Monday, March 20, 2023

Things I wrote in Intercapillary Space, part 2





OK, here's a second tranche of things that I published on Intercapillary Space, or sometimes Stride. Covering approximately April 2007 to August 2009. Part 2 of 4. 


[My Intercapillary Space links: 



Richard Makin:

John Wilkinson:

Donald Ward:

Peter Riley:

Elizabeth Willis:

rob mclennan:

Van Der Graaf Generator:

Colin Falck:

Gunnar Björling:

Denise Riley:

"Athwart":

Pentti Saarikoski:

Anne Campbell:

Lisa Samuels:

Lisa Samuels / Rosanna Warren:

The Many Press:




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Friday, April 05, 2019

compound words

Painting by Kyli John (detail)


I've been seriously trying to improve my Swedish. Aside from translating Swedish from books, and learning a few Swedish songs, I've been following the Swedish news service SVT nyheter on an almost daily basis. 

That's brought up what I consider one of the most demanding aspects of Swedish vocabulary, the host of compound words, in particular those beginning with simple prepositions or other common prefixes. I've pasted my running list of common ones below... It's a tiny sample; there are thousands more.

Swedish is well known for being an agglutinative language, meaning that where in English we have a term of two or three words, in Swedish this tends to be presented as a single word. (For example, "chairman of the board" is "styrelseordförande"; "in terms of animal welfare" is "djurskyddsmässigt".) These "words" can be coined at will, so only the common ones are listed in dictionaries. But once you've overcome your fear at the formidable string of characters, this is not a big issue. When translating, you notice that it can make Swedish writing seem tautological to English-speaking eyes. A British botanist would say about his new handbook: "Every species is given a description." A Swedish botanist would say the equivalent of: "Every species is given a speciesdescription".

But here I'm talking not about agglutinative coinages but about ordinary compound words, the same thing that we have in English (probably in even greater numbers): words like "demanding", "consider", "translating", "description", "overcome", all in what I've just written. There's a difference, though. The English compound words are predominantly Latinate, and the verbal or nominal part often has no independent meaning (except perhaps as a rare archaism). Thus we have demand, command, remand, but not mand; invoke, revoke, provoke but not voke; describe, inscribe and proscribe but not scribe (vb). My strong impression is that in the predominantly Germanic compound words in Swedish the verbal part is usually meaningful on its own; as in "overcome".

The difficulty for a learner of Swedish is that the meanings of the compound words are so hard to guess, even though Swedish is quite a close relative of English. We share many of the prepositions and prefixes (for, in, under, over, up, out..). But every language uses prepositions in different ways (e.g. "knäppa upp" means "unbutton", not "button up"!). And it's pretty rare for a Swedish compound word to have a cognate English equivalent. 


An [ down](rare except in compound verbs)
Angelägen keen
Anledningen the reason
Ansats attempt
Ansenlig considerable
Anställda employees
Ansvar responsibility
Använde used

Av of, by, off
Avgift charge,fee
Avgå resign
Avgångsvederlag severance pay
Asked dismissed
Avslöja reveals
Avslutas is ended
Avtal agreement
Avtalsbrott breach of contract
Avvisat rejected

Be- only as prefix
Begäran request
Behållas retained
Beklagar regrets
Bekräfta confirm
Bemöta answer, deal with
Beredning preparation, (committee)
Beslagtas seized
Beställdes commissioned
Besviken disappointed
Betonar emphasizes
Betrakta regard
Betyda mean

Biträdande assistant

De- only as prefix
Dementera deny

Er- only as prefix
Erbjudit offered
Erfarenhet experience
Erkänner acknowledges

Fort fast, also prefix meaning continuing
Fortfarande still

Framgår appears

För for före before
Förbryllad puzzled
Förbudet prohibition
Föredra prefer
förenlig compatible
Föreslogs was proposed
Företag business
Företräds represented
Förfärande terrifying
Förfärlig dire
Förhållande relationship
Förhållanden conditions
Förluster loss
Förmodligen probably
förmögenhet fortune
Förslaget the proposal (compare föreslogs)
Förstå understand
Förstöra destroy
Förtal slander
Förtegen reticent
Förtroliga confidential
Förundersökning preliminary investigation

Genom through
Genomfört implemented
Genomslag impact

In in
Införa introduce
inställt cancelled
Inställda på. Willing to
Inverkan impact

konkurrent competitor

Med with
Medborgare citizens
Meddelat announced
Medfången cellmate
Medför cause
Medvetna aware

Ned down
Nedmontering dismantling
Nedrustning disarmament

Nu now
Nuvarande current

Observera observe

Om round, around
Omfattande extensive
Omsorg  care (health, social)
Omständigheter circumstances
Omvärlden abroad

På on, in, at
Påbörjades started

Re- prefix only
Reklam advertising

Till  to, for
Tillfrågad prompted
Tillfällig temporary
Tillräckligt sufficiently, enough
Tillträdde assumed

Underlag foundation, basis
Underrättelse intelligence, notification
undersökning investigation

Upp up
Uppdrag. Task, mission
Uppger states (says)
Uppgörelse settlement
Upplösning resolution (photo)
Uppmanade invited
uppmärksamheten attention


Ut out
Utförts performed
Utgjort constituted, posed (e.g. a threat)
Utreda investigate. Utredare investigator
Utrymmet space (eg advertising)
Utskott committee
uttryck  expression
Utträdesavtalet exit agreement

Åt to,towards åter back
Återhållsam restrained, reserved
Återges reproduced
Åtgärder measures (safeguards)

Över over
överenskommelse agreement
Övergrepp abuse
Överhuvudtaget at all
Övertänt ignited

If you look over the meanings of these words, you can see they talk about imagined concepts; things we can't directly see or smell or touch. They are, however, just the things that news stories are about. A buttercup doesn't make news. But a settlement, a resignation, an investigation, comprehensive yet restrained citizen measures... That's quite a different matter! This is the language of power, it's a toolkit for talking about impact, on us and on others.

On the other hand, this language is quite rare in poetry. For various reasons poets have usually preferred to evoke the tangible and the concrete: a mossy rock, a cheek, a branch, a boat.

It can seem like a progressive limiting. Shakespeare and Donne used a lot of commercial and economic terms; Wordsworth, Tennyson and Hardy, not so many. Arnold's "Scholar-Gypsy" is evidently in some sense a poem about worldly power. But it conducts its critical investigation by leaving the language of power decisively unspoken; by heading for the pastoral fields.

The Cambridge School, you might say, lost faith in this centuries-long project. They dramatically changed direction. Aware that the language of power is chiefly deployed by those who have a stake in power, it felt like poetry was neglecting a duty to contest the terms. The powers that be should not have it all to themselves, for instance to control and manipulate their euphemisms for profiteering, abuse and exploitation.

So Cambridge poetry aggressively and disgustedly incorporates the language of power. Its popular and establishment reception reminds me a bit of the reception of Schönbergian serialism, though without the press outcry. Everyone can understand the point of it but few can abide the results. Even a century later, it's rare to hear Schönberg's serial music on Radio 3. A pity, because it's a wonderful thing. I wish I felt so unconflicted about J. H. Prynne's Brass or John Wilkinson's Lake Shore Drive. I suppose I'm not quite so ignorant of poetry as of music; so everything appears more of a battleground. And besides, this poetry is art of our own time, rarely a matter of simple satisfaction.


Painting by Kyli John

[Image source: from Collision, Kyli John exhibition at the Herrick Gallery, 93 Piccadilly (9th - 14th April 2019.) Artist: https://www.instagram.com/kyli.john/ ]

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Wednesday, March 18, 2015

holiday reading


To start with:  two books that I didn't take.

In the checklist of things I had to do before leaving, one of the only unticked entries is "Buy Flora of Western Australia". This was my facetious term for a beginner's guide that would help me identify a few of the plants I might see as we walked about in this distant continent. It was a good idea, but I never got any further with it, or I might be able to tell you the names of the plants in these photos.

The second book that I didn't take was John Wilkinson's  book of essays The Lyric Touch. (I bought it primarily to read the piece about Andrea Brady; the one about Prynne is downloadable in the preview that you can find on Salt's website.) It was delivered a few hours before we left, and after skim-reading a few pages of Wilkinson's profoundly-considered but disputable prose I felt tempted to bring it along with me (plus I remembered reading his Lake Shore Drive while in Spain about ten years ago).  But I also knew that Wilkinson's text would try to make my brain work in a different way from the way it works on holiday. I need an emptier head than that.






As always I packed at the last minute, and books just got flung in. Here's what I took with me.

Xenophon, The Persian Expedition (Penguin Classic, Rex Warner's 1950 translation of the Anabasis). I don't know why. It was one of the treasure trove of mainly classic Penguiins that I had persuaded my pal Richard to give to me last September (instead of to the charity shop). I just remember having the thought that this was the only way I'd ever get round to reading it. It worked, too. I finished it in the departure lounge at Perth International. More thoughts about it here.

Tim Winton, Dirt Music. Laura's Lonely Planet guide to Australia had helpfully listed some authors from Western Australia. Of these, Tim Winton was the only one that showed up in the Swindon branch of Waterstones. Dirt Music is evidently a widely-admired modern classic in WA itself (I also found it on the bookshelf of the place we stayed in Fremantle). I was half-way through it by the end of the holiday, and when I read the rest it prolonged the sense of being there. As I later found out, Winton himself lives in Fremantle. Dirt Music is an epic of WA in which the backgrounds are huge, the foregrounds minimal; it centres on two main characters who for most of the novel are apart. Yet the book also strikes us foreigners as principally about this land, this life, and this language.

Marco Polo Map of Australia. This was the other thing I bought in Waterstones. (I had a cursory search for the "Flora of Western Australia" but you'd be pushed to find that sort of thing - i.e. field guides relating to countries other than the UK - even in the Piccadilly branch of Waterstones, never mind Swindon.) The map was totally impractical since our own rovings around Greater Perth occupied only about a centimeter in the bottom left-hand corner.  But it was fun to marvel at. Inevitably, my eye kept coming back to those huge empty bits like the Great Sandy Desert and the Nullarbor Plain. A couple of times while in Perth we chatted with people who had visited Kalgoorlie (the gold-mining town 600km inland). I got the impression that once was enough. One day we were briefly on the Great Eastern Highway ourselves (before turning off to Kalamunda); I saw some of the trucks with gigantic plant that was bound for Kalgoorlie. I got a breath, but only a breath, of the inhuman scale of the hinterlands.

Teach Yourself: Read and Write Arabic Script (John Mace). I bought this in Dubai and I take it with me every time we go back there (we book-ended our Perth trip with two short stays in Dubai; Laura's daughter lives there).  This time I didn't look at it for long enough to recover all that I'd learnt on previous trips. I did learn that the hamsa is implicit in the alif madda.

Berlitz Arabic for Travellers. Interestingly outdated phrasebook that I picked up in a charity shop somewhere.

Katrina Mazetti, Grabben i graven bredvid plus Swedish dictionary. I was in the middle of reading this when we set off. I think I read one dozy page while we were on the flight from Gatwick. Then I discovered that you could watch Wallander (in Swedish) on the Emirates In-Flight Entertainment system, so I did that instead.

John Donne's Selected Poems. Grabbed it because it was compact. I had time to read The Sunne Rising and Elegy on His Mistres Going to Bed before I accidentally left it propping up a wobbly table in Salty's at Quinn's Rocks.

Monica Rinck - Barque pamphlet containing a few of her poems, with Alistair Noon's translations. Packed at the last minute in response to a sudden feeling of guilt about not having taken any modern poetry. Never a good motive. Fittingly, I never opened it.

And a mini-volume of Shakespeare: Two Gentlemen of Verona. Designed to be carried with me at all times and resorted to in the absence of other books. It only emerged once, when Laura and I played a game of trying to read the tiny print upside down.



Inevitably, I also bought some books while I was on my travels. They are my favourite kind of souvenir.

Bram Stoker, Dracula. Bought at Borders Express in Dubai Marina Mall, because it was cheap. There wasn't a huge choice of literary stuff. The bookshop is notably strong on self-improvement books and books about how to succeed in business. It also has a whole section devoted to Sheikh Mo's publications (His Highness Sheikh Mohammed Bin Rashid Al Maktoum), such as Flashes of Thought (thoughts on leadership - we did read some of this) and Flashes of Verse (poems). I've had it in mind to read Dracula ever since I admired the first few pages while at a boot sale last spring. The admiration fluctuated as I read more of it.

At the same time, Laura bought The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari by Robin S. Sharma and she read it every night before dropping asleep. (We called it The Monk for short, a title which seemed to go better with Dracula.)

Rex Warner, The Greek Philosophers. When we got to Fremantle I had to go to the library to do some internet stuff, and here there was a book sale, just like you'd expect to find in the UK. All libraries are falling over themselves to offload the books that no-one borrows any more. I was determined to find something, and I chose this (obviously to go along with the Xenophon). Laura got Louise L. Hay's Meditations to Heal Your Life. We read a Meditation each evening, until Laura could improvise them on any topic.  As for The Greek Philosophers (commentary with selected texts), I eagerly read the Epicurus section but I found the rest a bit dull and I ended up donating it to the bookshelf at our AirBnB place in Fremantle. I once read a lot of Plato and Aristotle - and Anselm and Abelard and Aquinas. That was for my PhD. Now I begin to think that it isn't only "theory" that bores me. it's philosophy in general. Perhaps that's wrong and perhaps one day it'll change.

Henry Fielding, Jonathan Wild / A Voyage to Lisbon. This is a classic Everyman paperback that I've owned once before and have always meant to read, though I still haven't. (Desire re-ignited of course by a recent reading of Tom Jones.) Bought in Elizabeth's second-hand bookstore in Fremantle. Late-opening bookshops are a feature of Australian cafe strips that I admired very much.  

J.C. Ryle, Five English Reformers. Bought in a charity shop in Freo (they call them OpShops). Fiercely readable book with a mission of attacking the burgeoning Ritualist movement. This was the kind of controversy that C.S. Lewis tried to put behind him with his vision of "mere Christianity".

Dodie Smith, The Town in Bloom. A later novel (1965) by the author of 101 Dalmatians and I Capture The Castle. Bought from a newsagent in Mends Street, South Perth. Like the previous purchase, I bought it mainly because I was struck by ifinding it where I did, standing out from all the John Grisham and Stephenie Meyer. This was a reprint from 2012 by Constable & Robinson (Corsair). Who did they think would buy it? Smith's gentle London comedy is, however, very pleasing.

Robert Gray, Coast Road (selected poems). Almost at the end of my time in Oz, I returned to Crow Books in East Victoria Park (another late-opening bookstore) determined to buy some Australian poetry. The first time I'd gone in there, I'd goggled at, and felt dismayed by, the big books that I knew I ought to read if I had any pretensions at all to understanding modern poetry: Prynne's Collected (I didn't know then that it had a Fremantle connection) and Pierre Joris's Celan. Gray is by no means so essential, but he is an Australian poet and I liked reading his book very much, though of course it's distinctly mainstream and poetically conservative. There are always interesting reasons for taking any journey in poetry; poets are like other people, they are never normal.

At the last minute, while going to the departure gate to fly home from Dubai, I snatched up the free Dubai Pocket Guide published by the Department of Tourism and Commerce. This is actually pretty informative, for example about social etiquette and the region's flora and fauna.



There were some other things I read while I was away.

During our first stay in Dubai, Jazmin's boyfriend passed on to me a travel book called Hello Dubai by Joe Bennett. It was published in 2010 but is still a pretty good guide; the topic invites buffoonery but there's a lot of intelligence and information amid the comedy. Colin also wanted me to take away Ken Follett's World Without End (a massive medieval epic), and in a perfect world I'd have liked to, but I doubted I'd ever get round to reading it.

Bill Bryson, Down Under. This was on the Fremantle bookshelf and I read a couple of chapters while we were packing up to move on to our next AirBnB gaff. Clearly extremely readable and informative in the best Bryson manner.

The place we were going to was a beach-hut up at Quinn's Rocks, and there were some books on the shelves here too. I read as much as I could of Henning Mankell's The White Lioness, a Wallander novel; I had to leave it behind at the point where he was starting to fill in the South African background to the mystery.




[Well I know what those flowers are: Gazanias - maybe Gazania rigens. These are plants from southern Africa, naturalized here on coastal dunes, along with a low-growing Evening-Primrose (from America). There were actually a lot of other plants I recognized in the urban and coastal areas of Perth and Fremantle: pretty much the same sort of international collection that you'd also find in any Mediterranean resort - bougainvillea, oleander, palms, etc. However I did make some mistakes here. For instance elsewhere on the dunes I assumed I was seeing lots of another S. African plant, Hottentot Fig (Carpobrotus edulis); a plant you can also find in great quantity on Bexhill beach. Only when I got home did I realize that the plants I'd seen were Coastal Pigface (Carpobrotus virescens), which is endemic to Western Australia. And I hadn't even taken a photo!]

So as you can see, if you've been following closely, I only managed to finish three books in the four weeks I was on holiday (and two of those were on the flight home). Holiday reading is a scrappy experience, but that doesn't mean it isn't an intense one. With so many stimulated sensors, any few lines (even of the Dubai Pocket Guide) are enough to resonate hugely in these unfamiliar surroundings. There is a cross-current of thoughts from book to place. This can be pre-arranged (e.g. by choosing to read Tim Winton while in WA - his novel visits Perth several times)  but it's the unpredictable connections that are often most interesting. Mankell's South Africa matched the gazanias, obviously. I found the Persian Expedition of Xenophon seeming to pass ironic comment on my own oil-burning progress eastward. (The battle of Cunaxa took place somewhere near Baghdad International Airport.) As the Greek army threaded into Kurdestan, we chatted with a taxi-driver who was forced out of Iran by its theocracy. Count Dracula's ancestors fought the Turks while I ate Turkish food. J.C. Ryle's evangelicalism and combative martyrolatry provoked thoughts of present-day Salafism in Saudi Arabia and the UAE. Robert Gray's journalist's outlook asked probing questions about Dubai's free market. Reading Dodie Smith in South Perth inadvertently highlit all the ways in which Perth resembles a transformed London with a Thames swelling grandly like a black swan's plumage; full of pubs, colonial-terraced hotels, cricket and strong pots of English Breakfast Tea; all the ways,too, that London is insistently Australian.

Was this really thinking, or just a passive registering of flitting ironies and minor fortuities? Why does it look so much like columnism?



The books also chime off each other, as well as the world around us. For example:


The egret is shapely and tapering as an amulet
or a slim gourd
it's compact
as though smoothed between the hands
the neck
is kinked and finely drawn-out, which suggests a loose
length of vine
sharply trimmed-off, and it is seemingly ineffectual,
pensive.
One can imagine
as its claim that to pick the excess
from small life
is an honourable
scheme. It steps out of the stillness and stands
still again
and blue
like backyard smoke,
among the aimless insects of the sunlit rain.

(from Robert Gray, "The Creek").

We had seen white egrets around, but not blue ones. Gray's egret is, I suppose, the dark form of the Eastern Reef-egret (Egretta sacra). The gourd-shape is spot on, and the shaping between hands. "Amulet" is less obvious, as I'm not aware that amulets have any pre-defined shape - he might have had a specific one in mind.

Egretta sacra (dark form)
[Image source: http://ibc.lynxeds.com/photo/eastern-reef-egret-egretta-sacra/bird-sea]

But I also remembered that I'd just been reading this scene from Joe Bennett's Hello Dubai:

    Only a few yards from the ceaseless traffic a bird is bearing down on a flower bed, an egret. It is as white as a medieval virgin and shaped like a stretched Chianti bottle.
    The egret seems unfazed by the roaring vehicles, but when it spots me, the sole pedestrian in vehicle land, it stands still. I stand still. A few seconds and it resumes its progress, picking its deliberate way on huge splayed feet, reaches the edge of the bed and studies the ranks of plants, peering under leaves and flower heads and swaying its head like a charmed cobra. It freezes momentarily, then strikes. In its beak a lizard, gripped across the belly. From only a few yards away I can make out the tiny reptilian claws, grasping at the nothingness of air. The bird tosses the lizard twice to align it with its gullet, then points its beak at the sky and lets gravity do the rest. What started as just another day for the lizard has come to a drastic end. I can see the slight bulge in the bird's throat. The bird moves on and I cross the road. Perhaps five minutes later I've made it across all six lanes. I look back. The bird is hunting again.   

The Australian birds we saw were a joy. Australasian darters, giant moorhens, black swans, kookaburras, tiny doves, gulls with black beaks and birds like big terns with heavy heads. The crows (if that's what they were) were very tame. Their voices are not as harsh as British crows and the sound made us laugh because of the slow slide down in pitch at the end of a phrase.






The kind of openness to different kinds of book that I've tried to illustrate here can be put down to a healthy appetite for reading (though I don't myself think it's an adequate explanation).

Accordingly, you could argue that this consumption has nothing to say about the intrinsic quality of the books, nor about whether I myself really have any taste.

Kant said: "Hunger is the best sauce, and people with a healthy appetite relish everything, so long as it is something they can eat. Such delight, consequently, gives no indication of taste having anything to say to the choice. Only when men have got all they want can we tell who among the crowd has taste or not."

I'd rather trust my taste when I'm hungry, but there you go.







[I know this one, too. It's a Norfolk Island Pine (Araucaria heterophylla), a tree I'm familiar with from the Mediterranean (it's part of that international community I mentioned), but which is much more impressive here, rather closer to its small homeland (Norfolk Island lies between Oz and NZ). These mature trees are much less symmetrical than the younger ones I've seen in Spain. The growth of this one, above Fremantle South Beach, has clearly been influenced by the prevailing southerlies.

The northern-hemisphere eye may hesitate at that point. Is south on the right, then? Yes it is: down here the sun passes by to the north, and shadows fall to the south. I never stopped being childishly excited by this; nor by the moon changing phase from the "wrong" side;  nor by Orion being "upside-down". Late at night, under constantly clear skies, I marvelled at the three crosses in the southern sky.]





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Friday, January 23, 2015

magical moments in literature

[This post consists of raw notes towards an essay on Andrea Brady's poetry. The finished essay (eight months later) incorporated some of this, but not much.]


 *



 OK, it's my mission to dash something off for Intercapillary Space, but what about? Let's check out what's in my backpack.

Edward Thomas, Werner Aspenström, William Shakespeare... hmm, it's not quite what I'm looking for.

Try another pocket. Tim Allen's Default Soul. Well that's more like it, but people are going to be fed up with me writing about Tim Allen. Anyhow, that's where we'll begin.

*

Default Soul (Red Ceilings Press, 2014) contains 44 poems that are all in the same format (three four-line stanzas). "Stanzas" is quite a misleading term here, but at least you'll understand what the poems look like.

The end-paper says that it's the first of a trilogy of such books, and I hope that turns out to be true, because of all the various Tim Allen books I've read I think this is the most imaginatively intense.

It's a small pamphlet and a very good thing to carry around in a pocket because you don't need to read much to get a hit off it. Each poem consists of 12 sort-of-jokes. They interact in a mainly subliminal way.  If I claimed that I'd laughed out loud a few times, you'd think that I'm lying, but anyway I've definitely chuckled. I think one of the lines was

chilly on the terrace even in the cubby hole


When something's a limited edition of 35 copies it seems ridiculous to call it popular poetry, but it kind of is. If you can imagine one of those comic compilations of amusing or wacky newspaper headlines, then that's not too far away from what you've got here,

physicist's life is in ruins he insists



Or, "Tutankhamun's beard glued back on, say Egyptian museum conservators". Oh no, that one's real. But back to Tim's physicist. It starts as a joke, but it doesn't end there, because this is poetry. After the chuckle, the analysis: Why is this funny? Something about the unfettered emotionalism of "my life is in ruins" in absurd contrast to the way we expect a physicist to talk. And what does that expectation say about science, and about us?

Another thing that often comes to mind is the clues in a cryptic crossword. It's to do with the lack of articles and the replacement of names by categories.

young man blinks as old writer decomposes
or

bird in highest tree is singing the lowest note
or

church porch quite possible without a church

Next time round he should supply the grid.

Then there are fragments.

the handrail is a Letraset bird of prey

That makes perfect sense if you assume that it's a fragment, and is missing the opening word "On". So why miss it out, then? I don't really know, but it isn't just to create a gratuitous difficulty. Compare this by Andrea Brady:

the sheep's skull must have cracked
when it plunged onto the strand from the pasture.  (from "Table Talk")

That's a neat way of telling us that a sheep fell off a cliff but without mentioning the cliff. Again, not gratuitous difficulty. Somehow the process of working this out produces a kind of delight that isn't separable from the enhanced vividness that comes from perceiving something that you haven't simply been told.

This sort of delight is not what Brady's poems usually do. Highlighting it might be a false beginning. I guess I'll leave it hanging there.

Back to Allen. Put together these one-liners into quatrains and you end up with something a good deal more complicated:

audience of monsters and proud star gazers
judge retires to a convent to shave
cannibals in the attire of anyone called Rousseau
devastating poverty blights your first day
seabirds potter in their pyjamas
beach debris desert boy makes premier soaps
glyptic holy girl calculating grotto's dimensions
summer hols summary has a cold conviction

I can't resist laying this side to side with another teasing quatrain poem, J.H. Prynne's STREAK~~~WILLING~~~ENTOURAGE  ARTESIAN (Barque, 2009):

Cursive slow dropper forbear manipulated order to
save them allusive eat till suited, offering help
them single them fairly wit tackle. Into wicket
fainting team alloy white iron bait, aril did them
Claimant at first. Getting them out to margin few
to allow by pair iridescence gain the hold step,
strim loose panic back go slant copy as broken out
for them this counter waveform, less same fusion

I don't want to pre-empt what conclusions you might want to draw from this juxtaposition. But, in a general way, the difference strikes me this way. Allen's poetical challenge is the world-as-experienced; how to get it in to poetry, which is always resisting it.  That's the challenge in itself, and it's challenge enough. But I conceive Prynne's poetry as more sceptical about the coherence of  the world-as-experienced; he aspires to get beneath that illusion and to tinker with the workings. In that respect I see Prynne's enterprise as grandly romantic in a way that Allen's is not.



*


Robert Potts: "One yearns for a reading – academic or otherwise – that would start to explain Her Weasels Wild Returning(1994) or the impenetrable STREAK~~~WILLING~~~ENTOURAGE~~~ARTESIAN (2009)".


Streak Willing is an easy text in some ways. Most people will agree that the six stanzas on each page represent a discrete poem, a supposition confirmed by each sixth stanza ending in a full stop, which none of the others do. And it's quite easy to identify themes within each poem, so we can give the twelve poems working titles, like this.

1. closed box
2. broken / fragment
3. water / margin
4. hunger
5. enamel / bitten
6. would / eye / wood cut
7. them
8. front
9. rapid / soon
10. rest.
11. At for was.
12. some / same /ours

Other minutiae to ponder: 1. Each stanza begins with a capital letter which, except for the first in each poem, is purely metrical.  2. The poems contain few articles, but each has at least one (in Poem 10, "the" arrives only in the last line; Poem 11 has only "a"s).  3. The lines get gradually longer, so poem 1 averages about 12 syllables a line, but poem 12 averages about 16.  4. The poems are lyrical. The most basic lyrical word of all - "oh" - appears in poems 1,2,3,6,8 and 11. The word "how" is also prominent and I think usually ejaculatory. Besides a surprising amount of emotive, even anguished, language.  5. "At" is a basic word in Prynne's poems and is prominent here. 6. But the key word here is "same", which appears multiple times in every poem, and with special emphasis in the last.  It seems to be linked to both "some" and "shame",  also to the first syllables of "summary", "summons", "summer" "salmon", "simulate", "simper" etc.) 7. Following on from that observation, it's clear that the sound of words, or the sound of bits of words, may be a decisive factor in the patterning. Consider the "-ic" suffix that shows up in Poem 1 as "civic.. Tantric.. Galvanic.." Poem 9 plays a game with "-ic" and "x": "relics", "pernix", "proximal", "exit", "phalanx", "ethic", "ferric", "synthetic", "Suffix", "metric", "traffic". The closer you read, the more of such games you'll see. 8. The word "graven" appears in Poems 3 and 4, "limit" in 7 and 9, "livid" in 1 and 5, "defect" in 4 and 11, "metric" in 5 and 9.

John Armstrong has written numerous posts on the sequence. His key contention is that it refers to The Troubles and more specifically the blanket protest and hunger strike at the Maze Prison in 1980-81. This contention mainly took shape in these two early posts.

https://bebrowed.wordpress.com/2010/02/08/reading-prynne-very-very-closely/

https://bebrowed.wordpress.com/2010/03/14/reading-prynne-closely-a-vindication/

As an idea I think it has quite a lot to be said for it. Armstrong has pointed to the significant debate in leftist circles around the time of the split between the official IRA and the provos in 1969 - did violence between the working classes only aid the cause of capital?

But ultimately my view is that associating Prynne's poem with a single historical locus isn't right. To put it crudely, the striking differentness of Prynne's approach (so demanding to write, and so demanding to read) couldn't really be excused if all that lies behind it is merely an engagement with a single piece of history. My belief is that Streak Willing is a polysemous poem; it isn't about Long Kesh and Bobby Sands in the same sort of way that Richard Hamilton's The citizen and Steve McQueen's Hunger are. Prynne's text can interconnect many things.

For example, Poem 4, the "hunger" poem, uses the word "trucial". Now this can certainly be interpreted in a Northern-Irish context, since truces with the British government  (hypothetical or actual) are a major part of the history of the struggle.

But the Arabian context ("Trucial States", as they were before 1971 - subsequently the UAE) ought to be followed up for its own sake, too. For this single word directs us to the astonishing transformation of life in the southern Arabian peninsula that came with the discovery of oil; the auto-destruction of the Bedu way of life; the uncorrupt hungers and thirsts of the desert, as poignantly hymned by Wilfred Thesiger in Arabian Sands, inevitably replaced by the desalinated water and green villas of Abu Dhabi.

Is a willed hunger, in this context too, the appropriate protest to an oil-propelled globe and to the independent commercial zones of Dubai, the Middle East's London?

But I wouldn't want to argue that this, either, is the true hidden theme of Prynne's poem. I believe the text is a honeycomb of larger ideas that permits a searching meditation on the basic roots of our capitalist civilization, and it partly does what it does by glancing at multiple loci. But it's only a working hypothesis, and there's a greater element of faith in it than I'd wish.

A year after Streak Willing was published, Andrea Brady said: " I have profound misgivings about the political methods of Prynne’s late poetry". I'm taking that out of its context, which certainly wasn't the right moment to expand on that remark. Still, it was an interesting one. "Political methods" ... Not "political views". Not "poetical methods". Where is that going?

 *




OK. Andrea Brady, Cut From The Rushes (Reality Street Editions,2013).

"The Rushes", I think, is a sort of collective name for Brady's occasional poems: speedy here-and-now one-off poems which don't belong to a larger project such as the extended verse-essay Wildfire (Krupskaya 2010). What's cut from the rushes here, then, are two swathes: Embrace (previously published separately in 2005), and Presenting, which consists of more recent poems. The implication, maybe, is that there's a whole marshland of other uncollected poems out there. Which is quite an impressive thought, because Cut from the Rushes is an exhausting reading experience. Not for the number of poems , but for the demands made by each one.

The title might mean a bit more. At any rate, "cut" is a word that turns up very frequently in Brady's texts (as it does, also, in Prynne's). In one word it concentrates the grand themes of physical violence and cultural manipulation; public opinion is manufactured;  - as Brady noted in her Quid essay about post 9/11 grief.

[Actually "rushes" is a film-making term, but it was another eight years before I discovered this!

Rushes (AKA daily rushes or dailies) is a film production term used in some countries to describe the raw footage from a day's shooting. The "rush" refers to the speed with with the footage must be prepared — this was more of an issue in earlier days of movie-making when film footage needed to be processed before viewing.

]

You might entertain the hope that the occasions of the poems would be obvious, and in some cases this is true. E.g the much-discussed "Saw Fit" (Lynndie England, Abu Ghraib) or "The Gloucester, The Illustrious" (Operation Highbrow, evacuation of British citizens from Beirut in 2006) or  "Vision in Neutrals" (sub-titled A Coalition Pastoral). Reading the reviews, which naturally favour what the reviewer can talk about, you sometimes get the impression that the poems are all like this. But they're not. Most of the poems are highly oblique about their occasions. Most often the poem-titles are riddling puns ("Sight Unseen") or just riddles ("In Album Men") or personal notes ("To Castellina").

A poem like "In Album Men" has an occasion, all right, but not really a public occasion: more about holidaying in Turkey. The locations include Uçhisar in Cappadocia, Olympos in Lycia, and maybe the Lydian aqueducts.

 Mevsimlik sailors cut the Eurovision frigate in to hove 

See, I told you the word "cut" was a regular. "Mevsimlik" is Turkish for Etesian - the summer northerly of the Aegean, considered "a good steady sailing wind preferred by many leisure sailors" (Wikipedia). There's a sneer lurking here, about the leisure sailors. In the poem the sneer (and the leisure) becomes applied to the cultural tourists who file through Turkey like Xenophon's mercenaries. I.e Brady herself. While Mutability was very specifically domestic in its concerns, this was nothing new. Brady has always uncaringly done things that are supposed to typify mainstream poets: for example, writing about herself, family, relationships, the domestic and quotidian, and holidays. Of course the way she does it is distinctive. But the point is, she doesn't need to demonstrate where she stands in the poetry world.

This is surely a strength. After all, there are reasons why these subjects are so popular among the poets and audiences of today. They are itches we need to scratch. They are politically sensitive and much-cut-up battlegrounds. They are the place where we play out a dialogue of feeling and forgetting our complicity. They are where the money gets spent. They are the site of desire and of such values, visions and ideals as still remain to us.

In some other respects, too, Brady stands out from the mass of post-avant writing.

Much post-avant writing disdains the similes and metaphors that mainstream authors cherish. Brady is willing and able to deploy brilliant similes.

                                       Flock of friendly parables catch
the air like whiffle balls. Hard to loft, they are harder to gather.   

(Paradise Gardens 1 and 2)

(This reminds me that Brady is an American poet as well as a London-based poet. Precinct comes easier when the word is interpreted in a US way.)


will you recognize the innumerable frosted branches, the field used like a scratch-card, as your park?


(Mutability, p. 109)

smoke unbundled like measuring tape

(Hymn On The Nativity)

                                               hand
grenades, built to appeal to the hand
like an American football

("Thrown Fire", in Wildfire)


Most post-avant poems avoid a resonant ending: not open-field enough: they cultivate a muted fade. But many of Brady's poems end with a knockout.

                   so gorgeous
a hush falls down
the fault of language.
(To Be Continued)


Or this, a clincher that is also a brilliant simile.

Because you are righteous you open your
head every day, joy cut-in like a kite mark. 

(Commercial In Confidence)


Nevertheless, the poems are difficult. They never resolve into simple or single meanings. And yet the urgency of the poem challenges us to find meaning, and not just any meaning either.

The poems are difficult. That's less true of Mutability, a book that many will be able to read with simple happiness. In a different way it's also less true of Wildfire, because at least you know what the poem is about.


*






I need help with reading Brady. Fortunately there's some genuinely helpful stuff around on the internet.

The most searching piece is still the one by Marianne Morris that was printed in Jacket in 2006. This deals with Embrace.

http://jacketmagazine.com/29/morris-brady.html

I just think that Morris asks questions that fall less easily into the familiar terms of debate about Brady.

The other essential piece on Embrace is by John Wilkinson ("Off the Grid: Lyric and Politics in Andrea Brady's Embrace" (Chicago Review vol 53 no 1 Spring 2007, reprinted shortly afterwards in his collection of essays The Lyric Touch  - Salt 2007). This isn't available online, which is a damn shame.

[Yes, it is now, thanks to the Free Library:

http://www.thefreelibrary.com/Off+the+grid%3a+lyric+and+politics+in+Andrea+Brady%27s+Embrace.-a0163374237

]

But it may be some consolation to know that The Lyric Touch is a fairly indispensable book. The Brady essay is typical - probably, indeed, the keystone essay - in its extraordinary flow of insights and in its marked disputability. Both book and essay pretend to prove more than they prove, are oracular on big ideas and slipshod on small ones.

Though Wilkinson characterizes Morris' piece as "wayward" and takes specific issue with her reading of "Saw Fit". both essays are in some sort of accord inasmuch as they register much faith in Brady pointing the way out of a poetic impasse.

They're also in accord in tending to approach Embrace via what each sees as characteristic imagery (encountered in multiple poems). In Morris's case it's bodies being pierced and distended and split; in Wilkinson's case it's things being fed into slots, hatches, grids and grates.

To which may be prefixed Sam Ladkin's remarks, since they touch on most of the consensual opinions about Brady's poems:

Andrea's poetry has always disclosed within its fierce political insights the sentimentalities which are the stage management techniques of the political class. Her poetry frequently operates by bringing into alignment and misalignment the machinery of varieties of economy; the spaces and rhetorics which are their constituent cogs and the locations for conflicts of value. Hence Vacation of a Lifetime registers the debt of leisure and the domestic arena in the experience of alienation, and Cold Calling a conflict of ethical and legal economies. The new work in Chicago Review I think contains Andrea's most persistent attempt to salvage different economies of experience from such abasement. The task of making space is never free and delirious from rhetorical, financial and critical intrusions (and one of their subjects is how to save experience from rhetoric) but there is a persistent hope for the dominion of friendship, pleasure, and intimacy.

This is from his chatty Chicago Review Tour Report , c. 2007.


*

In connection with the above is Sam Ladkin and Robin Purves, "An Introduction" (Chicago Review, Vol 53, No. 1, Cambridge Poetry Issue (Spring 2007), pp. 6-13

http://www.thefreelibrary.com/An+introduction.-a0163374213

The essay is partly a counter-offensive against its own failure to introduce (the four poets, Andrea Brady, Chris Goode, Peter Manson, Keston Sutherland). They say in the first paragraph: "[W]e want to avoid the kind of reassuring exposition that would seriously blunt the impact of poetry that is designed to confront and unsettle."  (Ibid, p. 6)

Why should they feel that the poetry is so weak that they could snuff out its spark with a carelessly reassuring exposition?

There seems no reason to believe that exposition, reassuring or not, blunts the impact of poetry. It doesn't seem to have done so for the most exposited texts of all, the Bible and Shakespeare.

Exposition tends to sharpen and deepen impact. Impact is not an individual but a communal endeavour. A poetic that believes that the creator-author shapes impact with a lacerating edge, and then the edge is progressively taken off when anyone talks about it, is absurdly individualistic.

But why, anyway, should the introducers feel bound to assist the poetry in doing what, in their opinion, it's designed to do? Who claims that the design is as it should be? -; poetry is not self-validating. Poetry is a design, but it cannot control its reception. To treat it as a device that must be allowed to confront and unsettle - is to treat it as exactly what it isn't, a panacea (instructions on the bottle to be followed) rather than an intervention in a much wider debate.

But to continue.

The difficulties this poetry poses for readers are potentially daunting. Complex hierarchies of syntactical dependence have to be followed and retraced, highly condensed and thoroughly dislocated references to the social world and its myriad discursive fields have to be followed up -- and all the while readers' efforts are sabotaged by bathetic collapses, pratfalls, and aggression. It is the kind of poetry that seems to require introduction.And yet the quickness of prosody and critique refutes in advance the sure-footed preface that would measure up each poet and sing a dirge to finalize their interment. (Ibid, p. 10)

(Just who are these sure-footed prefators, these reassuring expositors?  Most modern poetry languishes for lack of any comment at all. Ladkin and Purves themselves would come nearly top of my list of people who can step with reassuring sure-footedness through this landscape. And good on them!)

We cannot circumscribe this work, principally because its most fundamental concerns circumscribe us; who am "I", who are "we", how am "I" made and, in that making, who suffers as a result? (Ibid, p. 10, continuing previous quote.) 
That's brilliantly and helpfully said, as is their characterization of the encountered difficulties. I feel here a strong sense of common ground - a recognition that we've read the same poetry and had similar experiences to contend with.,

Because contending is what it does amount to. Complicity ("who suffers as a result?") is a continuous preoccupation of Brady's poetry. As soon as you begin to take an interest in Brady's poetry it begins to turn personal: "Is this about me too?"

On that last sentence, they explain further:

... the truth that our identities, as we crouch over a laptop or eat a clementine on the subway, are dependent for their making and sustenance on the catastrophic exploitation of the unfortunate inhabitants of other places (Ibid, p. 10)

Tussling with the details of this should not be taken as implying anything but fierce agreement with its general drift. Nevertheless, it deserves thinking out a little more.  I might come back to this.

For the rest, their introduction shows strong influence from Wilkinson's "Off the Grid" essay, notably as regards its sketch of recent UK poetry history, objection to the "Cambridge" tag, Brady's supposed lack of self-regard...

The latter isn't something I disagree with, inasmuch as it importantly highlit the analytical and generalized concerns of Brady's poetry. Yet Marianne Morris (chided by Wilkinson) had seen that Brady's poems were of course highly aware of their own dazzle. And in fact since these essays were written her work has increasingly trodden a fine-line ghazal on the edges of the autobiographical mode; the distinction between personal and public is being forcibly broken down. Neither of which observations imply that Brady's poetry is self-regarding in the vaguely pejorative sense that Wilkinson or Ladkin/Purves seem to mean. Just that private virtues like "lack of self-regard" have little meaning in the complicit world we live in.
















*

http://www.argotistonline.co.uk/Brady%20interview.htm

Andrew Duncan interviewing Andrea Brady, soon after the publication of Wildfire (2010).

*

And finally a more recent review of the whole of Cut From The Rushes by Andrew Spragg in HixEros (January 2014). 

In the same month, Ashleigh Lambert reviewed Mutability: Scripts For Infancy for The Rumpus.

Vicky Sparrow's review of Mutability in The Litterateur (Dec 2013)

Neither of the above three pieces really attempt anything like critical engagement, just appreciation and a little elucidation. And most likely that's all I'll manage here.

*

Brady is by birth an American poet, and there are times when her poetry reminds not of Cambridge but of Indiana. "Child Stars on Trial"  sounds like it ought to be a poem by Arielle Greenberg. At the same time no-one would call Brady a Gurlesque poet, she's too committed to a central knot of ideas and values, she'll never just spin and incandesce. There are heavy costs to that commitment.  The reader too needs to decide it's worth it.

*

Complicity

This is a theme that is often mentioned by Brady's commentators. I'm talking about social complicity of the kind that educated people, such as poets and their audiences, all feel and have to make some accord with.

It's a highly complicated topic with a vast literature.

http://democracyeducationjournal.org/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1098&context=home
























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