Category Archives: Visual Poetry

Tears in the Fence 83 is out!

Tears in the Fence 83 is out!

Tears in the Fence 83 is now available at http://tearsinthefence.com/pay-it-forward and features poetry, prose and visual poetry, flash fiction, fiction and creative nonfiction by Judith Willson, Kelvin Corcoran, Kym Martindale, Lucy Ingrams, Michelle Penn, Mandy Pannett, Rimas Uzgiris, Kenny Knight, A.W. Kindness, Daša Kružlicová, Wendy Brandmark, Anya Reeve, Cherry Smyth, Lesley Burt, Kasia Flisick, Steve Spence, Charles Wilkinson, David Punter, Andrew Henon, Nigel Jarrett, Rachel Goodman, Robert Sheppard, Rebecca Rose Harris, Sarah Watkinson, Jane Wheeler, Jeanette Forbes, Vincent De Souza, Cathra Kelliher, Norman Jope, Pamela Coren, Beth Davyson, Heather Hughes, James Sutherland-Smith, Phil Williams, Kareem Tayyar, Basil King, John Freeman, Susie Wilson, Robert Hampson, Jean Atkin, David Pollard and Penny Hope.

The critical section consists of the Editorial by Joanna Nissel, Aidan Semmen’s 2025 Tears in the Fence Festival Address, Richard Foreman on J.H. Prynne, Elźbieta Wójcik-Leese on Ágnes Lehóczky, Barbara Bridger on Virginie Poitrasson, Guy Russell on Mark Goodwin, Peter Larkin on recent British & Canadian Ecopoetry, Kym Martindale on Eliza O’Toole, Robert Sheppard on Tim Allen, Ian Seed on Jeremy Over, Mandy Haggith on Gerry Loose, Mandy Haggith on Katherine Gallagher, Mandy Pannett on Lesley Saunders, Kelvin Corcoran in conversation with Alan Baker, Graham Hartill on Caroline Goodwin, Mandy Pannett on Agnieska Studzińska, Keith Jebb on Gavin Selerie and Tim Allen, Vincent De Souza on David Miller, Elaine Randell on Chris Emery, Morag Kiziewicz’s Electric Blue 18 and the Notes On Contributors.

Nic Stringer & Sylee Gore: The Main Part [Is Gone] Jeannie Avant Gallery 3-15 April 2025

Nic Stringer & Sylee Gore: The Main Part [Is Gone] Jeannie Avant Gallery 3-15 April 2025

For two weeks, on facing walls of an East Dulwich gallery, two poets who are also visual artists presented works described as ‘a series of residuals’. These adjacent interpretations of visual poetry questioned how we read the visual, and asked: ‘what is the thing that remains, or emerges, when an essential part – material, memory, language – is lost?’ And what do we bring of ourselves to these traces? 

            Nic Stringer’s series of works derive from her processing of traumatic injury. When I visited the exhibition she pointed to a framed print in the top right hand corner of her wall – an intense orange bullseye, like the afterimage burned onto the retina when you have looked directly at the sun. The print is from a photograph of a rainbow around the sun, taken by Stringer in Portugal. I know this because she told me, but I wouldn’t have known from looking at it, or from the elusive title, ‘waves of inhibition then loss [Hyperactivity]’. The origin is immaterial: “You don’t know the starting point: so what?” This CBT approach is Stringer’s modus operandi: whether trauma or an opaque sky, she processes. Delegation seems important, too: we discover with illness that losing control and relinquishing aspects can bring surprise, and even delight. The manipulated black sky reveals hidden lightning forks. A drawing is photographed, printed, rephotographed, sent to a German laboratory and printed again, until there are only homeopathic traces of the source remaining. Stringer takes a found dragonfly – already a ghost of itself, its shadow thorax substantial as its thorax – and digitally pushes it to become hyperreal, an avatar of a dragonfly, echoing W.S. Merwin’s ‘After the dragonflies’:

‘now there are grown-ups hurrying
who never saw one
and do not know what they
are not seeing
the veins in a dragonfly’s wings
were made of light’

These evocations of precarity and chance, pulling the focus from micro to macro and hurling the context from past to future, transcend our mutable relationship with our own bodies to reflect on our place in the wider universe. 

            Poet, artist and translator Sylee Gore has said art is a method for archiving the ephemeral. In Maximum Summer, her debut poetry chapbook, she uses the sestina to capture fragments, the early days in a child’s life, with the heightened sensibility we experience at times of birth and death – Dennis Potter’s “blossomest blossom” – in exquisite six-line hits of time and place, encompassing meditations on verisimilitude and translation. These themes, and this aesthetic mindfulness, expand from the page and onto the wall in Gore’s work for the exhibition, As It Happens, an installation of cyanotype, collage and sculpture in conversation with the sestina.

            Six columns of six, plus a coda, incorporating blossom, magnolia petals and peelings of birch bark collected from the street outside the gallery were interspersed with cyanotypes made using an eclectic mix of source materials – Gore’s own collages, archival photographs by William Talbot, and the 1680 printing of John Dryden’s “Preface to Ovid’s Epistles”. There was space between these visual steppingstones to free associate: the blue sent me to Maggie Nelson’s Bluets; the ghostly decanters to Cornelia Parker…                

            Cyanotype is surely the perfect carrier for the ephemeral – Quink-blue photograms time-travelling from earliest photography, still fresh as a daisy, still fixing the quotidian in light. I felt something similar recently, this concertinaing of time, looking at a scrap of Emanuel Swedenborg’s blotting paper. But Gore insists on getting closer still, attaching the actual blossom to the wall, and by doing so, refutes the illusion that we truly hold on to anything. It’s all a translation. Her visual sestina has all the beats of her written poetry – pauses of space balancing with those exquisite hits of resonance and recognition.

Claire Collison 25th April 2025

Some Lines of Poetry from the notebooks of bpNichol, edited by Derek Beaulieu and Gregory Betts (Coach House Books)

Some Lines of Poetry from the notebooks of bpNichol, edited by Derek Beaulieu and Gregory Betts (Coach House Books)

bpNichol is not well known in Britain, although he crops up here and there in anthologies and reviews, and is a big name in the Canada poetry world. He died in 1988 and this book was published to celebrate what would have been Nichol’s 80th birthday. 

The book is a healthy and surprising mix of outtakes, works-in-progress, poetics, notes, translations, homages, visual poems and a lecture, revealing the myriad influences and confluences that informed Nichol’s writing. 

His visual poems are as likely to be concrete and typewritten as hand drawn, and in several places, he works on an idea in several iterations and variations. For instance, ‘fish swimming out of alphabet’ is opposite ‘nothing swimming out of alphabet’, both composed on the same day; and, elsewhere five ‘Turin texts’.

Sometimes, the mutating texts or drawings are laugh-out-loud funny, other times they are elusive and obscure: ‘some lines of poetry’ simply extends lines out from a handwritten word, poetry, down from the stem of the p, up and across from the t, up from the final loop of the y, whilst the bird of ‘Seascape With Bird’ is the u lifting off from a handwritten seagull. Both are wonderful, but despite knowing who Kurt Schwitters is and what he wrote, I do not ‘get’ the drawn shape of ‘Homage to Schwitters’.

When he is most successful, Nichols’ work reminds of me of Robert Lax’s. Playful, focussed and profound, with just enough going on to make a point, to draw attention to a facet of language or experience, to make the reader think, to say something in a different way.

Elsewhere in this beautiful paperback edition, work seems less finished, with various examples of annotations, ideas and possible revisions. Arrows suggest digressions or flights of associative imagination, sometimes it seems that poems are first imagined as instructions or diagrams rather than language, whilst ‘IM: mortality play’ presents revisions and scribbled notes in a far more traditional way.

The piece I have reread the most, however is the lengthy closer ‘Don’t Forget the Author’ a transcript of a 1985 lecture given at the Banff Centre for Arts and Creativity. Despite being a formal piece, it is in many ways the most personal and revealing work in the book and is an intelligent and informed piece of writing – along with the discussion that followed the lecture – about writing, editing and publishing, in the widest sense.

So, although there is mention of marketing and sales here, there is much more about writerly intent, contractual negotiations, book design, freelancing, audiences and reader/writer expectations and relationships. It’s clear that Nichol was a realist, sometimes prepared to compromise, but also that he positioned himself within the (mostly) small press world to get the work and books he wanted published, published in the way he wanted. 

The poems here evidence a playful, generous spirit. Yes, the work is often experimental, but it invites the reader in, to wander and wonder, whilst the lecture is serious but also self-deprecating, amusing and truthful. The same spirit informs the editor’s foreword, enticing readers to read on, to engage with what they call ‘Nichol’s wild, free literary thinking’, noting further on that ‘[h]is range is, as always, astonishing.’

Considering that this, as the blurb puts it, ‘is a map of hidden corners’ and ‘a guidebook to poetic play’, I am looking forward to engaging further with bpNichol’s main body of work.

Rupert Loydell 25th February 2025

Bardcode by Gregory Betts (Penteract Press)

Bardcode by Gregory Betts (Penteract Press)

Are the grids of coloured squares in this hardback book visual art, conceptual writing, asemic writing, concrete poetry or a Shakespearean joke? In his Preface Philip Terry uses the phrase data poem, which is technically correct and a useful description but does nothing to convey the sheer beauty and complexity of the work.

Greg Betts has translated the sounds in Shakespeare’s sonnets into colours and each of the 154 poems into grids, highlighting not only the syllabic count and Shakespeare’s playful disruption of it at times, but also the numerous rhymes throughout all the poems. Terry notes that ‘the music in Shakespeare’s Sonnets is not confined to end-rhymes, but is there in every syllable of every poem, demonstrating how the sounds of the poems are literally orchestrated, making liberal use of internal rhyme and repetitive sound patternings and modulations of form and colour to weave their complex music.’

‘So what?’ you might say, or ‘I knew that’, but Terry quite rightly points out that Betts’ unusual ‘translations’ are a form of original research, a methodology that could be used with other texts to understand and evidence the complexities of structure and form.

Betts has previous for this kind of slippage between text and art, unexpected sideways movements as the result of intelligent and playful lateral thinking and cross-curricular activity. One of my favourites, an early work from 2006, is the haikube, a Rubik’s cube (or a beautiful handmade wooden version of it) with words on that can generate small, imagistic poems when rotated. I use the book version which documents this work with my students – it’s simplicity and outcomes are a good way to introduce and discuss visual texts, processual writing and to move their understanding or poetry away from ‘self-expression’, the dead weight that many writers drag behind them.

What is hard to convey in a review is simply how exquisite these visual poems are. The various blurb writers use words such as ‘jewelled’, ‘heatmap’, ‘glow & shimmer’, ‘chromatic’ and ‘rainbow’s tune’, not to mention ideas of synesthesia, colour-coding and stained glass. Flick through the pages and the poems seem hypnotically repetitive yet each one is utterly different, similar but never duplicate; the colours constantly change and, here and there, extra syllables stray into the right hand margin, disrupting the grid, unbalancing the page.

The block of only 12 lines that comprise Sonnet 126 is visually shocking when it appears, the three extra syllables of the fifth line of Sonnet 118 creep almost to the very edge of the page, and at first glance Sonnet 154 appears to have less syllables in its final line, although closer inspection reveals two pale squares representing unusual and gentle sounds. 

There is a colour code at the back for those inclined to understand more and follow the process further, no doubt with Shakespeare’s original poems to hand, but I prefer to luxuriate in the deconstructed versions Betts presents us with, their singleminded focus on pattern and repetition, rhythm, rhyme and frequency, Bett’s clever and original mapping of language.

Rupert Loydell 15th September 2024

Find out more about the BardCode project at https://apothecaryarchive.com/bardcode-projects

SPIRALS: a multilingual poetry and art book edited by Hari Marini & Barbara Bridger (Tears in the Fence)

SPIRALS: a multilingual poetry and art book edited by Hari Marini & Barbara Bridger (Tears in the Fence)

This interactive book, edited by Hari Marini and Barbara Bridger, and artfully designed by Westrow Cooper, celebrates a ten year project created by the Part Suspended Artist Collective, and is available from

https://tearsinthefence.com/pay-it-forward/ 

SPIRALS, a collaborative multidiscipline, multilingual project involving artists with a shared feminist perspective, spanned a decade of activity from 2013-2023. Using the symbol of a spiral as an inspiration, a series of performance rituals, artistic interventions, performance writing, audio-visual manifestations, online projects, exhibitions, and theatrical events took place in the UK, Europe and beyond.

The book is divided into three parts. The first part explores time, topos, arrival and longing. The second part considers isolation, Covid and Women’s writing, spirals, circles, galaxies, turning points and breath. The third part features the SPIRALS open archive and selected contributions to that archive from 2022. Lockdown, with its enforced period of contemplation, and the associations of spirals as a geophysical feature serve to contextualise the juxtapositions of different languages and cultures within a common humanity. The work is profoundly ethnographic, feminist, and celebrates a togetherness and unity as opposed to division and conflict at a time when populist nationalism began to widen its appeal.

Involving poets, translators, and artists from throughout Europe, SPIRALS transcends the constraints of linear time and space, spiraling in and out of temporal boundaries. It initiates conversations that traverse waking and dreaming realms, navigating through cityscapes and landscapes, and forces the reader to think and feel more laterally. The interplay between interiority and exteriority creates a tapestry that invites contemplation and engagement through time and space. As Niya B writes in the poem, ‘an end and a beginning’:

every   seed    carries its own    memory

every   skin     carries its own    history

every   body   carries its own    weight

every   step    carries its own    intention

every   soil      carries its own    dead

The anthology includes a series of QR codes enabling the reader to access videos and other documents from a tapestry of collaborative events during a tumultuous decade. SPIRALS offers a ritualistic probing of origins, naming and time through the cycles of birth, life and death, ethnographic and archival materials, appendices, editorial notes, preface, and colour artwork. It is a joy to read.

Amongst the contributors are Niya B, Suparna Banerjee, Barbara Bridger, Sarahleigh Castelyn, Sally Pomme Clayton, Noèlia Diaz-Vicedo, Georgia Kalogeropoulou, John London, Erini Margariti, Hari Marini, Simon Persighetti, Nisha Ramayya and Beatriz Viol.

David Caddy 10th July 2024

Visual Poetry of Japan 1684-2023 edited by Taylor Mignon (Kerplunk!)

Visual Poetry of Japan 1684-2023 edited by Taylor Mignon (Kerplunk!)

In pre-modern Japan, according to Andrew Campana’s introduction to this new anthology, ‘it would have been absurd to consider poetry as something at all separate from visuality’. The first entry in the book is an ink drawing of a crow on a bare tree branch, its head tucked under its wing, accompanied by the text of a haiku by Basho. In Adam Kern’s translation the poem reads:

Upon withered bough
a crow has come to its rest…
autumn twilight

Campana provides a valuable summary of ways in which text, image, and even sound combined in traditional cultural practice. But modernist and contemporary visual poetry in Japan, he says, does not represent a ‘“return” to an older tradition’. Rather it emerges from the attempts of artists to grapple with contemporary realities, including the trauma of WWII. 

Despite the dates on the cover, the work featured in the anthology, with the exception of the Basho poem, all dates from the 20th and 21st centuries. Taylor Mignon, the editor, covers a wide array of practices in his selection. We have examples of asemic writing, calligraphy, collages, photographs of constructed objects and more. 

These kinds of practices, Campana argues, have ‘always been central to the story of poetry in Japan, but remained criminally underrepresented in collections and anthologies, both in Japanese and in translation, not fitting into the normative idea of what a “poem” is supposed to be’. The present anthology aims to set the record straight by showcasing a variety of works both by Japanese authors and by non-Japanese poets with connections to Japan.

There are many expressive pieces in the volume. ‘View From A Balcony Of An Early Summer Street’ (1925), by Hagiwara Kyōjirō, uses a diagrammatic layout and a mix of text and other visual elements to suggest a lively street scene. Yamamoto Kansuke’s ‘Buddhist Temple’s Birdcage’ of 1940 is a photo of a telephone handset inside a cylindrical birdcage, perhaps reflective of the suppression of opposition to the war by the Japanese authorities. Niikuni Seiichi’s piece ‘Rain’ from 1966, suggests a relentless downpour, and can be read as evoking the radioactively contaminated rain which followed the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. 

A section of the book is devoted to work by members of VOU, a group founded by the poet Kitasono Katué in 1935. His pioneering work in abstract and visual poetry influenced a younger generation of poets. The anthology includes work from the 1950s through to the 1970s. In 2022 Mignon published an anthology specifically about VOU with Isobar Press: VOU: Visual Poetry, Tokio, 1958–1878. The pieces included in this new anthology are by practitioners not represented in the Isobar book.

A group of Japanese book designers, all associated with visual poetry, are celebrated in another section, which draws on the collection of scholar and translator John Solt, who provides a short introduction to the work. 

Eric Selland’s asemic calligraphy in the ‘contemporary’ section is interesting, and Kunimine Teruko’s ‘Kusa (grass)’, consisting of the character for ‘grass’ in green ink, the top horizontal bar extending towards the left and right margins, has a pleasing, resonant simplicity. Adachi Tomomi’s AI generated 3D poetry is also intriguing. You can view examples of his work here.

The inclusion of non-Japanese writers is very much in the spirit of the Japanese avant garde, which from its beginnings in the 20th century sought to build international links, and which was in turn  influenced by like-minded writers and artists in the US and Europe. Campana, in the introduction, mentions the composer Toru Takemitsu. In the 1960s Takemitsu created four visual scores, including for Ring (1961). Takemitsu was conscripted into the Japanese army as a teenager and the horrors of the war left him with a deep revulsion for traditional Japanese culture. His early compositions were influenced by Western composers like Schoenberg, Webern and Stravinsky. John Cage was also an influence and it was Cage’s interest in Buddhism which eventually led Takemitsu to re-evaluate Japanese musical traditions. The composer’s visual scores don’t appear in the anthology, but they easily could have.

Visual Poetry of Japan provides a useful introduction to a range of practices which break with the idea of poetry as a block of text on a page. There are a growing number of anthologies focused on concrete and visual poetry and this volume is a commendable addition. For readers already familiar with concrete and visual poetry, the book makes available work not included in other recent anthologies.

Simon Collings 19th February 2024

Tears in the Fence 78 is out!

Tears in the Fence 78 is out!

Tears in the Fence 78 is now available at http://tearsinthefence.com/pay-it-forward and features poetry, prose poetry, visual poetry, translations and fiction by Mark Dickinson, Ian Seed, Eliza O’Toole, Lisa Pasold, Robert Sheppard, Lizzi Linklater, Mark Goodwin, Blossom Hibbert, Morag Kiziewicz, Kate Noakes, Kenny Knight, Matthew Carbery, Pratibha Castle, Lesley Burt, David Ball, Toon Tellegen translated by Judith Wilkinson, Chrissie Gittins, Carla Scarano D’Antonio, Siân Thomas, PQR Anderson, Elizabeth Wilson Davies, benjamin cusden, Basil King, Janet Hancock, Melissa Buckheit, Benjamin Larner, David Miller, Steve Spence, Amber Rollinson, Beth Davyson, Claire Watt, David Harmer, Sue Johns ,Kathleen McPhilemy, Robin Walter, Michael Henry, Elizabeth Parker, Alice Tarbuck, Joanna Nissel, Sarah Watkinson, Mandy Pannett, Charles Wilkinson, Valerie Bridge, Jane Wheeler, Alexandra Corrin-Tachibana and Naoise Gale,

The critical section consists of the Editorial by Richard Foreman, Letters to the Editor, Robert Hampson on Karenjit Sandhu, Jeremy Hilton on Kenneth Rexroth, Alan Baker on Yiannas Ritsos, Guy Russell on Denise Riley, Steve Spence on Ralph Hawkins, Sarah Watkinson on Katherine Towers, Andrew Duncan on Daniel zur Höhe translated by Anthony Mellors, Mandy Pannett on Mary Leader, Gisele Parnall on Kelvin Corcoran & Alan Halsey, Lesley Sharpe on Living with other people, Greg Bright on The Broken Word, Mandy Pannett on Andrea Moorhead, Peter Larkin on Mark Dickinson, Steve Spence on Luke Roberts, Deborah Harvey on Alexandra Fössinger,  Clare Morris on Carla Scarano D’Antonio, Kimmo Rosenthal on Marcel Proust, Steve Spence – An Update on the Poetry Scene in Plymouth, Barbara Bridger on Geraldine Clarkson, Morag Kiziewicz – Electric Blue 13 and Notes on Contributors.

David Caddy 7th August 2023

VOU: Visual Poetry Tokio 1958-1978, ed Taylor Mignon (Isobar Press)

VOU: Visual Poetry Tokio 1958-1978, ed Taylor Mignon (Isobar Press)

This intriguing anthology features the work of nine visual poets active in Japan in the 1960s and 1970s, artists whose work was largely ignored by the mainstream and which, as a consequence, has been little documented. 

The VOU Club, from which the anthology takes its name, was founded by Kitasono Katue in 1935. His pioneering work in abstract and visual poetry influenced the younger generation of poets featured in the anthology. Kitasono maintained links with a wide range of writers, corresponding with Ezra Pound, James Laughlin, Kenneth Rexroth, and the Brazilian concrete poet Haroldo de Campos. He was also involved in Surrealism. 

The poems in the anthology tend to the purely abstract, making little or no use of words and letters, even as graphic elements. Where text is used the artists generally shun Japanese characters, perhaps in reaction to a tendency of Western poets to see Japanese ideograms as exotic. The techniques employed vary from photographic media, to collage, to drawing. Dada and Surrealism are obvious influences. 

There are many delightful images in the book. One of my favourites is ‘two people eating the moon’ by Tsuji Setsuko, whose work has a strong Surrealist style.  She used a camera to create her poems, photographing her own collages. She edited an avant-garde magazine O which featured the work of several of the poets included in this book.

The influence of Surrealism, in this case the paintings of Magritte, is again evident in ‘anti-illusion 2’ by Shimizu Toshihiko. He was a jazz critic who wrote the liner notes for Japanese issues of albums by Ornette Coleman and Sun Ra, and whose collages appear on the covers of albums by the Stan Tracey Sextet and the Masahiko Togashi Trio. The Japanese characters in ‘anti-illusion 2’ include fleeting references to jazz.

Another interesting image is Seki Shiro’s ‘plastic poem: parole sans parole b-2’, part of a series featuring different letters incorporated into abstract visual designs. He was associated with Tsuji Setsuko’s O before founding his own influential magazine δ.

A number of the artists included in this anthology had or have international connections and have shown and published their work in Europe, North America and elsewhere. Seki Shiro, for example has exhibited many times in Europe. Takahashi Shôhachirô, who died in 2014, also exhibited internationally, including a joint show in Los Angeles with Ian Hamilton Finlay, and exhibitions with Fluxus artists Dick Higgins and Shiomi Mieko.

VOU regularly published experimental non-Japanese artists and writers in its journal. This international orientation, suggests Eric Selland in his helpful introduction, may be one of the reasons the Japanese mainstream, preoccupied at the time with defining a new Japanese identity, marginalized these artists. Another contributing factor might be the intermedial nature of the work raising questions about whether this was ‘poetry’ or ‘visual art’. A third reason for the comparative neglect of this group perhaps lies with Western poets being more interested in Zen and haiku than in experimental poetry. 

The anthology has an interesting history which underlines how precarious is the survival of much of this material. The editor, Taylor Migon, began researching Japanese avant-garde visual poetry more than twenty years ago. His desire to put together an anthology led him to the American scholar and publisher Karl Young of Light & Dust, who proposed publishing the work online and as a CD-ROM. A limited selection of work was posted online, but the project did not progress beyond this. 

Young died in 2015 but left instructions for his executors that the planned anthology with Mignon should be published. Funds were supposedly available for this in Japan but never materialized. However, Mignon was able to recover a great deal of material he had sent Young and had feared was lost. Paul Rossiter at Isobar Press then stepped in and VOU: Visual Poetry Tokio, 1958–1978, which is dedicated to Young’s memory, is the result.

An online archive of material published by Karl Young’s Light & Dust, available here, gives a good sense of the wider context within which Japanese avant-garde art was circulating. The website includes a section on Kitasono Katue, but also features a wide array of work from different parts of the world, work by bpNichol, Michael McClure, a Fluxus section, and much more. 

VOU: Visual Poetry Tokio, 1958–1978 is a fascinating addition to a small body of publications in English which document the avant-garde tradition in Japanese poetry and its international links. Mignon provides useful contextual information in an Afterword to the book, as well as including a page of biographical data on each of the poets featured. There is also an excellent Bibliography for anyone wanting to explore further. 

Simon Collings 8th March 2022

Responses. Kafka’s Prague by Jiří Kolář Translated by Ryan Scott & Kevin Blahut (Twisted Spoon Press)

Responses. Kafka’s Prague by Jiří Kolář Translated by Ryan Scott & Kevin Blahut (Twisted Spoon Press)

I bought this book because of the sequence which forms the second part – ‘crumplages’ of photographs, accompanied by quotes from Kafka – having discovered Kolář’s name online in relation to myriad forms of collage. These often gave names to ways of cutting, folding, juxtapositioning or distorting images I and many others already use in visual arts. Kafka’s Prague is an entertaining and thought-provoking sequence, with deconstructed and re-imagined buildings, reproduced in full colour, opposite brief and elusive fragments from Kafka, often to do with death, dreams and confusion. But it is Responses that has enthralled me.

Kolář drew on Surrealism and Dada in his writing and visual art, although he later moved beyond and away from these influences, and much of his art he considered visual poetry. In response to the Czech regime he lived under he made silent, visual poems, but even these mute texts had to be published in samizdat form to avoid punishment by the Communist rulers. By the early 1970s he was in exile, and Responses, a gathering of 71 sections of notes and reflection (he sometimes referred to it as an interview without questions) was completed in Paris. It would not be published until 1984, in Germany, and only now has it been translated into English.

It’s a fascinating statement of poetics, and as such is a product of its time and place rather than a manifesto or definitive statement, a fact the ‘Translator’s Note’ makes clear. It contains some grand statements about Art, as well as personal recollections, memories and asides. It discusses specific ways to write and collage, ponders the idea of fate, authenticity, poetic form, and how to find out about the world:

I said before I didn’t feel as if tearing, crumpling, and cutting reproductions and texts were acts of destruction. It felt more like a kind of interrogation, as though I were constantly querying something, or something were querying me. I asked myself: What was beyond the page, the letters, the picture, inside of it all? I knew something had to be there. (page 38)

This inquisitiveness underpins the whole of Responses, and is something I feel akin to, something I ask my students to be. Kolář is sometimes wilfully awkward: he won’t work with established forms; he dismisses his previous work; he perhaps clings to, and defends, what we might regard as outdated ideas of the avant-garde:

It would seem that experimentation and daring in art presents more than a danger to wrongheaded people that anything else. Start to think for yourself and you are more dangerous than anything that can be made. The truth is, all the power of art and literature largely comes from its ability to produce a shift to a new field of perception. (page 14)

I find these declamatory statements, which emerge from many quieter passages, provocative and thought-provoking, but Kolář is also aware the writer/artist has to contemplate and understand things for themselves, before they can create. ‘It’s imperative to appreciate poetry’s historical development’, he says, but goes on to suggest that ‘[e]very attempt at change and revolution came out of something’. (page 18) He also states that writers must ‘learn from those who are expanding it [the field of perception] towards other disciplines, whether in art, science, philosophy, or other fields.’ (page 15)

Kolář, however, had always been drawn ‘to locate the points of friction between visual art and literature’ (page 12), and suggests that ‘[t]he material itself gives you a chance to think differently’. (page 22) ‘For the poet, language is a type of understanding as well as misunderstanding’ (page 24), seems to me a powerful statement for those of us who struggle to navigate, filter and make sense of the 21st century world of (dis) information overload. ‘Form or content becomes trivial when we fail to notice the hidden meaning’ states Kolář (page 51). Responses is rooted in a different version of the world to ours, but it reveals a restless, creative, thoughtful artist/writer at work, whose ideas can still challenge and provoke.

I think every artist one day must, like it or not, try to effect what’s called a revolution: a reshaping and reinvention of poetry as a whole […] (page 17)

Rupert Loydell  21st January 2022