Voiceless in Seattle
So I've been sick for a week, and that philosophical attitude you have at the beginning of an illness (this too shall pass; it happens to everyone; I haven't been sick in awhile) is fraying around the edges. It's your ordinary sinus infection, with the coughing and the fever and the fluids, but there's an interesting wrinkle ... I've never lost my voice before. It's quite extraordinary, to open your mouth with the usual expectations only to have nothing issue forth but an occasional high-pitched squeaking. I didn't realize how much I loved to sing until, suddenly, I couldn't. There's a silver lining, though ... this is an unprecedented opportunity for Scott, who keeps saying solicitously, "Don't talk, dear ... save your voice." I'm not buying this for a minute; I see the unholy gleam in his eyes. After 14 years, finally he has a good reason to tell me to shut up.
*****
It's easier to actually write than to talk about writing. Steve Mueske, editor of the excellent "Three Candles", wants submitting writers to include a short "mission statement" about what making poetry means to them. This is a good idea -- the unexamined life, etc. -- but I find it difficult. Anyhow, the matter was bouncing around in my subconscious when I read "Ringtime" a sci-fi short by Thomas Disch. It addresses a concept which has been explored a fair bit in the genre: the recording of one person's experience (gustatory, erotic, criminal, etc) in every sensory and emotional detail, for the purpose of then allowing others to enjoy the "recording" -- the ultimate virtual reality.
This is, I think, at least part of what we try to do as poets: encapsulate an incident in a relationship, an environment, or an emotion with the sensory details intact and fine-tuned -- hopefully in a novel way that will confound the reader's preconceptions -- so they can experience it, too. Or, I suppose, so we ourselves can experience it again, as time passes. Sort of like this Eliot quote I happened across recently: "With a poem you can say, 'I got my feeling into words for myself. I now have the equivalent in words for that much of what I have felt.'"
Of course, in that same interview, he said, "No honest poet can ever feel quite sure of the permanent value of what he has written. He may have wasted his time and messed up his life for nothing." But that's a matter for another day.
*****
It's easier to actually write than to talk about writing. Steve Mueske, editor of the excellent "Three Candles", wants submitting writers to include a short "mission statement" about what making poetry means to them. This is a good idea -- the unexamined life, etc. -- but I find it difficult. Anyhow, the matter was bouncing around in my subconscious when I read "Ringtime" a sci-fi short by Thomas Disch. It addresses a concept which has been explored a fair bit in the genre: the recording of one person's experience (gustatory, erotic, criminal, etc) in every sensory and emotional detail, for the purpose of then allowing others to enjoy the "recording" -- the ultimate virtual reality.
This is, I think, at least part of what we try to do as poets: encapsulate an incident in a relationship, an environment, or an emotion with the sensory details intact and fine-tuned -- hopefully in a novel way that will confound the reader's preconceptions -- so they can experience it, too. Or, I suppose, so we ourselves can experience it again, as time passes. Sort of like this Eliot quote I happened across recently: "With a poem you can say, 'I got my feeling into words for myself. I now have the equivalent in words for that much of what I have felt.'"
Of course, in that same interview, he said, "No honest poet can ever feel quite sure of the permanent value of what he has written. He may have wasted his time and messed up his life for nothing." But that's a matter for another day.
posted by Jennifer at 6:43 PM
2 Comments:
I've lost my voice too!
And I love this quote:
"No honest poet can ever feel quite sure of the permanent value of what he has written. He may have wasted his time and messed up his life for nothing."
Exactly.
I love that quote, too. I've come to the conclusion that every poet feels that way, even the great ones. So you just figure it comes with the job, and get on with it.
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