This is Jacket 12, July 2000 | # 12 Contents | Homepage | Catalog | |
Stephen Cope reviewsA Wild Salience: The Writing of Rae ArmantroutEd. Tom Beckett with Bobbie West and Robert DrakeBurning Press. Cleveland, OH |
[T]o be immersed in work, embedded (often quite literally) in the network of elective affinities and antipathies of a small handful of other persons who are immersed in their work as well, to be held together collectively in the unity of ‘what you do and what you are’ — who could experience the loss of such conditions as anything but ‘unlucky’? [ . . . ] The arc is as irreversible as the event is unrepeatable. There is no having back the work that came out of nowhere and landed itself and its maker somewhere.
Evans, Steve. ‘The Dynamics of Literary Change: |
I OPEN WITH this statement of Steve Evans’s, quoting from composer Morton Feldman, not so much to sound a note of warning here (as if any such history that this somewhere implies might ever be avoided!), but simply to state that the apparatus of criticism — as one of the ushers into this curious place that is not the artist’s own — need not pose quite the threat that it sometimes seems to. Evans, for his part, is speaking simply of publication: the moment in which a work — or, in which work itself — is made available to a public beyond the arm’s length stretch of ‘elective affinities.’ And his account is right, as it is perhaps a strange somewhere that awaits the publishing writer, or the writer who is worthy, in anyone’s eyes, of more attention than she has received, and who thus becomes the subject of a volume of critical essays. So I’m still fascinated by questions of origin. I find that the Bible stories are great if you think of them as posing the problems, not giving the answers, the way the Garden of Eden story is about the problem of consciousness. That story has tremendous staying power and it’s come into my poems several times . . . |
And, it comes into these readings of her poems also, one of several nodes to which the writers in this collection, in various ways, respond. Brenda Hillman, for instance, pits the Homeric sirens against the call of a garden poppy, taking the title poem of Armantrout’s collection Necromance (‘Poppy under a young/ pepper tree, she thinks./ The Siren always sings/ like this. Morbid/ glamour of the singular . . . ’) as a springboard for a meditation, in thirty or so short, almost aphoristic passages, on Armantrout’s work and its sources (or resources) in Biblical and literary myth. So too Fanny Howe, who touches on the garden as a means to explore Armantrout’s writing’s embeddedness in the San Diego landscape — cultural, natural, both at once — in which the latter was raised and where both currently live: When a landscape doesn’t conform to your idea of the nature of the universe, it might as well be hell. And when it does, it can become a hidden but expanding metaphor in your life — again hell but also equivalent to God, Mother, or Mustard Seed. That is, it has no relativity factor. In her work Rae Armantrout is not only referring to a specific part of the world — San Diego; she has absorbed it; and its wilderness, gardened, is justified by her genius.
Justified and transformed (insofar as justification is, in fact, a transformation). The point being that Armantrout’s poetry does not merely withstand the multiple takes offered here, it willfully invites them, arriving, as Ron Silliman notes in his essay, at ‘that moment when, during any experience that is new and undigested, details flood in, awaiting the gestalt organization of data into something recognized and subject to being categorized . . . ’ In the excitement phase we think we want . . . touch. This is the . . . dangerous moment.
A list of citations from the book, one that goes on for another two dozen or so lines, framed by Bromige’s own incalculable wit: ‘I would like to write a few elegant sentences on Rae Armantrout’s poetry,’ Bromige concludes, ‘I admire it tremendously, I love it, I find her to be among the finest writers — the finest? — of the short lyric poem in English today. Except that of course it is the anti-lyric.’ Add to this Charles Alexander’s impressionistic ‘Vibrating Curves: Reading Through a Few S-Poems of Rae Armantrout,’ and short essays by Laura Moriarty, Aldon L. Nielsen, Rachel Blau DuPlessis (almost an improvisation more than an essay), Jessica Grim, Kit Robinson, and Robert Creeley, and add, again, the actual poems included in ‘Return Ticket,’ a reprint of a chapbook consisting of poems by ten poets written for Armantrout upon her departure form the Bay Area, and add, one more time, ex-student and volume co-editor Bobbie West’s collage of Armantrout’s poems and comments on her work: one gets a clear sense of the multiple ‘somewheres’ to which she has introduced us — both the community and the continuum in which, through which, and to which Armantrout has contributed over the years. * Peterson, Jeffrey. ‘The Siren Song of the Singular: Armantrout, Oppen, and the Ethics of Representation.’ Sagetrieb. Vol. 12, No. 3. Winter 1993.
‘Oppen,’ Silliman continues: states his themes clearly either in his titles or at the beginning of poems. Armantrout is almost always indirect. For Oppen, the poem itself is an elaboration or demonstration and segmentation in his work is at least as much about balance and pacing as it is a mechanism to shift scene and discourse. For Armantrout, the structure is almost always in the opposite direction — we have to actually read the poem in order to gain some sense of what it may be ‘about.’
Similarly, Hank Lazer, in ‘The Lyricism of the Swerve: The Poetry of Rae Armantrout:’ ‘Rae’s ways of swerving often mark disconcerting shifts in direction ‘about,’ a significant but not self-glorifying turn, not exactly one perception leading directly to another but one perception placing one somewhat askew in relation to the next, so that one becomes aware of being both engaged (perhaps, “alerted”) and a bit decentered . . . ’ We want
But then again, we want to eat the cake too, and the writings here gathered respond to a brilliant body of work (still growing) that is, in matter of fact, very much her doing. And for her having done it, A Wild Salience suggests, we should be thankful. |
You can read four poems by Rae Armantrout |
Jacket 12 Contents page |