|
|
| |
|
Lee Ann Brown's Polyverse is the most entertaining book of poetry I've read in years. That's not an adjective too often employed to describe a book of postmodern poetry, but in this case, not only does the shoe fit, it fairly gleams with the kind of insouciant glee that only the canniest combination of pure naivete and knowing craftsmanship can produce. Brown sounds the mockingbird's note in these delightful poems: a virtuoso jubilance and daredevil derivation that commingle in all the ways that the postmodern revolution in sensibility has made possible. There is no anxiety of influence at work here, rather, a liberating poetics of permission, by which the poet openly embraces the always already omnivalent intertextuality of ecriture. Such a poetics renders moot the question of originality, that bugbear of mimetic procedure. Not only is an entire section of Polyverse entitled "CoLabs," but the book abounds throughout with the spirit of collaboration in its deeper and perhaps truer sense, that is, with a seemingly endless self-morphing abundantia, or spilling over, where poetic form itself both defines and resists boundaries, engaging in a continual melting and reshifting. The moving locus locates, then moves on. Alphabet uniforms steadily assault abroad --The self here is conjured up like a ghost, from out of a hostile (read phallogocentric) alphabet, only to be dispersed: "No me is there." It's a very Dickinsonian, now-you-see-me, now-you-don't gesture, a kenotic movement of release through ek-stasis, that primal upwelling of energy that carries the self beyond its limits, and so dissolves it. Subjectivity is casual, a thing of rhythm, rushing in, then ebbing, itself subject to periodicity. Whether the "period" in question refers to the female menstrual cycle, a moment of literary fashion, or the syntactical impulse to closure is left for the reader to decide. Similarly, in the poem, "Love," Brown wreaks exquisite havoc with a simple, traditional love lyric, by putting it through the anaphorical/cataphorical Mixmaster. The poem appears to have been written, or at least, arranged, backwards. The first two parts (consisting of eight lines each) are distorted versions of the third part, which itself reads with perfect clarity. Here are the first four lines of "Love:" Love of manifestos motion slow,And here, the last three lines: O my favorite cultural event,The sweet ingenuity of this poem is that it's the same eight lines, recombined three different ways. The gradual build-up from heady distortion to clear reference doesn't describe the erotic play of the poem's lovers -- it enacts it. Language, like love, is a delightful confusion, a bewilderment and a playing. It's as a playing that Brown's poetry most thrives and disports, recalling Johan Huizinga's observation, in Homo Ludens, that, poesis, in fact, is a play-function. It proceeds within the play-ground of the mind, in a world of its own which the mind creates for it ... [it is] born in and as play, sacred play, no doubt, but always, even in its sanctity, verging on gay abandon, mirth and jollity.The sanctity of the ludic is indeed the hallmark of these poems. Lee Ann Brown rejects the pose of the omniscient author who wields a Big Idea. Instead, she opts for Many Little Ideas: protean swarms of energizing poetic quanta colliding and recombining inside the electric field of the poem itself. Though the diversity of poetic forms, styles and voices is rampant, the multiplicity of registers at moments dislocating (yet continually full of surprise), what runs through them all, like a rhizome of tissued fire, is a single polycantic hymn of desire. At their best, language in these poems acts over and over again to reterritorialize its relationship to itself and the world it signifies. As Deleuze and Guattari remark in A Thousand Plateaus: " ... the song itself is already a skip: it jumps from chaos to the beginnings of order in chaos and is in danger of breaking apart at any moment." And break apart they do, these poems. Only to recover themselves, in the nick of time, with a laughing pirouette, or a grave and formal bow. A lovely example of the latter can be found in the haunting "Present Beau for Robin Blaser." (A "present beau," I'm informed, is a form invented by Harry Matthews. It uses only the letters available in a person's name). Able laser seer in roseOther sections of Polyverse, such as a museme (which can be read as the museum of "amuse me") expand on this kind of verbal terpsichoreanism, albeit more in the manner of tapdancing than ballet. Here is the entirety of the first poem in this section, "Clio Loco." O Oil LociWhat's going on here? Only a vivifying exuberance of language that asks, over and over again, what is poetry? by defying, that is, re-imagining, all the existing criteria for a poem. Brown expends her poetic largesse with pagan abandon. "Daybook," for instance, is an affirmation of candid inflorescence: So I found an anatomy of aerial bodies:In contrast, "Resistance Play" spells out a compact methodology of composition: Small dailyThese poems perform by turns a daedal frolic and a measure of the dance that is song. There's a radical devotion at work (at play) here. Part Five of the closing section of the book, "Crush," clues us further in. Reinvent love."Crush as a way of knowing" creates what might be called a poetics of infatuation, where infatuation is privileged as an intuitive mode of cognition, a kind of Blakean wise folly. For language in Polyverse is more than polysemous; it's downright polygamous -- a zone of erotic interplay, in which linguistics takes on its originary meaning, the movement of the tongue in forming words. The physical formation of words is a deeply sensual act, after all. Going beyond concerns with the materiality of language, it becomes nothing less than an osculatory event. The poem as kiss: the celebration of a poetics of desire in which the only thing forbidden is the idea of the forbidden. The poet resembles Cixous' conception of Eve, in which, "the genesis of woman goes through the mouth, through a certain oral pleasure," the eating of that storied apple. The poetry of Lee Ann Brown bites into this apple with relish, over and over again. For Polyverse doesn't point to a new aesthetic, it embodies it. Cixous again: "There is a bond between woman's libidinal economy -- her joussiance, her feminine Imaginary -- and her way of self-constituting a subjectivity that splits apart without regret." To gather and disperse the energies of the poem, with an endless fluidity -- an abundantia, a joyous spilling over -- means reconfiguring the poem so that attention shifts from the experience of the subject to the intricacies of the poem's enactment. It means thinking of form as process, form freed from stasis, form, indeed, as ek-stasis. The idea of form has always implied a kind of obedience or fidelity. In a poetics of shape-shifting joussiance, however, the poem's avatar must rely on disobedience -- that sovereign and indispensible sense of transgression and expansion which for the poet constitutes the most radical kind of obedience possible. | |
|
You can read other poems by Lee Ann Brown in this issue of Jacket magazine. | |
J A C K E T # 8
Contents page |
|