminated in Greek poetry, harmonious Life.” For Rimbaud, this harmony involves both mind and body: “verses and lyres, rhythms: Action.” This is a far cry from the dominant perspective that sees poetry first and foremost as text. The poem, for the ancient Greek of Rimbaud’s imagination, is not simply a collection of black strokes on a white page (what he calls mere “games” or “pasttimes”), but a living enactment, an incarnation, a singing. While “voices and lyres” may sound a bit precious to the modern ear, the rhythm and action of a poet’s voice still adds an irreplaceable dimension to the poem itself. Inflection, emphasis, innuendo, sarcasm, silliness: all of these nuances become distinct only when a living voice articulates what is otherwise just a series of marks on a page. For what is text but the disappearance of speech?
Poetry as text is the disappearance of poetry as living speech. This is worth remembering. As text, the poem exists in the alienation of the poet from himself or herself (as well as the alienation of the speaker from his or her audience). Speech becomes an autonomous artifact like an unwound grandfather clock made of words. Rimbaud sees this movement from poetry as embodied speech to poetry as disembodied text as a narrative of decline–one of a vast number of human “Falls” from various hazy Edens. The fall from speech into textuality is one phase in the greater fragmentation of human reality. It is one of the originary representational acts, and thus stands at the beginning of all simulation (and dissimulation). Postmodernity could perhaps be understood as the historical culmination of the logic of disembodied textuality: text, divorced from voice, running rampant. Consider, for instance, the rootless language of popular marketing or the pompous, empty air of contemporary political discourse. Ours is an age of endlessly accelerating signification, defined by a paralyzing doubt in the possibility of meaning, legitimation, and authority.
But for every paradise lost there is (I would like to think) one to be regained. Paradoxically, the same technology that has intensified our self-estrangement (writing) has made possible technologies (such as digital recording) that are capable of reintegrating voice and text. Personally, I have grown up with this technology, so my experience of poetry as a living fact has been altered and enhanced by it. For instance, I remember the first time I heard Ginsberg’s “Howl” on a tin-speakered, late-night computer. After the fact, it was impossible to separate the prophet from the prophecy. Then, there are the vintage classics, such as Yeat’s “Lake Isle of Innisfree,” where you hear the Irish bard like a mellifluous ghost singing through static. You can hear Pound’s manic, intelligent cadences and Eliot’s ultracivilized, unsettling monotone . Somewhere you can access Kerouac’s laughter during a reading of Mexico City Blues and Berryman’s weird rest-and-half-rest-riddled versions of the Dream Songs . When read by the poet, the poem changes. And we are changed in the hearing.
The medium of audio poetry offers the possibility of a reunion between voice and text (and also between speaker and audience). In a sense, text becomes testament. Is it possible to listen to the passion of an Amiri Baraka reading and then consider the words as if they were simply “text” again? When poetry is animated by the voice, a new kind of intensity (which is actually a very old type of intensity) becomes possible; the recorded voice binds the enduring phrase to its disappearing creator. Could it be that technology will change the way in which we understand poetry itself?
I hope so.
This is one of the reasons I am excited about TMR’s upcoming Audio Competition. By giving priority to the spoken poem (not to mention fiction, drama, etc.), this contest marks a shift in the culture of the literary magazine. Text is no longer everything. I hope that digital recording technology will make possible not only a reunion of voice and text, but also a new era of experimentation and expanded artistic horizons. I can imagine a new medium of digital audio poetry with unique and yet-to-be-articulated aesthetic principles. The poem becomes open to ambient sound, the grinding of machinery, howl, echo and reverberation. It becomes pure soundscape. Again, the poem comes to include more “harmonious Life,” as Rimbaud has it. Perhaps in that opening up we will find something new in ourselves.
7 responses so far ↓
1
John Hendel
// Jul 11, 2007 at 12:47 am
Fantastic entry, Tim, and excellent way to describe the potential of using audio to enhance literature and to really get at the essence behind the poetry and voice. Hearing a text read aloud can certainly give it a special liveliness, which makes those recordings you linked to so compelling.
Language can be transformed into something incredibly powerful by a good writer and there’s no reason not to go that extra step and breathe life into it. While I typically enjoy the written word and stick to that, I was driving to Columbia from Saint Louis last weekend and listened to Plath’s The Bell Jar in audio book format and found it absolutely entrancing. Nuance really can translate into heartbreak.
2
Tim Hayes
// Jul 11, 2007 at 11:06 am
Thanks, John.
Just out of curiosity, which version of the Bell Jar were you listening to? The one narrated by Maggie Gyllenhaal?
As far as car trips go, my favorite audio books are On the Road (the version read by Kerouac himself) and Seamus Heaney’s translation of Beowulf (also self-narrated). Kerouac is archetypal and obvious — Heaney, perhaps, less so. When Heaney reads, though, you can really hear the Anglo-Saxon cadences of the poem. That’s another example of the reading enhancing the poem. I’m sure I hear it differently now.
3
JoshuaCRobinson
// Jul 12, 2007 at 1:47 am
Tim,
What a fantastic entry. You really strike upon some of the pivotal points of poetry that are often overlooked. The fusion of poetry and performance was unfortunately forgotten as time continued. I love that you emphasize what poetry’s original means of transmission was. Without the aural tradition of poetry we would never have such great works as Beowulf or The Odyssey to listen to on our car rides across the country. It is interesting that that same degradation of aural tradition takes place with theatre as well. Often times a person will feel qualified to discuss a shakesperean play, simply because they have read it. Without the visual and auditory experience of a play, or without the actual sonority of the poem expressed, the visceral punch of the art is lost. Kudos sir, Kudos.
~Joshua~
4
JoshuaCRobinson
// Jul 12, 2007 at 12:20 pm
Tim,
Kudos, this is quite an excellent entry; a number of wheels started turning in my head after reading this. I love how the entry touched on the issues of a de-evolution of language and impact due to the loss of the “aural” tradition The fact that particular emphasis is placed upon how we reach a point of lessened nuance and emotional impact. What an excellent call for more music to be culled forth from the printed page.
~Joshua~
5
Matt Pearce
// Jul 12, 2007 at 5:30 pm
I credit Patricia Smith’s spoken word with getting me interested in poetry again, so I love this post, and I love that TMR is doing this competition.
This also sort of goes back to that thing I was saying about graphic novels, and them “cheating” by bringing the specificity of image to a story. What’s that statistic on human communication, again? That over 90% of it is non-literal?
I think when poetry is read, we get so many more layers of meaning coming from the speaker. There are things like inflection and tempo and timbre in the voice that text couldn’t dream to replicate, so I think spoken poetry has its own ontology: it brings to the forefront a specific speaker, one who can speak on a much more immediate and instinctively specific emotional level, contrasted with the dreamland quality that can be the reader’s imaginative interpretation of the unaccompanied printed word.
I’m excited to see what we turn up.
6
Stephanie
// Jul 13, 2007 at 9:49 am
As I mentioned before in class, I am not too keen on poetry. It’s not that I don’t appreciate poetry and it’s contribution to the world of literature, but it’s not something I enjoy writing or reading too often. I do though, enjoy and feel I have a better understanding when I listen to poetry aloud.
In one of my past English classes we did a section on poetry and our teacher had us read the poems to ourselves write down what we thought about it and then listen to a recording of the poet reading their poem. Hearing someone else’s voice narrate what I just read, made the words come alive in a way that my inner voice couldn’t achieve. For me, knowing where to stress your voice and where to pause isn’t always easy to figure out. Having the original poet read their own works just seems to make more sense to me.
7
John Hendel
// Jul 16, 2007 at 10:00 pm
I was indeed listening to The Bell Jar read by Maggie Gyllenhaal. As my first audio book experimentation, I don’t have much to compare it to but it was at least interesting and made for a quick car trip. I wasn’t too thrilled with Maggie’s reading at first but got into it as I listened more.
Kerouac though….I think I may just have to find a copy of his reading and give it a listen the next time I’m on the road.
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