Academia.eduAcademia.edu

The Body of Poetry

2005

The Body of Poetry by Annie Finch First published in Finch, Annie. The Body of Poetry: Essays on Women, Form, and the Poetic Self. University of Michigan Press, 2005 Since Romanticism, the dominant movement of poetry has consisted of a continual thrust to transcend the defining physical limitations of the art, from Wordsworth's jettisoning of "poetic" diction in favor of a language like that of a “man speaking to men,” through the transcendence of meter in the free verse revolution and of the line in projective verse. The most recent stages of the process have been the transcendence of voice in collage poetics and of syntax in fractal or disjunctive poetics, which now includes its own space for transcendence within repeated breaks in the language plane itself. During this same period lyric poetry, like the other arts, has come partially to fill the role of religion in the spiritual lives of many educated secular humanists. As the individualized self has taken on more and more of a quasi-religious significance with the Romantic and Modernist movements (compare how ancient or even medieval poetry centered in social convention and allusions rather than the perspective of an individual self), the structural bases of poetry have been reorganized to reflect a new emphasis on the authentic experience of the individual soul, as opposed to communal experience, and on an aesthetics of transcendence as opposed to immanence. So, ironically, lyric poetry has itself taken on key spiritual and metaphysical characteristics of the dominant religion. These unspoken assumptions have come to permeate both mainstream and "avant-garde" contemporary poetics, a situation with implications not only for the content of spiritually-oriented poetry, but also for poetics on the deepest levels. In the contemporary free-verse anecdotal poetry which Ron Silliman has called the "school of quietude," the apparent sincerity of the individual self or soul becomes the transcendent central poetic criterion, the site of spiritual fetishization; all other factors--form, diction, image, subject, tone--are subsumed in its service. On the other hand, in the case of much avant-garde poetry, including such experimental-spiritual poets as Fanny Howe and Ann Lauterbach, the spontaneous shapes of an increasingly disjointed poetry are a means to invoke the transcendent inexpressible, a grace beyond language. Both kinds of poetry gain authenticity in the reader's eyes to the extent that they leave behind, or transcend, the "poem" as an artifice, a crafted piece of language with its own conventions of diction and rhythm and distinct, easily recognizable structural characteristics. Whether the spiritual self or its transcendent object is the center of a contemporary poem, in either case the clunky, sensual "body" of the poem, and of the language on which it draws, is not the point. Whether purged of anything that suggests the "poetic" with almost Puritanical zeal, or "fractured," "fragmented," "ruptured" with tireless violence, the poem's body has become something to be despised. In Goddess-oriented spirituality, the attitude towards the body is the opposite to that in mainstream Judeo-Christianity: sex, earth, death and the animal are not destined to be transcended. As direct embodiments of the immanent sacred, they are sacred. The mystical traditions of Christianity, Buddhism, and other religions may tell us that God is present in everything ("I draw water, I carry wood; that is my prayer," said the monk in one of my earliest favorite spiritual stories). The notion of the Goddess, however, actually constitutes physical presence. Not only is the Goddess of the world; it is her manifestation. Though the transcendent god and the immanent goddess are complementary sides of the same human spiritual coin, when experienced their resonances are fundamentally different. In a poetics of thealogy as opposed to theology, connections of shape and identity within and between poems are not accidental, but crucial. For one thing, the skeleton of pattern that creates coherence gives the ability for the self to let go of a single, ego-oriented identity within the larger identity of pattern. Transcendence is not the single way out of the self; there is more than one way to skin a soul. For another thing, the connection and difference between various poems' species make evident the polyvalent nature of the sacred. In this context, to write a poem as a separately formed individual poem, united to others only in relation to a single abstract formlessness, would be to sacrifice the texture of the specificity and multiplicity of patterned and formal structures for the sake of a sort of free-verse monotheism. In contemporary literary culture, patterned formal poetic tradition is still strongly associated with the prefeminist literary power structure of the 1950s. Not only are most feminists hesitant to write formal poems; convoluted or reactionary motives can be attributed to those who do. My own motivation for writing in form is a product of creative innovation. An irresistible attraction towards the inevitably familiar pulls me with wordless singlemindedness towards something older than patriarchal poetics. To craft pattern into poems links me not only to the pre-Raphealites, or the crafters of illuminated manuscripts and medieval lyrics, but also to the many worldwide traditions of female crafts such as embroidery, weaving and pottery. This is what I consider the Craft, to use an ancient term for the religion of the Goddess. As I invent a stanza, match a rhyme, ease a meter through, I feel spiritually connected as if I were making a Turkish carpet or a Celtic brooch, expressing the central joy of worship by crafting a worthy object. The poetics of immanent spirituality are concerned more with sustainability than with progress. As I will define it, "goddess poetics" are playful and physical; I am led to linger in rhyme and repetition, to glory in the the artifices of poetry's body. These artifices of form are a source of spiritual power in themselves, since "all acts of love and pleasure are the Goddess's rituals." This spiritual imperative of the intrinsic pleasure of form as I have understood it has long drawn me to an oppositional poetics that grounds itself in the immanent particularities of poetic structure: pattern, repetition, spell, charm, incantation.