Torgeir,
Excellent response, and I see that my own “one” explication has made “less” of
your poem than it deserves, for which I apologize.
I recall reading, probably in Empson’s Seven Types of Ambiguity, which I’ve
been meaning to re-read since I’m sure I have him all wrong by now, but he or
someone once wrote that the poet must be responsible for all the possible
meanings of his poem. I think Frost disagreed with that because he was quoted
in a conversation by someone who recalled him scoffing at the many explications
of, I think, “Fences make good neighbors,” or perhaps “Stopping by the woods on
a snowy evening.” Frost rejected what you and I might consider more exalted,
beautiful meanings, and confessed that all he had in mind was a banal meaning.
I see that my explication was the banal one in the case of your poem.
While I don’t always fully grasp what I’m up to, in regard to your reference to
my “message or meaning” I don’t at all relate to any of my poems being
“messages.” They might be – as Frost’s “Stopping by the woods on a snowy
evening” has been for many people, but he had something else in mind, his
meaning, which apparently was not intended as a “message,” and while I hope
that my “meanings” are not banal, they are also not premeditated and instead
are, as often as not, a surprise, an involuntary activity like, as you say, a
cough.
In reading your response I saw that my age or perhaps my lack of experience
demeaned the phrase “panic at the disco.” It is not a phrase I have heard
used, and so in imaging what that might mean, for example after someone
shouted, “fire,” that seemed so inconsistent with the poem that I had to assume
an individual “panic” because of personal or inter-personal circumstances. But
having said that, I am sure that the poet here is making better use of the term
than I have been able to imagine.
Yes, poets are often uncomfortable when others explicate their poems, but I
don’t recall reading T. S. Eliot’s reactions when others explicated his, and
you almost have to engage in some sort of explication or give up on him. “The
Waste Land” is the extreme example, and since Ezra Pound cut parts of it out,
it seems possible to wonder whether it is worth the trouble (but I overcame
that doubt and spent considerable time with it). “The Love Song of J. Alfred
Prufrock” is a more manageable poem, but it too is difficult. The poet wants
the reader to “go” through “half deserted streets” that lead to an
“overwhelming question.” But he tells us not to ask what it is, and instead
tells us “let us go and make our visit,” during which we should be forgiven for
assuming we will find the answer, for he doesn’t really tell us that we will.
The very next lines are “In the room the women come and go / Talking of
Michelangelo.” Is that part of the answer to the overwhelming question? We
must be extremely interested in poetry, or at least the poetry of T. S. Eliot
to go on reading his “tedious argument” that leads to an “overwhelming
question.” [not to an “answer,” we observe]
And so after spending a lot of time with Eliot and other difficult poets we at
some point begin, after reading a poem the first time without good
comprehension, explicating, but if we like the poem, the explication is done
with appreciation. And, after spending a difficult restless night (because of
firecrackers being shot off by, presumably, teen-agers unable to wait for July
4th), I woke this morning thinking I had your poem all wrong, that I was
deceived by its being in the third person and should reread it as though it is
in the first person, a personal argument leading to an overwhelming question,
an offer made by “he” to “she”, to move into a more committed relationship. . .
but those thoughts seemed to dissipate after a cup of coffee and will not doubt
dissipate further after I have another.
Lawrence
From: lit-ideas-bounce@xxxxxxxxxxxxx [mailto:lit-ideas-bounce@xxxxxxxxxxxxx] On ;
Behalf Of Torgeir Fjeld
Sent: Sunday, June 30, 2019 5:19 AM
To: Lawrence Helm <lawrencehelm@xxxxxxxxxxxxxx>
Cc: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
Subject: [lit-ideas] Re: That's where we differ
Dear Lawrence,
Thank you for your thoughtful response. There are three kinds of remarks that
come to mind:
Firstly, the occasion for the poem was indeed your initial contribution to the
list, the text titled "Coughing." It seems the cough is one of those
involuntary spasms of the body, a part of our armory of responses that we
cannot fully grasp or control, and as such it is interesting precisely as a
symptom of the repressed. That being said, "That's where we differ" didn't
arise as a specific semantic response to your message or meaning, although your
poem was much appreciated.
Second, your commentary brings up the question, it seems, of the nature of
poetry itself. There is an audio file on the web somewhere in which John
Ashberry is asked to comment extensively on one of his poems, and he does it
well, but it seems he does so reluctantly, and with good reason. In so far as
poetry is an autonomous form of communication, its explicature cannot but
*reduce* it to some other type, and by doing so it appears that we make the
poem say something *less* than it did at first: our attempt to *capture* its
meaning, while privileging one sense, also disallows or dissimulates *other*
potential meanings. The repositioning of the author as privileged reader of his
or her own poem cannot but serve to castrate his own work of art.
Thirdly, that being said, here is a brief attempt to "read out" *one* sense of
the various stanzas, as a sort-of paraphrase: given that the poem has two
voices, a male and female, they articulate two,fairly opposing stands on
subjectivity and meaning --
Stanza 1: *he* suggests a physical, "actual" figure of the author, as opposed
to what he perceives as her metaphysical authorial figure, which, in his view,
is what comes to (her) mind when she hears the word *author*;
Stanza 2: *she* states her belief that it is possible to unearth and identify
an actual author (as opposed to some potential, immanent, implied
author-in-the-text) -- a position quite close to his, except that it seems to
suggest that the actual author of a text such as the Bible wasn't really any or
all those who wrote it down, but some transcendental or immanent instance
writing "through" them -- echoed in her insistence that there are actual
readers (as opposed to Iser's, e.g., notion of the reader-in-the-text);
Stanza 3: *he* rejects not only the authorial privilege to decide meaning
("intentionality"), but also that there is *any* instance that can make
privileged meaning (including any given reader or some other instance); instead
"meaning is made," leaving open the *agens* of the act;
Stanza 4: *she* disagrees, asking him to divulge how he interprets the phrase
"Panic at the disco;"
Stanza 5: *he* concurs that they have different interpretations of this stock
phrase: in his view it indicates the panic that can get a hold of someone who
-- in your generous rephrasing, Lawrence -- has yet to find someone to spend
the night with as the disco is about to close, while to *her*;
Stanza 6: the phrase means that the "disco" -- our wordly/worldly existence? --
is about to close, and He -- her beloved, her God? -- has yet to find her, so
that, as the lights go down, she will be left alone, in darkness.
This is her fear, and what leads her to her differential readings.
Let's continue the discussion on-list, and open it up for the possibility that
some or other lister might want to chip in.
In good faith, -tor
Mvh. / Yours sincerely,
Torgeir Fjeld
https://torgeirfjeld.com/
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On Sat, 29 Jun 2019 at 19:18, Lawrence Helm <lawrencehelm@xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
<mailto:lawrencehelm@xxxxxxxxxxxxxx> > wrote:
Torgeir,
Here are some unsolicited comments:
Your poet is put in juxtaposition to mine, and his poem does demonstrate
differences. In describing a bit of the mystery that was being married to
Susan I have in mind a long period of time. Your poem (assuming I understand
it) is referring to brief periods, dates where couples don’t stay together
beyond a night or a night and morning. In the first stanza “he” sees the Bible
as being authored by men. She sees it as being authored by God.
In the first stanza he describes her as seeing God as the author, but in the
second stanza she sees “someone” (not usually the way God is described) as
being the author. But if “someone” is God, then the reader would be seen
either negatively or merely descriptively as affecting understanding of God
even though God is the author.
Then in the third stanza “he” seems to part ways over “meaning” being created
apart from the author’s intentions, although this is what I took her to be
saying in the second stanza by referring to the “reader” as being significant.
In the “Panic at the disco” stanza, I take “panic” to be a momentary personal
feeling rather than something exhibited by all the dancers. In the next stanza
“he” refers to her seeking someone to go home with her. And in the last stanza
she is describing him (or perhaps a mere someone to keep her company) not
spending the night with her by leaving her at her door?
And in the very last line he concludes that the indifferent person is leaving
her at the door, and perhaps emotionally leaving her in the dark.” Perhaps he
is commenting upon her lifestyle of taking someone home casually for the night
whether he leaves her at the door or spends the night. His “leaving you in the
dark” may be a fair judgement, but perhaps there is an implication that he
would not treat her in that fashion.
[I’m probably all wet in my analysis, but take this at least as evidence that I
did read and think about your poem. :)]
Lawrence
From: lit-ideas-bounce@xxxxxxxxxxxxx <mailto:lit-ideas-bounce@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
[mailto:lit-ideas-bounce@xxxxxxxxxxxxx ;<mailto:lit-ideas-bounce@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
] On Behalf Of Torgeir Fjeld
Sent: Saturday, June 29, 2019 2:22 AM
To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx <mailto:lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
Subject: [lit-ideas] That's where we differ (was: Re: Coughing)
That's where we differ
That's where we differ, he said.
When you hear author, you think of your God.
I think of the person who wrote it.
That's where we differ, she said.
I think there was someone who wrote it
And that there is a reader.
That's where we differ, he said.
There isn't anyone who makes meaning
Even when meaning is made.
That's where we differ, she said.
It all comes down to how you interpret the phrase
"Panic at the disco."
Yes, he said. That's where we differ.
When the lights are about to go down:
Who have you found to take home.
That's where we differ, she said.
When the lights go out, it means that
He's about to go home.
Leaving you in the dark.
Mvh. / Yours sincerely,
Torgeir Fjeld
https://torgeirfjeld.com/
rock philosophy: meditations on art and desire is now in paperback with 30%
discount: order before June 8, 2019, with coupon code VEPNFTCEA30 from
https://vernonpress.com/book/770
On Fri, 28 Jun 2019 at 20:15, Lawrence Helm <lawrencehelm@xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
<mailto:lawrencehelm@xxxxxxxxxxxxxx> > wrote:
In the middle of night a
Coughing loss of breath
Woke me, chasing
In another dream she
Who sped ahead.
Laden as I was
Unable to follow though
Once I was filled with
Froth. Through the
Years she skittered past
Leaving me racing – her
Mind beyond – mine
Letting her run as
She pleased being
With me through those
Years elapsing. This
Hunger, this waiting,
Filled my mind with
Suspense, bound she
Became to come to
Me as I lay back down.
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