The Slowworm’s MosaicPeter Campion reviews
|
|
Kenneth Cox has culled his studies of seventeen authors from nearly forty years of work. He has remained impervious to fashionable theory and cant. He has consistently dedicated himself to elucidating the works themselves. But his is a very ambitious modesty. It is the kind of sustained attention familiar from the writing of nineteenth century naturalists: when Cox examines a passage of verse or prose he has the intense curiosity of Alfred Russel Wallace peering into the greyish white iris of the umbrella bird or Charles Darwin watching pollen granules burst from the anther of the lobelia. ...by monopolising the mind such observations act as a preservative against propaganda of all persuasions and so make possible the commemoration of innocence, as in the first section of Briggflatts.
Though the critic never seems to project his own concerns onto the work at hand, these comments about Bunting make a fitting description of Collected Studies in the Use of English. As that title suggests, the book asks the reader to attend to fundamental features of the medium itself. The observations show philological exactitude. Like the slowworm who makes his memorable appearance in that same first section of Briggflatts, these studies have a frugality that reaches toward freedom. Their rigorous compactness brings the mind back to a state of innocence. Things taken for granted regain their original vivacity and strangeness. Rooted in his writing is something Yeats found difficult to manage without exercise of some ingenuity and occasional force. For its quality of irresponsible and irrepressible energy he had various names: Blake’s excess, Swift’s madness, the indomitable Irishry, the balloon of the mind. The image is of a mass of expanding matter pressing for release from a vessel set to confine and shape it. At the height of an action the vessel is filled near bursting. The origin is probably sexual, its manifestation is usually socio-political. My interest is in the poetry, that is to say in its utterance through the medium of a malleable language.
It would probably not occur to many contemporary academics to summarize Yeats’ urge to form. This would seem too ‘basic’ to them. But that image of ‘expanding matter pressing for release from a vessel set to confine and shape it’ has the immediacy that so many works of literary criticism lack. At such moments, the unique imagination of a great artist bursts through the heavy velvet curtain of his acclaim. The lines occupy times of more or less equal length but none of them is long, the equation is approximate, and nothing requires the number of their syllables to be even approximately equal. Differences can be compensated by inserting pauses and by lengthening or shortening sounds according to the demands of rhythm and intonation. Shape of the line therefore varies with verbal texture, syntactic function, and the suprasegmental features that modify meaning. There is a good deal of give-and-take between the notional system of the verse and the actual characteristics of utterance.
Free verse has become such an accepted form that it often risks losing its original frisson. Thank goodness, then, for criticism like this. The exact way that Niedecker’s verse movement registers the imprint of creaturely life comes to light beneath Cox’s microscopic focus. Such acts of attention mark nearly every page of this book |
Other responses to the book: |
Jacket 22 — May 2003
Contents page This material is copyright © Peter Campion
and Jacket magazine 2003 |