Bob PerelmanThis Just In: Past Haunts Lip ServiceThis piece is 4,300 words or about ten printed pages long. |
Now that the World Trade Center Towers have been knocked down, the first paragraph of my chapter on Bruce Andrews in The Marginalization of Poetry reads with the unintentional irony that only history working in the broadest daylight can produce. I wrote: Not many days after the 1993 bombing of the World Trade Center, the New York Times ran an article discussing the structure of the building and the possibilities of its being brought down by a larger and more thoughtfully placed explosion. It turns out not to be easy: apparently, each tower is built to withstand the impact of a fully loaded jet liner taking off. In addition to the strength of the structure, attackers would have to confront its complexity: there are twenty-one load-bearing pillars and they could not be reached simultaneously by the force of an explosion. In being destroyed, a particular section would in fact shield other areas by absorbing the impact. The timing and placement of the article is interesting in itself: it was a rapid-response anodyne to the spiral of geopolitical urban trauma while at the same time, under the cover of a discussion of engineering, it invited its readers to participate in transgressive calculations of how the Trade Center towers might actually be brought down. (90)
Andrews’s then-new book, I Don’t Have Any Paper So Shut Up (or, Social Romanticism), marked a dramatic intensification of the in-your-face strand of his work. It was powerful and provocative, but his attempt to unite the poetic and the political, supported in his contemporaneous essays, demonstrated what felt to me like a crucial impasse. Trying to present this with something of the book’s intensity, I began with a reverse dramatization — as if Andrews’s call for the complete politicization of poetics was imaginary, analogous (on a smaller scale and in a different social dimension) to imagining the World Trade Center destroyed. Not that six real people didn’t die in the ’93 bombing, but at the time the project of knocking down the towers seemed imaginary. |
My roots, no thanks. Are we ready for surgery yet? Habit is
At a glance, Lip Service seems no closer to the Paradiso than Shut Up. But a more extensive look will reveal differences that can be connected with Andrews’s use of Dante, though how meaningful that use is remains a question. |
‘O fellowship that has been chosen for
According to ‘Paradise and Method’ ‘Fixed Stars 1,’ a roughly 160-line poem, is equivalent to lines 1-54 of Canto 24, and thus the ratio is about 3:1. So, though I’ve quoted the opening at greater length, the Andrews excerpt ‘equals’ only the first 5 or 6 lines of the Dante. But what it really equals is Andrews. No sooner is their friendly greeting done
Not that such things are validated in the Purgatorio, of course: these are the shouts of groups of redeemed souls purging themselves of lust; the hetero- and homosexuals are moving in opposite directions; this is not a celebration of a polymorphous sexual continuum. But even though the content is recontained by the narrative, the Purgatorio resembles Andrews’s world in one basic way: both are arenas of struggle to achieve a better state. And adrenal slap, you’re back: profuse liquid waist
I find these lines to be, for the most part, almost tender, suggesting a night of ecstatic sex, fully desired and guiltless — at least they can be construed that way: ‘adrenal slap, you’re back’ indicating the speaker’s adrenalin rush when the addressee appears; ‘profuse liquid waist / sensation’ describing sex; the final three lines almost straightforward in their erotic declaration. A few more examples: Oh Say grace warrants Promise — a certain brand of abandon
But with a poem as quick, fractured, continuous and extended as this, generalizing from excerpts is a shaky business. Reading from the same book, Peter Quartermain’s conclusions are very different: ‘If Lip Service is, like Dante’s Paradiso, a portrayal of the Beloved then that portrayal of the Beloved is pretty horrific. . . . The explicit sexual language, the events referred to (“I took a shit in the bed”) are horrible’ (2). The excerpt I characterized as ‘almost tender’ could be construed oppositely: ‘slap’ could be hitting one’s partner; ‘profuse liquid’ blood or piss; ‘parasite’ and ‘crack / abandoned me’ don’t have nice connotations; and ‘ambrosial kisses’ could be read as bitterly ironic — in fact, how could Andrews write such a phrase unironically? an associative, or drifting, lacework of thematic argument; polyphonies of utterance, shapes of talk, of streams of consciousness & preconsciousness; a drastic constructivism of syntax: with twists & turns, normative tilts & detonations, with interruptions as grammar; fluidities & tiny magnetizings of word-to-word relations, attractions, pushes & pulls; with acoustic echoes & lyricisms as bridgework over its dissimilarities or as contrasts & highlighting juxtaposition. (253-4)
But this high-lyric methodology glides above the historical particularities of the words, phrasing, and tone of his writing. In his essays, Andrews often refers to Brecht’s V-effect as one precursor of the refusal of communicative transparency that he is aiming for. However, intended effects are dependent on contexts of reception, and the passage of time plays havoc with contexts of reception. Pound’s phrase sounds nice, but no work will always be news that stays news. Or if it continues to be news, the news won’t be the same. The phrase encodes a great conservatism: Each generation finds something new in Virgil, etc. Many of the terms of the above description — lacework, polyphonies, streams, fluidities — could have been used to describe Georgian poets, Whistler’s Nocturnes, or Pollock’s mature work. it’s time to mutate always
But history gives and reclaims relevance. The semi-sweet truth of writing is that, once written, it doesn’t mutate, happily keeping up with the times. To write is to place letters and other marks in fixed sequences, but what’s around those sequences changes: the impact of the style, the world to which the words are referential, semireferential or nonreferential. Since Andrews wrote these lines (more or less in 1990/1, he tells us in ‘Paradise and Method’), the level of syntactic disruption in Lip Service has become normative in a number of innovative scenes. And the battle against transparent language, in my opinion at least, has become less urgent, given the muddy polysemy or non-ysemy of the U.S. fundamentalist junta. The night’s body embosses favor ultra to reravish
I’m in doubt as to how far to push this notion. These romantic passages are, to my reading at least, salient but they’re not representative. The tentativeness of this conclusion matches the tentativeness of how I read the title. On the web these days, Lip Service often means blow job. But Andrews is not writing pornography. The older slang meaning of the phrase is a hollow sarcastic obedience. But it would be incredibly cumbersome to try to read the book as Andrews merely paying Lip Service to Dante, i.e., writing a satire. The increasingly frequent ‘paradisal’ bits in the latter pages suggest a tenuous, more innocent third reading: that the poem is a service, a kind of liturgy, produced via speech rhythms. There are various erotic suggestions here as well: the writing is using lips, servicing lips. O godly force, if you so lend yourself
Shakespeare does this at the beginning of Henry V: Can this cockpit hold
All the messenger speeches in Greek tragedies work like this. The murders, suicides, and apotheoses are never presented on the stage, they’re always encoded in the descriptions. |
Appendix
Andrews’s use of Dante suggested the following procedure, where I used a well-known ‘paradisal’ passage from Pound as my template. Rather than loosely following resonances, I tried to copy the movement of the lines and phrase rhythms closely while detourning the sad obnoxiousness of Pound’s ridiculous certainties. (I omitted two lines by accident.) Le Paradis n’est pas artificiel |
Works CitedAndrews, Bruce. Lip Service. Toronto: Coach House Books, 2001. — . Paradise & Method: Poetics & Praxis. Evanston: Northwestern UP, 1996. — .I Don’t Have Any Paper, So Shut Up (or, Social Romanticism). Los Angeles: Sun & Moon Press, 1992. Dante Alighieri. The Divine Comedy. Translated by Allen Mandelbaum. New York: Knopf, 1995. Perelman, Bob. The Marginalization of Poetry: Language Writing and Literary History. Princeton: Princeton UP, 1996. Pound, Ezra. The Cantos of Ezra Pound. New York: New Directions, 1993.
Quartermain, Peter. ‘Paradise as Praxis: A Preliminary Note on Bruce Andrews’s Lip Service.’ http://epc.buffalo.edu/authors/andrews/about/quatermain.html. |
Jacket 22 — May 2003
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and Jacket magazine 2003 |