RSS Feed

Monthly Archives: July 2023

Selected Poems 1980-2020 by Rachel Blau DuPlessis (Chax Press) A Long Essay on the Long Poem by Rachel Blau DuPlessis (University of Alabama Press)

Selected Poems 1980-2020 by Rachel Blau DuPlessis (Chax Press) A Long Essay on the Long Poem by Rachel Blau DuPlessis (University of Alabama Press)

Rachel Blau DuPlessis is an intriguing poet (including collaged visual poems) and critic. Her Selected Poems can’t help but feel centred around, perhaps grounded by, her Drafts project: 114 (+) cantos which rework, or ‘fold’, 19 poems six times over, riffing and refining, tangenting away from and interrogating the texts themselves and the author’s processes and poetical understanding. The sequence is both a challenge to and a critical deconstruction of some of the very male modernist long poems of sequences such as Pound’s Cantos and Olson’s Maximus project; and the long poem is also the subject of a recent critical volume.

There are under a 100 pages of poetry preceding Drafts in this Selected Poems, mostly fragmented lyrics, perhaps most akin to the work of, say, Rae Armantrout. The last line of the very first poem included here, 1970’s ‘A Poem to Myself’, acts as a kind of manifesto or flagging up of what is to follow: ‘Come in, come in, I say to all the fragments.’ Perhaps the most intriguing early piece here is ‘”Writing” from Tabula Rasa’, which is immediately followed by ‘Writing on “Writing”‘, which – in part – explores ‘Marginalization’, and the author’s desire to understand it but also create a form and writing that facilitates it:

     Setting the poem so there is a bringing of marginalization into writing.
     ‘No center’ of a section alternates with small contained sections.
     Sections contained by other sections, over writing, writing over, or
     simultaneous with. So that one section does not have hegemony. So
     the reader does not know which to read first, or how to inter-read.

Drafts, which follows, in some ways contradict this: the individual poems/cantos are numbered and presented in order, although of course they have previously been published individually, and the reader can also follow a poem through its ‘folded’ reversions using the included grid, which acts as a visual index.

The actual selection of poems from Drafts is intriguing, mostly presenting self-aware texts that explore a number of ways of writing about itself: redaction, a conversation on the page, and various declamations:

     I want polyphony
     I want excess
     I want no art object
     […]
     I want the wayward and unpredictable
     caused by anything
           (‘Draft 85: Hard Copy 15’)

     Trample the vanity of the poem!
           (‘Draft 107: Meant to say’)

This, however, is coupled with an awareness of the impossibility of weaving everything (or indeed, perhaps, anything) together, with the same poem going on to note that:

                  […] ; it is your archive as well as mine, this little
     piece of nothing, this
     part of the imaginary whole.

The selection of DuPlessis’ work concludes with excerpts from a pair of stand-alone ‘book-length collage poems’, which build upon two collaged texts in Drafts, and from an ongoing ‘serial poem’ Traces, with Days. As yet, although I have several volumes from this project, it hasn’t drawn me in in the way Drafts did and continues to do so. It will be interesting to see how it develops.

Hand-in-hand with the writing’s own self-evidenced poetics is the more academic approach of A Long Essay on the Long Poem, which explores some of the ideas mentioned above, particularly how to include everything, but also how to shape a poem, and indeed how to end it. DuPlessis notes that ‘Long poems may certainly be self-contradictory and oscillatory, dialogic’, here using the shift from ‘epic-polemic episodes’ to ‘lyric quest’ between books two and three of Olson’s Maximus as an example. The desire for inclusion is usefully explained as ‘Long poems become magnetic fields of ongoing events and materials in their discourses and commentaries, not isolated items or singular insights.’ 

Once an author accepts and embraces the notion of polyphony, inclusion, digression and segmentivity, they are able to – notes DuPlessis – invent or adopt a bewildering number of writing strategies. They can reinvent the quest or epic; they can write back to canonical works, reversioning and implicitly or explicitly critiquing and questioning; they can embed their work in a field of quotations (Pound) or paraphrase; they can adopt postmodern slippage, fragmentation and lexical or grammatical subversion or disruption (Ashbery); they can use appropriation and collage. DuPlessis also discusses ‘Confronting gender’ with varied examples of texts and statements from authors such as Alice Notley, Anne Waldman and H.D.; as well as considering subjects such as cognition, truth, conspiracy, numerology, and theology.

She is of course constantly aware that ‘A long poem may develop by rethinking its strategies and rationales as it is written.’ And if I am somewhat disappointed by the concluding paragraph of the book, which suggests not only that ‘the author becomes possessed by language’ but that ‘The poem finally chooses you’, A Long Essay is a thought-provoking and illuminating exploration of its subject, one that neither this brief review nor a single read can do justice to. 

Rupert Loydell 19th July 2023

Mr and Mrs Andrews Reframed by Lesley Burt (Templar)

Mr and Mrs Andrews Reframed by Lesley Burt (Templar)

An anecdotal style in this series of short poems and prose vignettes brings the three main characters to something resembling life. The tone is both stately and colloquial. Gainsborough is called Thomas, Mr and Mrs Andrews are referred to throughout as Mr A and Mrs A. It’s only in the penultimate poem that we learn Mrs Andrews’ name is Frances. The reader is invited to ‘Picture this’ as Mrs A, with echoes of Alice through the Looking Glass, ‘peers out of the portrait’, breathes on the glass and steps through to the ‘outside’. Her husband and the artist presumably follow her. For once she is taking the lead. 

Incidents and anecdotes occur in an intriguing mixture of countries and chronology. Mr A checks his Twitter feed and comments ‘I see we have taken Pondicherry from the French.’ Throughout, the background is colonial, wealth and status are based on property, exploitation of ‘slaves’ and ‘riff-raff’ is taken for granted. The cover design reveals a trespasser lying dead in a pool of blood. Mr and Mrs Andrews, the dog, the oak tree, the landscape of ownership, are shown as they are in the portrait. Mr A is holding his fowling piece and the caption reads ‘There was no right to roam in Gainsborough’s Day’. The reader is left to draw their own conclusions.

The characters are depicted skillfully. Mr A, true to his nature, is holding a gun in many of the poems. Verbs that describe his actions are ‘grunts’, ‘frowns’, ‘yawns’, ‘snores’. He is content to pat the dog, blast pigeons, wing pheasants, take satisfaction in his estates. He returns to his frame unchanged.

,

Mrs A ‘sighs’ and ‘whitters’, is careful to cross her ankles and clench her knees under voluminous skirts. As in the portrait, she comes over as passive and on display. She does at least have dreams of what might have been. At the end of the sequence, she returns to her canvas with the realisation that ‘men have framed my life’.

It is the character of Thomas Gainsborough, as Lesley Burt conveys him in Mr and Mrs Andrews Reframed, that interests me most. Before she climbs out of the portrait, Mrs A ‘unclenches her knees’. I feel there is a sense of ‘the gaze’ in these poems, the way that someone or something being gazed at becomes an object, there is a hint of voyeurism. ‘In the Library’ shows a dubious side to Thomas as he calls to Mr A ‘Over here! Look at the librarian! Bare arse and bubbies!’ He licks his pencil but the implication is that he is mentally licking his lips. He goes on to paint a still-life portrait which includes a nude woman. 

So what exactly is reframed in this fascinating pamphlet? A layer below the surface appearance? An emphasis on predation? In Gainsborough’s portrait Mrs Andrews’ lap and the front panel of her skirt are left unpainted. There are several theories as to the reason. In the very last line ‘Mr A drops a pheasant in her lap.’ Maybe Gainsborough didn’t show this because the red bloodstains would have been too vivid a contrast with the lady’s blue silk gown. Lesley Burt leaves the reader to untangle many tantalising threads.

Mandy Pannett 12th July 2023

Spring Journal by Jonathan Gibbs (CB Editions)

Spring Journal by Jonathan Gibbs (CB Editions)

One of the most memorable seminars on my Creative Writing MA* several decades ago was the first on the Long Poem and Poem Sequence module. We were divided into small groups, mostly with people we didn’t know, and asked to start a translation of Beowulf from the original text. In the second half of the session we read and discussed Louis MacNeice’s ‘Autumn Journal’, and were set the task of writing our own journal for the duration of the module.

Whilst I’ve always liked MacNeice’s poetry, and used several phrases from his poems for some early paintings of mine, ‘Autumn Journal’ had eluded my attention. What a wonderful text it is, each canto offering a different perspective and take: a mix of the personal, political, social comment along with observations of the changing seasons, all in a relaxed, conversational metre, with deft use of full, near and off rhyme throughout.

Unlike most of my MA seminar group’s journals, Jonathan Gibbs’ Spring Journal follows the form and shape of MacNeice almost to the letter: 24 numbered cantos written from March to August 2020, bearing witness not only to the arrival of summer and departure of spring but to covid rules and regulations, news items, familial relationships and his own fluctuating emotions. It also sometimes directly addresses MacNeice, as well as dropping in allusions to and lines from other poems of his, or by directly misquoting or subtly changing some of the original Journal.

Having read Gibbs’ subversive and satirical novel Randall, a hilarious and bawdy reinvention and critique of the YBA London art scene of the 1990s, I was surprised to find that he had written Spring Journal. Hidden away in the catalogue of the wonderful CB editions in London (if you don’t know them do check them out) and mentioned in online dispatches by bloggers I had missed at the time, Gibbs had moved from originally tweeting his poem to having it read out loud each week in ‘an online salon’ hosted by a friend, thus setting a timetable for writing as well as offering a way of legitimising the project. 

Most cantos in the final book were written in under a week, although you wouldn’t know it, despite the sense of immediacy and commentary on display. On this page is an angry riposte to politicians, here a longing for parties and friendship, there a considered moment of reflection on Brexit or the fact that students at the university where Gibbs teaches would not have a graduation ceremony that year. There is an initial sense of separation from what is going on; even by the end of April Gibbs declares that ‘still no-one I know has died’, although it isn’t long before he is self-questioning the pan-banging for the NHS set against disorganisation and lack of funding, and by late May he is already worrying about the future:

          As infections decrease and we lift our heads and wonder
     If we understand the next part of the role
          We’re being asked to play in this terrible opera.

This sense of a tragic, bigger picture and how the world is going to cope is contrasted with lower key events: what Gibbs is reading and thinking, what his partner is doing elsewhere in their house, football matches; and also more considered responses to the concept of Englishness (as opposed to MacNeice’s Irishness) and Gibbs’ sense of separation and disbelief at what is unfolding, not to mention the government’s ongoing mismanagement.

We’re all very good at forgetting about things, even my nostalgic self, so one of the most important things about this book is the reminder of how awful being kept away from others and told to stay mostly inside was. How lucky those of us who had a space to sit outside were, how neighbours came together to have distanced drinks in the sunshine, how we all learnt to converse, play quizzes and games or argue, online with our cameras on. How we got used to phoning distant relatives we otherwise didn’t stay in touch with. All those things ceased pretty quickly once the all clear was announced but, of course, the consequences lingered, especially for our children and students, the elderly and those who had been unable to grieve or say goodbye to the dead.

Gibbs not only captures a sense of personal worry and foreboding, but also considers the bigger problems, with Canto XXIII offering a kind of prophetic declaration that appears to have totally come true. Having noted that ‘Crisis needs crisis management, and this bloody fiasco / Will ripple out beyond this week’ he goes on to declare ‘The crisis is not the virus but the government’. This whole section riffs on MacNeice’s suggestion in Autumn Journal that ‘the equation will come out at last’, with Gibbs nothing that:

      […] the bastard was right.
          The equation did come out for Britain,
     The war was won, and from it we fashioned
          The NHS and the welfare state,
     Everything we’ve grown up to take for granted
          And are losing now to toffs and spivs
     Who dress like lawyers and act like thieves
          And know not to waste a good crisis.

The next and final canto, XXIV, is laconic and quiet, if somewhat resigned. The narrator seems to have lost any sense of urgency, is thinking again about the book he was supposed to be writing, thinking about sleep but also about waking up, only to find that ‘we stagger about, stupefied and overwhelmed’, whilst ‘future generations will bear the brunt’ of what has occurred. But with a sense of inevitable acceptance he notes that ‘Time and the seasons are immune to human despair’, and that on one level things continue as normal:

     Swallows gathering on the telephone lines,
         As, close and slow, summer is ending in London.

Many ‘plague journals’ and other works written during the pandemic have been published but Spring Journal is somehow different. It is reflective, yes, but also at times militant and contrary, belligerent and opinionated. I was going to say it is honest, but ‘immediate’ is a better word, or ‘sense of immediacy’ a better phrase. It is self-questioning, doubtful, awkward, responsive and elegiac. Gibbs doesn’t pretend it is polished and honed, he says it is ‘carved from chaos’. That taming, capturing and exploration of the chaos of a few years back makes for an engaging and thought-provoking read.

*The other most memorable seminar was Tony Lopez’s introductory one to his Poetry module, where not only were we introduced to one of Tom Raworth’s poems that discusses how it is written and deconstructs itself, but were all asked to read out ‘Howl’, going round the room. A lot of the students were elderly and somewhat shocked by Allen Ginsberg apocalyptic, revolutionary, and belligerently sexual poem!

Rupert Loydell 11th July 2023