13 op/positions and a poem for an era of crisis

 

  

A Coat

                                                                                                                            

                                                                                                                             I made myself a coat

                                                                                                                             Cov­ered with embroideries

                                                                                                                             Out of old mythologies

                                                                                                                             From heel to throat;

                                                                                                                             But the fools caught it

                                                                                                                             Wore it in the world’s eye

                                                                                                                             As though they’d wrought it

                                                                                                                             Song, let them take it

                                                                                                                             For there’s more enterprise

                                                                                                                             In walk­ing naked.

 

                                                                                                                                             W.B. Yeats 

 

 

 

* Poet­ry dwells there where lan­guage has become self-con­scious. An era of cri­sis by def­i­n­i­tion is an era of intense aware­ness. An era of cri­sis par­tic­u­lar­ly wel­comes poetry.

 

 

* I per­ceive poet­ry, to a cer­tain degree, as a major act of humil­i­ty: a poem is built upon that which even­tu­al­ly over­pow­ers it. A ‘defeat­ed’ or defeat­ed nation might have immense pos­si­bil­i­ties for poetry. 

 

 

* One of the major tasks of poet­ry is to defend the ‘anonymi­ty’ of the artis­tic cre­ation: we tend, main­ly in an era of cri­sis, to become anony­mous, to iden­ti­fy our­selves with any­thing that still insists on stay­ing alive- a neces­si­ty for artis­tic production.

 

 

* I tend to per­ceive poet­ry as the revenge of lan­guage for the void between silence and the word. Its real depth is revealed only dur­ing a time of crisis. 

 

 

* A poem is not done until it renounces every­thing else than itself- how­ev­er, it hasn’t become poet­ry until it renounces itself wel­com­ing that oth­er poem that it’s already echoed between its lines. Renounc­ing one­self for the sake of a new self is one of the major chal­lenges of the cri­sis period.

 

 

* Mind tends to feel uncom­fort­able when con­front­ed to cri­sis. Mind tends to feel uncom­fort­able when con­front­ed to poetry.

 

 

* The crafts­man­ship of a poet is judged, large­ly, by the abil­i­ty to cope with mis­takes. Sur­viv­ing in an era of cri­sis large­ly depends upon this very skill. 

 

* Cri­sis par­tic­u­lar­ly wel­comes dis­ori­en­ta­tion and loss. You get lost in poet­ry too, often pur­pose­ly nev­er with­out ori­en­ta­tion though.

 

 

* Lan­guage in an era of cri­sis tends to tell the truth but not in that which it express­es. Poet­ry always speaks the truth but not in that which it express­es. In a cer­tain degree, the poet­ic lan­guage is, by def­i­n­i­tion, a lan­guage in crisis.

 

 

* Cri­sis could be over­come through that which is left behind after a long process of slow refine­ment. The poet­ic verse is but the cyn­i­cal remain of an ago­niz­ing lin­guis­tic enter­prise- the only that forces lan­guage to move on.

 

 

* A poet­ic com­po­si­tion usu­al­ly averts com­ple­tion. In advance, the poet knows by instinct that good is the poem that does not coop­er­ate. Resis­tance typ­i­cal­ly char­ac­ter­izes cri­sis- could poet­ry prof­it from that?

 

 

* A poet, by def­i­n­i­tion, tries to rem­e­dy the self by bleed­ing some­one else’s woods. Humil­i­ty and com­pas­sion are, by def­i­n­i­tion, the only reme­dies for a large-scale crisis.

 

 

* I am an icon­o­clast mad­ly in love with images. Every poet ‑in cri­sis- is.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

image_pdfimage_print