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Tension and time in Charles Olson's poetry Kasowitz, Daniel M. 1972

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TENSION AND TIME IN CHARLES OLSON'S POETRY by DANIEL KASOWITZ B.A., University of Pittsburgh, 1965 A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF MASTER OF ARTS i n the Department of English We accept t h i s thesis as conforming to the required standard September, 1972 In present ing t h i s thes is in p a r t i a l f u l f i l m e n t of the requirements for an advanced degree at the Un ive rs i t y of B r i t i s h Columbia, I agree that the L i b r a r y sha l l make i t f r e e l y a v a i l a b l e for reference and study. I fu r ther agree that permission for extensive copying o f th is t h e s i s fo r s c h o l a r l y purposes may be granted by the Head of my Department or by h is represen ta t i ves . It is understood that copying or p u b l i c a t i o n of t h i s t h e s i s f o r f i n a n c i a l gain s h a l l not be allowed without my wr i t ten permiss ion . Department of E n g l i s h The U n i v e r s i t y o f B r i t i s h Columbia Vancouver 8, Canada Date August 29,; 1972 ABSTRACT The pr imary a c t o f nature i s the t r a n s f e r o f energy. One t h i n g passes i t s energy on to o ther t h i n g s . This i s how l i f e s u r v i v e s . Each t h i n g i s r e c e i v i n g energy from o ther th ings and t r a n s f e r r i n g i t s own energy to s t i l l o ther t h i n g s . Nature i s l i k e an unending t r a n s i t i v e sen tence . I f na ture , i s t r a n s i t i v e then poe t ry a l s o must be t r a n s i t i v e . For the poet r e c e i v e s energy from c e r t a i n ob jec t s and t r a n s f e r s t h a t energy v i a the poem over to the r e a d e r . The poet must be a conductor o f the energy. He must be l i k e a nerve connec t ing the o b j e c t to the r eade r , making sure t ha t a l l the impulses he r e c e i v e s from the o b j e c t w i l l be p i c k e d up and t r a n s m i t t e d to the r eade r . He wants to g i v e the reader exc i tement equa l to the exc i tement the o b j e c t s t i m u l a t e d i n h im . He does not want to l o s e any o f the o r i g i n a l power and s p i r i t o f the o b j e c t i n t r a n s f e r r i n g i t to the r eade r . To keep the o b j e c t a l i v e the poet must enact the o b j e c t . He must a l l o w the o b j e c t to t r a n s f e r i t s energy, i t s i d e n t i t y , over to the r eade r . The poet he lps t h i s process by t r y i n g to c o i n c i d e w i t h the o b j e c t and exper ience the o b j e c t from the i n s i d e - o u t . He t r i e s to apprehend the ve ry growth-urge and m o t i v a t i n g p r i n c i p l e o f the o b j e c t , what causes i t to ac t the way i t does . He i n t u i t s the shape of the o b j e c t , what i t l ooks l i k e . He even t r i e s to grasp the o b j e c t ' s " i n t e n t i o n s " ( i t s tendencies) and d e s i r e s . Once he has i d e n t i f i e d w i t h the o b j e c t then h i s i m a g i n a t i o n goes to work. He l e t s the o b j e c t a c t out i t s d e s i r e s . He l e t s i t f a n t a s i z e . He en ters a dream w i t h the o b j e c t where the o b j e c t i s a l lowed to become whatever i t "wants" to become. I t grows out o f i t s e l f . I t t ransforms i n t o v a r i o u s images t ha t seem to be the d i r e c t descendants o f i t s e l f . The i m a g i n a t i o n a l l ows the o b j e c t to c o n t i n u a l l y d i s s o l v e and r e - c r e a t e i t s e l f and thus p l a y ou t i t s i n h e r e n t f a t e . Through i m a g i n a t i o n the o b j e c t performs i t s e l f and ac t s i t s e l f ou t f o r the r eade r . And the poet must w r i t e a t the speed o f i m a g i n a t i o n i f he i s to conduct a l l the s p l i t - s e c o n d images t h a t i s s u e from the o b j e c t . To i d e n t i f y w i t h the o b j e c t the poet must f i r s t ge t i n t o t e n s i o n w i t h the o b j e c t . Every o b j e c t , whether i t be concre te or e m o t i o n a l , has t e n s i o n . The t e n s i o n o f an o b j e c t i s i t s f o r ce o f form. The way i t s pa r t s are p u l l e d i n t o one another and cohere . Tens ion , i n o ther words, i s t r o p i s m . I t i s the way the o b j e c t behaves and grows. The poet must i d e n t i f y w i t h the o b j e c t ' s t e n s i o n . He must f i n d the same t e n s i o n i n h i m s e l f . He must f e e l the p u l l and s t r a i n o f the o b j e c t i n h i m s e l f . H i s whole body must be tense w i t h the o b j e c t . H i s hea r t must i m i t a t e the rhythm of the o b j e c t and h i s t h r o a t i m i t a t e the squeeze o f the o b j e c t i n o rde r to i v squeeze i t i n t o words . I f the poet w r i t e s a poem about a t r e e , he does not contemplate what words go w i t h " t reeness" ; r a t h e r he begins i m i t a t i n g the t e n s i o n o f the t r e e . And i m i t a t i n g the t e n s i o n o f the t r ee c r ea t e s a v o r t e x i n t o which the words are n a t u r a l l y p u l l e d . The words tha t e rupt w i l l send f o r t h not e s p e c i a l l y the look of the t r e e but the emot iona l p u l l of the t r e e , i t s t e n s i o n . The words w i l l be tense w i t h the nerve of the t r ee i t s e l f . Th i s i s the a c t o f metaphor, the words l e a p i n g immediate ly from the o b j e c t to the r e a d e r . The poe t , then , does not t r y to embalm the o b j e c t , bu t to "enact" i t . He does not t r y to p a r a l y z e the o b j e c t , to photograph i t (as a s t i l l p i c t u r e ) but to l e t the o b j e c t evo lve as i f i t were a movie p i c t u r e . He wants to d ramat ize the o b j e c t , to make i t a c t out i t s f a t e . The poet does not want to ana lyze the o b j e c t i n t o i t s separate p a r t s , bu t f e e l the cohes ion o f those p a r t s , t h e i r t r o p i s m , and f o l l o w the tendencies o f t ha t t r o p i s m i n t o speech and imagery . The poet does not seek to a b s t r a c t any t r anscenden ta l "essences" from the o b j e c t , but r a t h e r r e l e a s e the o b j e c t i t s e l f i n t o a c t i o n , thus l i b e r a t i n g any "essences" i t may p a r t a k e . TABLE OF CONTENTS PAGE ABSTRACT 2- i CHAPTER 1 INTUITION 1 2 IMAGINATION 2 2 3 THE KNOT 2 7 4 BREATH 32 5 RHYTHM 3 5 6 WORDS • 4 9 7 TENSION 6 1 8 POETRY VS. DISCOURSE 6 9 9 METAPHOR 75 83 SUMMARY FOOTNOTES 9 1 BIBLIOGRAPHY 9 6 CHAPTER 1 INTUITION Olson's v i e w p o i n t i s e c o l o g i c a l : the interdependence of man as a poet and as a " c r e a t u r e of nature" w i t h h i s e n v i r o n -ment. Ecology teaches man to be humble f o r he owes h i s p h y s i c a l s u r v i v a l to the v e g e t a t i o n and the animals t h a t f e e d him. Ecology teaches t h a t every b i r d , bug, or fungus i n a c e r t a i n system has s i g n i f i c a n c e i n the energy balance o f t h a t system. The random k i l l i n g of one s p e c i e o f p l a n t or animal c o u l d u pset the energy balance of the e n t i r e system. Man i s p a r t and p a r c e l o f a l a r g e system of food t r a n s f e r e n c e s i n which, f o r example, carbon and n i t r o g e n feeds a l g a e , a l g a e f e e d g o l d f i s h , g o l d f i s h feeds salmon, salmon feeds man, and man feeds carbon and n i t r o g e n back to a l g a e . Thus ecology sees man as energy t r a n s f e r r e d from the s m a l l e s t food p a r t i c l e s a l l the way over to man. T h i s sounds l i k e Olson's d e f i n i t i o n o f a poem as "energy t r a n s f e r r e d from where the poet got i t (he w i l l have some s e v e r a l c a u s a t i o n s ) , by way o f the poem i t s e l f t o , a l l the way over to the r e a d e r . " Man i s e c o l o g i c -a l l y j u s t i f he t r e a t s the environment the way i t t r e a t s him by r e p l e n i s h i n g i t s nourishment w i t h h i s own nourishment. The poet i s j u s t i f he o f f e r s the re a d e r excitement equal to the excitement the environment s t i m u l a t e d i n him. T h i s i s O l s o n ' s e n e r g y - c o n s t r u c t , ene rgy-d i scharge theory—not l o s e any t h r i l l from the p e r c e i v i n g of the t h i n g to the w r i t i n g of i t to the l i s t e n i n g of i t by the r eade r . "The feedback i s the l a w . " 3 The e s s e n t i a l a c t of nature i s the t r a n s f e r o f energy."'" One t h i n g passes and d i f f u s e s i t s energy on to o t h e r t h i n g s . As i n ecology, the sun passes i t s energy to the p l a n t s which i n t u r n pass energy to animals who pass t h e i r energy back i n t o the ground, the a i r , or to o t h e r animals, and so on. Nature i s an immense f e e d i n g and d i s c h a r g i n g o f energy, an immense t r a n s f e r o f energy. T h i s i s how l i f e s u r v i v e s . E v e r y t h i n g i s t r a n s f e r r i n g and r e c e i v i n g energy and s i n c e e v e r y t h i n g needs energy e v e r y t h i n g i s changing. "Motion l e a k s everywhere, l i k e e l e c t r i c i t y from an exposed 2 w i r e . " In the t r a n s f e r o f energy one t h i n g promotes another i n t o a c t i o n . Nature i s l i k e an unending t r a n s i t i v e sentence c o n t i n u a l l y d i s t r i b u t i n g energy. Even seemingly i n t r a n s i t i v e o b j e c t s d i s t r i b u t e energy. Rock burns heat and r e f l e c t s l i g h t . Man i s r e a l l y a verb who i s "a bundle of f u n c t i o n s . " S ince e v e r y t h i n g i s t r a n s f e r r i n g energy and i s i n a p r o c e s s of change, the form of a n y t h i n g i s merely an e x t e n s i o n o f i t s energy a t any p a r t i c u l a r moment. "A t h i n g can be measured i n i t s mass o n l y by a r b i t r a r i l y assuming a s t o p p i n g of i t s ..3 motion. I f nature i s c o n t i n u a l l y i n motion then p o e t r y , which i s the elbow of nature, must a l s o be i n motion. I f nature i s a k i n e t i c , then p o e t r y must a l s o be a k i n e t i c . I t must t r a n s f e r energy as w e l l . I t must perform the process of change. As Olson says, "There i s o n l y one t h i n g you can do 4 about k i n e t i c , r e - e n a c t i t . " P oetry does not seek to p a r a l y s e 4 l i f e i n i t s a c t , to photograph i t , but to move alo n g w i t h i t at i t s r a t e , i t s v a r i o u s r a t e s . I t does not seek to stop the flow o f l i f e a t a c e r t a i n p o i n t and measure i t but to i d e n t i f y i t s e l f w i t h the l i f e flow. I t does not seek to a b s t r a c t the t r a n s c e n d e n t a l "essences" from t h i n g s , but to r e l e a s e the th i n g s themselves i n t o a c t i o n , thus l i b e r a t i n g any "essences" they may parta k e . As Olson says, " A r t does not seek to 5 d e s c r i b e b ut to enact." A p a r t i c u l a r e c o l o g i c a l problem i s the chance t h a t some o f the food energy w i l l be l o s t i n i t s t r a n s f e r e n c e from source to r e c e i v e r . For as the food passes from sun to p l a n t to man, some of the o r i g i n a l energy i s a l r e a d y l o s t by the time i t reaches man. The problem i s the same i n poetry.. The poet must t r a n s f e r energy from where he gets i t (the source) g by way of the poem over to the r e a d e r . By the time i t ge t s to the re a d e r some of the o r i g i n a l power and s p i r i t o f the source may be l o s t . I t i s as i f the reader i s e a t i n g sunshine t h i r d - h a n d . Olson s t a t e s the problem thus: what i s the process by which a poet gets i n , a t a l l p o i n t s energy a t l e a s t the e q u i v a l e n t o f the energy which p r o p e l l e d him i n the f i r s t p l a c e , y e t an energy which i s p e c u l i a r to v e r s e alone and which w i l l be o b v i o u s l y , a l s o d i f f e r e n t from the energy which the r e a d e r , because he i s a t h i r d term, w i l l take away? 7 To p r e v e n t any p o s s i b l e l o s s o f energy to the reader the poet must be i n s p i r e d when he w r i t e s . I f he i s w r i t i n g about a t r e e as soon as he absorbs the f u l l t e r r o r and mystery 5 of t h a t t r e e he should t u r n around and immediately t e r r o r i z e the reader w i t h the t r e e t h a t i s s t i l l r a g i n g i n him. He should a c t i t r i g h t out f o r the r e a d e r . For i t means he has tapped the t r e e ' s s e c r e t p r i n c i p l e , i t s e a r n e s t n e s s , and he can share i t w i t h the r e a d e r . The reader w i l l be tho r o u g h l y scare d by the z e a l t h a t r e f l e c t s from the poet. J u s t as when one r e c e i v e s a b e a u t i f u l l e t t e r from a f r i e n d one should answer i t immediately to c a r r y the momentum of l o v e o r i d e a from the f r i e n d ' s l e t t e r i n t o h i s own. No time s h o u l d be l o s t from the s u r p r i s e o f the f i r s t l e t t e r . The poet should be a l i v e w i r e immediately c o n n e c t i n g the source to the l i s t e n e r . He makes sure the f u l l e s t v o l t a g e p o s s i b l e goes through the w i r e so t h a t none of the meaning o r enthusiasm of the t h i n g gets l o s t : the poem "must, a t a l l p o i n t s , be a h i g h e n e r g y - c o n s t r u c t and, a t a l l p o i n t s , a h i g h energy-g d i s c h a r g e . " The concern i s over the l o s s of power i n the t r a n s i t i o n from source to r e a d e r . There may be too many middlemen. For the source must pass f i r s t through the poet then to the poem b e f o r e i t gets to the r e a d e r . What i f e i t h e r the p e r s o n a l i t y of the poet o r the l e t h a r g i c words of the poem d r a i n some of the o r i g i n a l excitement away from the so u r c e . To be su r e , the poet must not impose h i s ego or i n t e l l e c t upon the so u r c e . The source must be a v e n t r i l o q u i s t to him: the dog must make him bark, the ro s e make him b l u s h . He must be a verb to the 6 s o u r c e . L i k e a medium, a p s y c h i c medium he a l l o w s h i m s e l f to be possessed by the source. He i s a o u i j a board to the world which meets him a t " s k i n ' s edge" and he becomes s e n s i t i v e to the s u b t l e s t of d i s t u r b a n c e s and a c c i d e n t s . I f t h e r e were o n l y one s k i n i n the world c o n n e c t i n g e v e r y t h i n g , and i f i t were p e r v i o u s , then n o t h i n g would be l o s t , not the energy o r meaning of the t h i n g . E v e r y t h i n g would flow i n t o e v e r y t h i n g e l s e and know i t s e l f l i k e a s i n g l e mind. Mouse would h a r d l y know h i s d i f f e r e n c e from the p l a n t t h a t feeds him. The r e a d e r would take away e v e r y t h i n g the poem f e d him. L i k e a u n i v e r s a l lung between a l l t h i n g s t h e r e would be a complete exchange o f gasses and a b s o r p t i o n o f f r e s h m a t e r i a l . A n y t h i n g i n h a l e d , say k i n g f i s h e r ' s f e a t h e r s or A z t e c g o l d , would be immediately absorbed, understood, and r e l e v a n t . Idea and f e e l i n g , i d e a and rhythm would be the -same and the speed and ardor of the o r i g i n a l e x p e r i e n c e would be immediately t r a n s m i t t e d . Nature i s a g r e a t h e a r t t h a t c o n t i n u a l l y pumps through l i f e and g i v e s man energy. I t i s the i n n e r k i n e t i c t h a t charges and r e - f u e l s the powers t h a t arouse him i n t o b e i n g each second. The poet i s a dynamo c o n v e r t i n g nature's energy i n t o h i s own e n e r g i e s . He i s a v e c t o r , a v e h i c l e o f immediacy, f o r he " f e e l s what i s t h e r e ( i n nature) and transforms i t 9 ( d i r e c t l y ) i n t o what i s here ( i n the poem)." He must a c t i n s t a n t a n e o u s l y to m a i n t a i n the heat of n a t u r e . Nature e n t e r s 7 him so r a p i d l y t h a t each of h i s organs must immediately p i c k her up and t r a n s f o r m her; he w r i t e s a t the quickness o f h i s ear, eye and h e a r t . Heart to nature, he i s the p u l s e of nature, hooked i n t o the rhythms of a l l t h i n g s . Ear to nature he shares i t s s e c r e t s . He v i b r a t e s to the touch of nature and c a l l s out a l l i t s names. As W i l l i a m s says, "(Man) i s ,,10 n a t u r e — i n a c t i o n . Man i s i n h e r e n t l y plugged i n t o n a t u r e . As C o l e r i d g e says, man "shares the same ground w i t h n a t u r e . . . . For a l l we see, f e e l , and touch the substance i s and must be i n our-selves."''"^ Whatever man p e r c e i v e s he can i m i t a t e . H i s con-12 s c i o u s n e s s i s both "the focus and m i r r o r o f nature"; i t understands "the germinal causes i n n a t u r e . " Not o n l y can man i m i t a t e nature but he can i m i t a t e i t i n t e l l i g e n t l y . There i s no a c t or law i n nature t h a t cannot be r e c r e a t e d o r re-germin-ated i n the c o n s c i o u s n e s s . Through h i s c o n s c i o u s n e s s man can thus f i n d i n h i m s e l f a l l "the l i v i n g and l i f e - p r o d u c i n g i d e a s " o f n a t u r e . 8 Bergson says there i s a stream of l i f e t h a t flows through a l l men as w e l l as a l l o t h e r l i v i n g t h i n g s . Bergson 13 c a l l s i t "the flow o f the i n n e r l i f e . " I t i s i n c o n t i n u a l flow i n a l l people and i t s c u r r e n t s move so f a s t and so s u b t l y merge i n t o each o t h e r t h a t i t i s d i f f i c u l t to f i x upon any one of them s e p a r a t e l y . I t i s l i k e a v a s t c i r c u l a t o r y system i n n a t u r e . I t i s i n c o n t i n u a l movement and passes between a l l l i v i n g t h i n g s , and a l l o w s d i f f e r e n t t h i n g s (beings) to immediately p e n e t r a t e and sympathize w i t h each o t h e r . The stream o f l i f e i s the stream of sympathy. Bergson a l s o r e f e r s to t h i s i n n e r stream as the e l a n v i t a l s i n c e i t i s the impulse o f l i f e i t s e l f , the i n s t i n c t i v e surge o f l i f e . I t i s so fundamental t h a t to f e e l i t i s to f e e l the growth urge i n a l l l i f e . One cannot f u l l y sense i t w i t h h i s e a r s and eyes. One f e e l s o n l y i t s q u i c k n e s s , the c o n t i n u a l surge, the charge and r e - c h a r g e of i t . One f e e l s the urge and tug o f i t i n a l l l i v i n g t h i n g s . So f a s t does t h i s stream flow, so r a p i d i s the r a t e of sympathy, t h a t most people are f r i g h t e n e d o f i t . The flow o f the world's sympathy i s too poignant f o r them. They t r y to f i n d a s t a b l e framework o u t s i d e the f l u x to h o l d on t o , unendangered by the quickness of l i f e (but a t the s a c r i f i c e of l o v e and a d v e n t u r e ) . They seek permanency. They o f f e r themselves the i l l u s i o n o f a bank they can r e s t upon, a f i x e d s t a t e they can g r i p t o . They draw squares over the f l u x i n themselves and pretend they are those squares. They g r i p to 9 the i l l u s i o n o f one name ( i n s t e a d o f a l l names), one p e r s o n a l -i t y ( i n s t e a d o f the h e a r t of nature h e r s e l f ) , one mode o f e x p r e s s i o n ( i n s t e a d o f t a l k i n g i n the tongues of the stream). To become s e n s i t i v e to the stream the poet must e i t h e r u t t e r l y r e l a x or c l e n c h h i m s e l f i n t o sympathetic p a i n and d e s i r e w i t h a l l l i f e . A t t h a t moment, t h e r e i s an emotional p u l l t u g g i n g a t h i s h e a r t . The r i v e r of sympathy s t a r t s to take r o u t e through him. He f e e l s he i s a t the source of sympathy. A t t h a t moment a l l l i v i n g t h i n g s (lemons, t r e e s , h o r s e s , human beings) seem to take r e s i d e n c e i n h i s h e a r t . A l l l i v i n g t h i n g s seem to share the same cause, s p r i n g from the same d e s i r e , and grow from the same urge. A t t h a t moment, he can understand the m o t i v a t i n g p r i n c i p l e o f a n y t h i n g and thereby choose to "be" an y t h i n g he wants to be. He can i m i t a t e the urge o f a n y t h i n g . For a t t h a t moment, he i s a major c o n d u i t i n t h a t v a s t c i r c u l a t o r y system t h a t pumps through e v e r y t h i n g . T h i s i s the s t a t e o f i n t u i t i o n . During i n t u i t i o n the poet a l l o w s h i m s e l f to flow w i t h i n the stream and th e r e i n t e r p e n e t r a t e s w i t h i t s c u r r e n t s . He e n t e r s the emotional p u l l o f a l l t h i n g s , the growth urge. He can get i n t o the tug o f an y t h i n g , person, animal o r p l a n t , and i m p l i c i t l y apprehend i t s m o t i v a t i n g p r i n c i p l e . He can f e e l each t h i n g ' s own d e s i r e and the way i t expresses i t s d e s i r e i n t o form (e.g., the way a fl o w e r d e s i r e s to blossom f o r t h i n t o c o l o r and p e t a l s ) . Because the stream i n t e r f l o w s he can f i n d the same d e s i r e , the same p r i n c i p l e i n h i m s e l f . He i s i n emotional union w i t h the t h i n g and can i m i t a t e the t h r u s t , the urge o f t h a t emotion. The poet i n i n t u i t i o n must f i r s t f e e l the t h i n g ' s 14 "growth from w i t h i n . " He must look a t each t h i n g as i f i t had an urge to be. He must t r y to see t h i s urge (even i n a phone, or a bowl, o r a p i e c e of f r u i t ) , the urge to be what i t i s - - o r maybe the urge of each t h i n g to be more than what i t i s , to be a person, f o r example. He must sense it's s t r u g g l e to be a person (even h i s s p o r t s c o a t , or h i s type-w r i t e r ) . The f e e l i n g o f i n t u i t i o n i s so b a s i c and i n t e n s e t h a t i t reduces man to f e e l i n g l i k e a seed a g a i n . He f e e l s a l l k n o t t e d up, i n t r i c a t e , l i k e a seed; and he f e e l s h i s own growth urge. Once he f e e l s h i s own growth urge he can f e e l a n y t h i n g 1 s growth urge. To i n t u i t a lemon, f o r example, he puts h i s whole c o n c e n t r a t i o n i n t o lemonness. He t r i e s t o . i d e n t i f y w i t h the growth urge o f the lemon. He s t r a i n s to f e e l what mo t i v a t e s the lemon to be lemon and not orange o r g r a p e f r u i t . He imagines h i m s e l f t w i s t e d i n t o a lemon seed. Then, f e e l i n g c o i n c i d e n t w i t h lemon power, he yearns to e r u p t i n t o g l o b u l a r f u r i t , and s h i v e r w i t h sunshine power. Many o f the lemon f e e l i n g s he can e a s i l y i d e n t i f y w i t h because they are b a s i c to many l i v i n g t h i n g s : the f e e l i n g of growing, the f e e l i n g of c o r e and seed, the f e e l i n g of f r u i t i n s i d e and r i n d o u t -11 s i d e , the f e e l i n g o f body blooming ou t o f mind (seed) , f r u i t from f l o w e r . I n t u i t i o n i s thus power o f sympathy. The poet e x p e r i -ences the o b j e c t from the i n s i d e - o u t . For i n t h a t s t a t e o f i n n e r t e n s i o n h i s consc iousness permeates o ther c o n s c i o u s n e s s 1 15 (Bergson c a l l s t h i s " p s y c h o l o g i c a l endosmosis .") Through i n t u i t i o n the poet f e e l s contemporary w i t h a l l humanity and c o i n c i d e n t w i t h a l l l i v i n g t h i n g s . Thus Bergson c a l l s i n t u i t i o n "immediate consc iousness , a v i s i o n which i s s c a r c e l y d i s t i n g u i s h a b l e from the o b j e c t seen, a knowledge which i s 16 c o n t a c t and even c o i n c i d e n c e . " Through i n t u i t i o n the poet f e e l s i m p l i c i t to the o b j e c t . He p a r t i c i p a t e s w i t h the o b j e c t and moves w i t h i t s t e n d e n c i e s . He exper iences the o b j e c t as a s i n g l e impu l se , r a t h e r than as a bunch of separa te events or mere sum of i t s p a r t s . He f e e l s what the o b j e c t f e e l s . I t s r a i s o n d ' e t r e and c h a r a c t e r are d i r e c t l y r e v e a l e d and r e l e v a n t to h im. I t i s as though the o b j e c t ' s whole l i f e t i m e i s c a t a l y z e d i n t o one moment, and the poet sees , i n a " f l a s h , " what the o b j e c t has "gone through" and what i t " a sp i r e s to b e . " I t i s as though he stands " i n i t s shoes . " Bergson g i v e s an example o f i n t u i t i n g a c h a r a c t e r i n a n o v e l : . . . take a c h a r a c t e r whose adventures make up the sub jec t o f a n o v e l . The n o v e l i s t may m u l t i p l y t r a i t s o f a c h a r a c t e r , make h i s hero speak and ac t as much as he l i k e s : a l l t h i s has not the same va lue as the s imple and i n d i v i s i b l e 12 f e e l i n g I should e x p e r i e n c e i f I were to c o i n c i d e f o r a s i n g l e moment w i t h the personage h i m s e l f . The a c t i o n s , g e s t u r e s and words would then appear to flow n a t u r a l l y , as though from t h e i r s o urce. They would no l o n g e r be a c c i d e n t s making up the id e a I had of the c h a r a c t e r , c o n s t a n t l y e n r i c h i n g t h i s i d e a w ithout ever succeeding i n completing i t . The c h a r a c t e r would be g i v e n to me a l l a t once i n i t s e n t i r e t y , and the thousand and one i n c i d e n t s which make i t m a n i f e s t , i n s t e a d of add-i n g to the i d e a and e n r i c h i n g i t , would, on the c o n t r a r y , seem to me to f a l l away from i t w i t h o u t i n any way exhausting or i m p o v e r i s h i n g i t s essence. I g e t a d i f f e r e n t p o i n t o f view r e g a r d i n g the person w i t h every added d e t a i l I am g i v e n . A l l the t r a i t s which d e s c r i b e i t to me, y e t which can o n l y enable me to know i t by comparisons w i t h persons o r t h i n g s I a l r e a d y know, are s i g n s by which i t i s more o r l e s s s y m b o l i c a l l y expressed. Symbols and p o i n t s o f view then p l a c e me o u t s i d e i t ; they g i v e me o n l y what i t has i n common w i t h o t h e r s and what does not belong p r o p e r l y to i t . But what i s p r o p e r l y i t s e l f , what c o n s t i t u t e s i t s essence, cannot be p e r c e i v e d from w i t h o u t , b e i n g i n t e r n a l by d e f i n i t i o n , nor be expressed by symbols b e i n g incommensurable w i t h e v e r y t h i n g e l s e . D e s c r i p t i o n , h i s t o r y and a n a l y s i s i n t h i s case l e a v e me i n the r e l a t i v e . Only by c o i n c i d i n g w i t h the person i t s e l f would I possess the a b s o l u t e . 17 To achieve i n t u i t i o n the poet must make an e f f o r t to g r i p i n t o the f o r c e o f l i f e . For the f i r s t f e e l i n g o f i n t u i t i o n i s l i k e a b i r t h c o n t r a c t i o n . As though he and the o b j e c t are being born i n t o the world t o g e t h e r . I t i s a matter of g e t t i n g back to "germinal causes." I t i s a matter o f g e t t i n g t o the h e a r t of the t h i n g l i k e g e t t i n g to a tense acorn and then w r i t i n g out t h a t h e a r t l e t t i n g i t blossom f o r t h i n t o an oak. The poet must w r i t e q u i c k l y f o r he i s w r i t i n g from a b i r t h i m p u l s i o n . The w r i t i n g must happen i n a s i n g l e push. Any s t r a y d i v e r s i o n s o r i n t e r m i s s i o n s from 13 the w r i t i n g and the s p r i n g o f the t h i n g gets l o s t a l o n g w i t h the i m p l i c i t o r g a n i z a t i o n and emotional charge i t engendered. T.E. Hulme, i n quo t i n g Bergson, t a l k s about i n t u i t i o n i n r e s p e c t to w r i t i n g : "Anyone who has attempted any l i t e r a r y c o m p o s i t i o n knows t h a t when the s u b j e c t has been thoroughly s t u d i e d and a l l the notes c o l l e c t e d , i t i s necessary, b e f o r e one begins to work on the com-p o s i t i o n i t s e l f , to make sometimes a d i f f i c u l t e f f o r t to p l a c e o n e s e l f as i t were a t the h e a r t of the s u b j e c t . " In t h i s s t a t e o f t e n s i o n one r e c e i v e s an i m p u l s i o n , a sense of d i r e c t i o n , which, when i t develops i t s e l f as i t goes a l o n g , p i c k s up and makes use of a l l the notes t h a t have been made b e f o r e . The p o i n t to n o t i c e here i s t h a t a t the b e g i n n i n g o f t h i s a c t , a t t h i s moment of t e n s i o n , a l l the sepa r a t e elements which b e f o r e and a f t e r were separated out, were gathered up to g e t h e r i n t h i s a c t of i n t u i t i o n . 18 The i n t u i t i o n i s thus l i k e a muscle t h a t t i g h t e n s the w o r l d i n t o i t s e l f and then l e t s i t go. The i n t e l l e c t d i f f e r s from the i n t u i t i o n because i t observes nature from the o u t s i d e i n s t e a d of e n t e r i n g i n t o i t . I t does not t r y to c o i n c i d e w i t h the o b j e c t o r move w i t h i t s c u r r e n t . I t s method i s to e x p l a i n the o b j e c t - - t o l a y i t o u t 19 f l a t on a plane — a n d study i t s v a r i o u s elements. I t then t r i e s to see the c a u s a l r e l a t i o n s h i p o f each element to each o t h e r element, how the mechanism o f the t h i n g works. Thus i n s t e a d of apprehending the growth of a flow e r as a s i n g l e u n d i v i d e d impulse (as i n t u i t i o n would) i t d i v i d e s the f l o w e r i n t o i t s separate components to see how each p a r t h e l p s make the flow e r grow. 14 The i n t e l l e c t i s not h o l i s t i c . I t does not t r y to c a p t u r e the whole and o r g a n i c f e e l i n g of an o b j e c t , how i t s p a r t s f u s e together i n t o a s i n g l e melody. I t does not t r y to apprehend the uniqueness of an o b j e c t , the " t h i n g - i t s e l f . " Rather i t compares the o b j e c t to o t h e r o b j e c t s , how the s t r u c t u r e of one d i f f e r s from the s t r u c t u r e of another. Thus, to the i n t e l l e c t , a g r a p e f r u i t i s a pumpkin except w i t h a d i f f e r e n t atomic s t r u c t u r e . The i n t e l l e c t cannot d e a l w i t h o b j e c t s whose p a r t s are i n s e p a r a b l e . Such o b j e c t s Hulme c a l l s " i n t e n s i v e 20 m a n i f o l d s " — t h e i r p a r t s s u b t l y i n t e r p e n e t r a t e to make a continuous whole. For example, a f a c i a l e x p r e s s i o n cannot be f u l l y e x p l a i n e d ( l a i d o u t f l a t i n t o s e p a r a t e p a r t s ) f o r the p a r t s o f the f a c e b l e n d together to form t h a t unique e x p r e s s i o n . A l s o , an emotion cannot be c o m p l e t e l y a n a l y s e d f o r i t " i s composed of a thousand d i f f e r e n t elements which d i s s o l v e i n t o and permeate each o t h e r w i t h o u t any p r e c i s e 21 o u t l i n e . " The same i n d i v i s i b i l i t y o ccurs i n a p a i n t i n g o r i n a whole c i v i l i z a t i o n . Such t h i n g s are b e s t apprehended by an inward ( i n t u i t i v e ) sympathy which t r i e s to c a p t u r e the "mind" o f the t h i n g . There are, then, two methods of apprehending r e a l i t y : the i n t u i t i o n and the i n t e l l e c t . The i n t u i t i o n c o i n c i d e s w i t h the o b j e c t and gets a whole simultaneous sense of i t , the i n t e l l e c t observes the o b j e c t as a mechanism of s e p a r a t e 15 working p a r t s . The i n t u i t i o n t r i e s to apprehend the unique q u a l i t y o f the o b j e c t , the i n t e l l e c t sees the o b j e c t as a r e -p o s i t i o n i n g o f the same o l d atoms. As Bergson says, i n t u i t i o n i s "the sympathy by which one i s t r a n s p o r t e d i n t o the i n t e r i o r of an o b j e c t i n or d e r to c o i n c i d e w i t h what there i s unique and consequently i n e x p r e s s i b l e i n i t . A n a l y s i s , on the c o n t r a r y , i s the o p e r a t i o n which reduces the o b j e c t to elements a l r e a d y known, t h a t i s , common to t h a t o b j e c t and to o t h e r s . A n a l y z i n g then c o n s i s t s i n e x p r e s s i n g a t h i n g i n 22 terms o f what i t i s not." The poet takes the way o f the i n t u i t i o n . When the poet i n t u i t s an o b j e c t he be g i n s a stream o f f e e l i n g w i t h t h a t o b j e c t . He and the o b j e c t p a r t i c i p a t e i n a k i n d o f c r e a t i v e growth. They f e e l each o t h e r , a f f e c t each o t h e r , and grow from these a f f e c t i o n s . They b e g i n a h i s t o r y , an e v o l u t i o n t o g e t h e r . In o t h e r words, t h a t stream o f sympathy i s an a c t u a l stream o f thoughts, p e r c e p t i o n s and c u r r e n t s between the two which l i k e any stream i s con-t i n u a l l y e v o l v i n g . This e v o l v i n g stream o f f e e l i n g i s what Bergson c a l l s " p s t c h o l o g i c a l time" or " r e a l time." Bergson e x p l a i n s the concept o f time thus: . . . time i s what h i n d e r s e v e r y t h i n g from b e i n g g i v e n a t once. I t r e t a r d s , o r r a t h e r i t i s r e t a r d a t i o n . I t must t h e r e f o r e , be e l a b o r a t i o n . Would i t n ot then be a v e h i c l e o f c r e a t i o n and o f cho i c e ? Would not the e x i s t e n c e o f time prove t h a t there i s i n d e t e r m i n a t i o n i n t h i n g s ? Would not time be t h a t i n d e t e r m i n a t i o n i t s e l f ? 23 By " r e t a r d a t i o n " Bergson does not mean "slowness" b u t r a t h e r t h a t l i f e has not been g i v e n a l l a t once. L i f e i s not complete. I t has not been summed up and f i n a l i z e d i n a C r e a t o r o r s i n g l e Theory. C r e a t i o n (time) i s thus s t i l l happening. I t i s i n the p r o c e s s o f working i t s e l f o ut ("elaborate": ex + l a b o r — i t works i t s e l f o u t ) . Time i s growth. Time i s c r e a t i v e 24 e v o l u t i o n . "Time i s e f f i c a c i o u s . " I t produces new and no v e l t h i n g s . In the case o f i n o r g a n i c matter or mechanisms time does not c r e a t e a n y t h i n g new. For mechanisms ope r a t e by f i x e d p r i n c i p l e s , and i n o r g a n i c matter i s d e f i n i t e and cannot be e l a b o r a t e d on. For example, when an a s p i r i n i s dropped i n t o water the time i t takes to d i s s o l v e may be lengthened o r shortened w i t h o u t changing the b a s i c nature o f the a s p i r i n . For an a s p i r i n i s composed of d i s c r e t e p a r t i c l e s t h a t w i l l remain c o n s t a n t no matter how q u i c k l y o r s l o w l y d i s s o l v e d . Time does not a f f e c t the a s p i r i n . I t does not produce a n y t h i n g new i n i t . . L i k e w i s e , a machine can move a t a ve r y r a p i d o r slow speed w i t h o u t changing the fundamental nature o f the machine. But i n the case of con s c i o u s n e s s o r l i v i n g matter time i s e f f e c t i v e : . . . to the a r t i s t who c r e a t e s a p i c t u r e , time i s no longer an i n t e r v a l t h a t can be lengthened o r shortened. To c o n t r a c t i t would be to modify the i n v e n t i o n ! i t s e l f . The time taken up by the i n v e n t i o n i s one w i t h the i n v e n t i o n i t s e l f . I t i s the a c t u a l l i v i n g p r ogress of the thought, a 17 k i n d of v i t a l p r ocess l i k e r i p e n i n g . . . r e a l time i s an a b s o l u t e t h i n g which cannot be c o n t r a c t e d or hastened because i n i t r e a l work i s b e i n g done, r e a l l y new t h i n g s are a p p e a r i n g . . . . Time then i s c r e a t i o n . In r e a l time you g e t r e a l c r e a t i o n and so r e a l freedom. 25 "Real time" then i s time as growth, the growth o f c o n s c i o u s n e s s . Real time does not measure r e a l i t y , i t c r e a t e s r e a l i t y . Real time . . . i s f l u x , the c o n t i n u i t y of t r a n s i t i o n , i t i s change i t s e l f t h a t i s r e a l . . . r e a l i t y i s a l i n e i n the drawing . . . time i s m o b i l i t y . . . time i s what i s happening, and i t i s what causes e v e r y t h i n g to happen . . . i t s essence b e i n g to flow . . . an un-c e a s i n g c r e a t i o n . . . . A becoming never the same, never r e p e a t i n g i t s e l f , b u t always producing n o v e l t y , c o n t i n u a l l y r e p e n i n g and c r e a t i n g . . . . 18 Consciousness e x p e r i e n c e s " r e a l time" i n i t s e l f . The 2 6 mind i s c o n t i n u a l l y r i p e n i n g . I t i s l i k e a c r e a t i v e melody t h a t i s maturing. I t matures through s y n t h e s i s . I t i s always s e n s i n g and p e r c e i v i n g anew the world (or o b j e c t ) , and re-composing i t s e l f i n the l i g h t of t h i s new e x p e r i e n c e . I t i s always combining the new w i t h the o l d , the p r e s e n t moment wi t h the p a s t consciousness and the mind grows out of t h i s convergence. A t each moment the whole of c o n s c i o u s n e s s i s gathered up and r e - s y n t h e s i z e d by the p r e s e n t . I t i s as though con-27 s c i o u s n e s s i s " p e r p e t u a l l y p e r i s h i n g " and r e - d i s t r i b u t i n g i t s m a t e r i a l i n t o the f u t u r e . New thought, new u n i t i e s are always b e i n g born. I f man a l l o w s the p r e s e n t to c o n t i n u a l l y q u i cken and r e - s y n t h e s i z e h i s whole consciousness then he moves contemporary w i t h the f o r c e o f l i f e i t s e l f and blooms w i t h i t s m u l t e i t y . H i s consciousness then becomes an "unin-2 8 t e r r u p t e d p r o l o n g a t i o n of the p a s t i n t o the p r e s e n t " whose "power ( i s already) f l o w i n g to meet the next o c c u r r e n c e . " Consciousness i s thus always a l e r t to the p r e s e n t and i s c a r r i e d r i g h t i n t o the p r e s e n t as a c t i v e p o t e n t i a l to be shaped by t h a t p r e s e n t . I t i s always made new by the p r e s e n t . No thought ever r e p e a t s i t s e l f . ("No one c r o s s e s the same 29 r i v e r twice.") The whole o f p a s t thought i s c o n s t a n t l y b e i n g m o d i f i e d by the p r e s e n t . Consciousness i s an e v o l u t i o n t h a t i s " c e a s e l e s s l y becoming." 19 The flow of the mind i s continuous and i n d i v i s i b l e . I t i s an " u n i n t e r r u p t e d p r o l o n g a t i o n . " To t r y to d i v i d e i t i n t o separate s t a t e s would be l i k e t r y i n g to separate the c u r r e n t s of a running stream. The phases o f consciousness "melt i n t o one another w i t h not the l e a s t tendency to be s e p a r a t e d . . . . P e r c e p t i o n i t s e l f i s an i n d i v i s i b l e a c t ("Vision i s to the eye what movement i s to a path.") Each p e r c e p t i o n becomes i m p l i c i t l y entangled i n the next p e r c e p t i o n . " A n t e r i o r p e r c e p t i o n s remain bound up w i t h p r e s e n t p e r c e p t i o n s and the immediate f u t u r e i t s e l f becomes o u t l i n e d i n the p r e s e n t . Because each p e r c e p t i o n c a r r i e s p a r t of the l a s t p e r c e p t i o n along w i t h i t there i s a k i n d of " o b j e c t i v e 3 2 i m m o r t a l i t y " i n c o n s c i o u s n e s s . No thought o r p e r c e p t i o n ever gets l o s t b ut i s transformed and c a r r i e d i n t o f u t u r e p e r c e p t i o n s . " O b j e c t i v e i m m o r t a l i t y " i s the a p p r o p r i a t i o n of the p a s t by the l i v i n g p r e s e n t "whereby what i s d i v e s t e d of i t s own l i v i n g immediacy becomes a l i v i n g component i n 33 o t h e r l i v i n g immediacies of becoming." Consciousness enacts a c o n t i n u a l e u c h a r i s t , a t r a n s u b s t a n t i a t i o n o f one body (perception) i n t o o t h e r b o d i e s . This transubs t a n t i a t i o n o f the p a s t i n t o the f u t u r e i s the method by which the o b j e c t (the source) i s t r a n s p o r t e d over to the r e a d e r w i t h o u t l o s s of excitement. For the o b j e c t i s allowed to transform i n t o other o b j e c t s i n the poem. These 20 o t h e r o b j e c t s may d i f f e r somewhat from the i n i t i a l o b j e c t but as i t s d i r e c t descendants they " a l l h i n t a t the same sou r c e . For i n s t a n c e , the c a r i n "As the Dead Prey Upon Us" transforms i n t o a movie p r o j e c t o r , a v i c t r o l a , a p l a s t i c playpen, and a r o c k i n g c h a i r . Though these may seem d i f f e r e n t from the c a r N they are a l l o b j e c t s t h a t i s o l a t e the body or a n e s t h e t i z e the senses as the c a r does. " O b j e c t i v e i m m o r t a l i t y " t h e r e -f o r e r e c o g n i z e s t h a t an o b j e c t i n a poem i s m o r t a l , and t h a t as i t d i e s i t g i v e s b i r t h to a s u c c e s s i o n of r e l a t e d o b j e c t s which immortalize i t (and thereby c a r r y the source over to the r e a d e r ) . In o t h e r words, the poet does not embalm the o b j e c t i n the poem bu t a l l o w s i t to e v o l v e . The poet i s a "time 34 35 mechanic." He " b r i n g s (the o b j e c t ) a c r o s s time." He a l l o w s the o b j e c t to t r a n s f o r m i n t o o t h e r o b j e c t s and thereby keep i t s excitement f l o w i n g . The poem a c t s l i k e a nervous system where every comma, word o r metaphor i s a synapse t h a t r e c e i v e s the o b j e c t and re-charges i t i n t o new power and p l a y . Each moment o f the poem r e - s y n t h e s i z e s and quickens the o b j e c t to keep i t f r e s h , to keep i t s power f l o w i n g and blooming i n t o the p r e s e n t moment. A t each moment "power flows to meet the next o c c u r r e n c e . " T h i s i s the a c t o f metaphor, how the o b j e c t "gets a c r o s s " to the r e a d e r . The poet does not t r y to e n s h r i n e the o b j e c t to commemorate i t ; he l e t s the o b j e c t e n t e r the dynamic nervous system o r f o o d - c h a i n o f the poem and be t r a n s u b s t a n t i a t e d . The e u c h a r i s t i s an a c t of worship. The poem has " o b j e c t i v e i m m o r t a l i t y " n o t o n l y i n the d e g e n e r a t i o n o f a me taphor o r me tamorphos i s o f an i m a g e , b u t a l s o i n the p r o l o n g a t i o n o f i t s r h y t h m , and the a c c i d e n t a l o u t g r o w t h s ( i n f l e c t i o n s ) o f w o r d - s o u n d s . These a l s o h e l p p e r p e t u a t e t h e momentum and s p i r i t o f the s o u r c e o v e r to t h e r e a d e r . A l l t h e s e methods w i l l be d e m o n s t r a t e d . CHAPTER 2 IMAGINATION The o b j e c t o f p o e t r y as Jack S p i c e r says i s "to make th i n g s v i s i b l e r a t h e r than to make p i c t u r e s o f them . . . the lemon ( i n the poem) to be a lemon t h a t the reader c o u l d 3 6 c u t o r squeeze o r t a s t e . " I f the lemon i t s e l f i s r e l e a s e d by the poem i t w i l l d e c l a r e i t s own forms, i t s own rhythms. I t w i l l stand f o r i t s e l f and i n t h i s way the r e a d e r may share 37 the " s e c r e t s t h a t o b j e c t s s hare." To make the lemon v i s i b l e i n the poem i s d i f f i c u l t though. One cannot merely copy i t bound f o r bound, s u r f a c e f o r s u r f a c e . For t h i s would be l i k e p r e s e n t i n g the "mass" o f the t h i n g l i k e a s t a t u e o r a s t i l l p i c t u r e and com p l e t e l y n e g l e c t i n g i t s l i f e and motion. Rather, the poet seeks to "enact" the lemon so t h a t i t performs a drama o f lemon b e i n g and becoming. He l e t s the lemon f a n t a s i z e , c a r r y o u t i t s d e s i r e s and a s s o c i a t i o n s as f r e e l y as i t wants. I f i t wants to r e t u r n to seed, good, i t may r e t u r n to seed. I f i t wants to b i t e i t s e l f and t a s t e i t s a c i d , i t may do so. I f i t wants to take o f f i t s r i n d and bask i n the g l o r y of naked f r u i t , i t may have the p l e a s u r e . In f a c t , W i l l i a m C a r l o s W i l l i a m s 3 8 says "the poem i s a dream, a daydream of wish f u l f i l l m e n t . " 2 3 The poet may be or a c t anyway he wants i n i t , as i n a psycho-drama. He may be a lemon or a woman, or even a lemon p r e t e n d i n g i t ' s a woman. The important t h i n g i s a l l o w i n g the lemon to f a n t a s i z e and "enact" i t s d e s i r e s . In o t h e r words, once the poet has i n t u i t e d the lemon and has s y m p a t h e t i c a l l y entered i t s "mind," then h i s imagin-a t i o n goes to work. He l e t s the lemon a c t out i t s d e s i r e s . He l e t s i t f a n t a s i z e . He l e t s i t have nightmares where i t i s bei n g chased by a g r a p e f r u i t o r f a l l s i n l o v e w i t h an orange. He l e t s i t do whatever i t wants; make and unmake i t s e l f . F or once the poet i s i n i t i a l l y i n sympathy w i t h the lemon he cannot h e l p b u t do lemon-type t h i n g s . The a c t of the i m a g i n a t i o n i s l i k e the a c t of metabolism. Metabolism i s the process o f the body by which n u t r i t i v e m a t e r i a l i s b u i l t up i n t o l i v i n g matter and protoplasm i s broken down i n t o s i m p l e r substances to perform s p e c i a l f u n c t i o n s . The two together c o n s t i t u t e change. Metabolism means change. Change i s a c o n t i n u a l breaking 1 down and b u i l d i n g up. The same process occurs everywhere i n nature: a c o n t i n u a l decaying or b r e a k i n g down, a r e s y n t h e s i z i n g and b u i l d i n g up. Metabolism i s l i k e the a c t of the i m a g i n a t i o n . The i m a g i n a t i o n " d i s s o l v e s , d i f f u s e s , d i s s i p a t e s i n or d e r to r e c r e a t e . . . i t i s e s s e n t i a l l y v i t a l , even as a l l o b j e c t s 3 9 (as o b j e c t s ) are e s s e n t i a l l y f i x e d and dead." The a c t i o n 24 of the i m a g i n a t i o n i s to make the o b j e c t or the s i t u a t i o n f l u i d . I t s e t s i t i n motion. I t melts down the o b j e c t f o r the purpose o f r e - p e r f o r m i n g i t . I t s enzymes break the o b j e c t down i n t o i t s b a s i c d r a matic components and l e t them a c t themselves o u t . I t breaks images down i n t o sub-images as i n a dream and b u i l d s them anew. I t all o w s the images t o f a n t a s i z e . J u s t as the rubber and thr e a d o f the t i r e s i n "As the Dead Prey Upon Us" can f a n t a s i z e they are the dead s o u l s c l i n g i n g t o g e t h e r i n the l i v i n g room. The i m a g i n a t i o n breaks words and phrases down i n t o t h e i r v i t a l c o n s t i t u e n t s , t h e i r v i t a l p rotoplasm and shapes them anew. The i m a g i n a t i o n i s e s s e n t i a l l y m e t a b o l i c : i t transforms the carb o h y d r a t e s o f the world i n t o c a l o r i c energy. I t runs the world o f f . L i k e a runner i t b r e a t h e s the world a f r e s h and expels the o l d c o n t i n u a l l y (as W i l l i a m s says, "To r a i s e the beat o f the 40 b r a i n to b r i n g i t oxygen.") T h i s i s the t r a n s c e n d e n t a l e x p e r i e n c e o f the poem. A " d i s s o l v i n g " f o r the purpose o f " r e c r e a t i n g . " The poet takes a p a r t the world, melts i t down, and then r e c r e a t e s i t . "The c h a r a c t e r i s t i c o f b e i n g melted i s f o r the o b j e c t to have l o s t the form i t was i n . I t can be 41 p l a y e d w i t h , made i n t o a new form as we d e s i r e . " The i m a g i n a t i o n i s thus l i k e the a c t o f dreaming where the mind breaks down the images of the day i n t o t h e i r b a s i c dramatic c o n s t i t u e n t s and f o r g e s them anew i n t o new p l a y . W i l l i a m s thus compares the awakening o f the i m a g i n a t i o n to the a c t o f f a l l i n g a s l e e p : 25 A t f i r s t a l l the images, one o r many which f i l l the mind, are f i x e d . . . . We look a t the c e i l i n g and review the f i x i t i e s o f the day, the month, the year, the l i f e t i m e . Then i t b e g i n s ; t h a t happy time when the image becomes broken or begins to break up, becomes a l i t t l e f l u i d — o r i s a f f e c t e d , f l o a t s b r o k e n l y i n the f l u i d . The r i g i d i t i e s y i e l d — l i k e i c e i n March, the magic month. They c o a l e s c e and, f i n a l l y , m e r c i f u l s l e e p i n t e r v e n e s . . . . (When) possessed by the i m a g i n a t i o n , we are r e a l l y a s l e e p t h o 1 we may awake. 4 2 The i m a g i n a t i o n i s a breaking-up and r e - c r e a t i n g , breaking-up and r e - c r e a t i n g p r o c e s s . I t c o n v e r t s any s t a t i c o b j e c t i n t o a melody or f a n t a s y to be p l a y e d out. In " V a r i a t i o n s Done f o r G e r a l d van de W i e l e , " f o r example, the i m a g i n a t i o n takes the dogwood t r e e , the apple t r e e , the b i r d s and bees, the morning and n i g h t , breaks them down i n t o t h e i r b a s i c dramatic e n e r g i e s , t h e i r b a s i c l u s t s and a l l o w s them to a c t themselves o u t . Each t h i n g r a v i s h e s and whips the next t h i n g i n i t s f u r y . The i m a g i n a t i o n i s the d r i v i n g p a s s i o n o f metamorphosis. I t breaks each o b j e c t down and transforms i t i n t o the next o b j e c t . The i m a g i n a t i o n moves by i t s own d e s i r e a t the speed o f i t s d e s i r e . The doves i n t h e i r g r e a t d e s i r e t r a n s f o r m i n t o the bees, the bees i n t o the b i r d s , the b i r d s i n t o the f l o w e r s — a l l k i n d s o f f l o w e r s , "yellow f l o w e r s , white f l o w e r s . " The i m a g i n a t i o n d i s s o l v e s the morning, which stood "up s t r a i g h t , " i n t o the flow o f the a f t e r n o o n which i n t u r n becomes c r a z y w i t h d e l i g h t and transforms i n t o n i g h t b r e a k i n g i n t o the song of the w h i p p o o r w i l l and the i n t e n s e b l u e of the f u l l moon. Each 26 thing pregnant with desire engenders other things. The imagination i n i t s great yearning for change and f u l f i l l m e n t rushes f o r t h and ravishes and whips each thing onward: i t forces the thing to change. "The body whips the soul" to make i t catch up. And everything i s "drummed" to "get busy" and "get across" to the next thing. The imagination i s the act of love which forces each thing to "move," to "break out," to "show f o r t h . " I t "demands the e l i x i r , " i t is_ the e l i x i r , the drug by which one thing can transmute into other things and thus i n d e f i n i t e l y prolong i t s l i f e . The act of imagination i s what Coleridge c a l l s capturing 43 the natura naturans: nature as a present p a r t i c i p l e , nature naturing. The poet becomes an active valve i n the flow of, the growth of the lemon. He does not merely "copy" the lemon (line f o r l i n e ) or treat i t as a f i n i s h e d product (natura  naturata: nature as a past p a r t i c i p l e ) . He does not anthro-pomorphize, impose himself upon the lemon. Rather he wants to lemonmorphize; to enter the lemon k i n e t i c . He y i e l d s to the metabolic process of nature, the constant b u i l d i n g up and breaking down of energy, which i s the process of imagina-t i o n as w e l l . Coleridge says "the a r t i s t must imitate that which i s within, that which i s active through form and 44 figure . . . as we unconsciously imitate those whom we love." The poet i s lead along by his love for the lemon, and as he i s lead he f a l l s i n love with the lemon, imitating i t , mimick-ing i t s moves, as the two are f a l l i n g . CHAPTER 3 THE KNOT The poem must be g i v e n an i n i t i a l t h r u s t to se t i t i n m o t i o n . I t must be sprung . That i s , there must be an i n i t i a l t e n s i o n or t w i s t t h a t t w i s t s the persona o f the poem i n t o a knot and then sp r ings him l o o s e . I t i s l i k e what was s a i d o f i n t u i t i o n — a muscle wound up and then l e t go . The poet as rope made o f every f i b e r o f the w o r l d t w i s t s h i m s e l f t o r t u r o u s l y i n t o one t i g h t knot—and i n so do ing knots h i m s e l f i n t o the w o r l d k n o t . He knots h i m s e l f i n t o a l l men and women, angels and demons, heaven and h e l l . In the a c t of c o n s t r i c t i o n he ga thers them a l l up i n t o h i m s e l f . He i s l i k e a t o u r n i q u e t w i t h the b lood o f the w o r l d h e l d i n h i s one h e a r t . H i s v o i c e becomes a g n a r l o f t h e i r v o i c e s , a " s n a r l o f the s o u r c e s . " When he unwinds he becomes an o r c h e s t r a to a l l the sympathies and p l a y e r s t h a t i nhe re i n t h a t k n o t . 28 The poem must b e g i n w i t h t h i s knot and the poem i s not over t i l l t h i s knot has completely unwound. T h i s knot i s what causes the necessary t e n s i o n o r f e v e r which d r i v e s e v e r y t h i n g e l s e (sound, s y l l a b l e , rhythm, image). I t i s as though the knot c r e a t e s a v o r t e x t h a t p u l l s i n t o i t the metaphors and sounds p e c u l i a r to i t s t w i s t and then w h i r l s them out toward the r e a d e r . For example, the poet must f i r s t ' knot h i m s e l f i n t o the l i v e s o f the dead i n "As the Dead Prey Upon Us." He must f e e l the s t r a i n o f the dead, o f those c o n s t r i c t e d and imprisoned i n m o r t a l w e ariness. He must be t h a t c o n s t r i c t i o n h i m s e l f . He must f e e l n e t t e d , tense, f r u s t r a t e d , weighted down. In t h i s i n t e n s e s t a t e he may become through sympathy e v e r y t h i n g e l s e i n the world t h a t i s l i k e w i s e c o n s t r a i n e d , f r u s t r a t e d , n e t t e d . So t h a t the poet does not have to s e a r c h f o r the metaphors to be used i n the poem, they n a t u r a l l y a r i s e i n h i m — t h e c a r t h a t t r a p s , the nets and l a d d e r s t h a t ensnare, the equipments t h a t weigh down the s o u l — a r e i n emotional and metaphoric uni o n w i t h the poet's t e n s i o n . A l l the poet needs do i s a c t out t h i s t e n s i o n ; t h a t i s , a c t o u t a psychodrama of a l l these c o n s t r i c t e d p a r t s i n h i m s e l f who make up the " c h a r a c t e r s " i n the poem. He a l l o w s each " c h a r a c t e r , " each metaphor to p l a y out any g e s t u r e o f i t s d e s i r e — t o t a l k Negro t a l k , to walk the j a c k a s s , to gab l i k e an o l d woman, to l i s t e n to the v i c t r o l a — s o t h a t they may work out t h a t t e n s i o n and f i n a l l y be r e l e a s e d from the nets of b e i n g . But 29 the poet must f i r s t achieve that emotional tension i n him-s e l f that pushes the poem and p u l l s the metaphors, images, words, and rhythm into i t . If the various elements i n the poem abide by t h i s tension then the poem w i l l have a unity of behavior. And the reader w i l l move through the poem drawn into the same vortex at the same speed of that vortex and thereby undergo the same emotional tension that the poet underwent. The poet must again get into a c e r t a i n tension to write "Variations Done for Gerald van de Wiele." I t i s a p a r t i c u l a r fever of desire that has created the poem, the desire that thinks of i t s e l f as a d i e s e l , grinding and plowing the ground. The important thing to note i s that t h i s fever, t h i s p i t c h of excitement, has been consummated i n the poet before the poem has begun and i t i s only a matter of allow-ing t h i s pent-up charge to unwind and rush into the poem. The poet i s so knotted up with the charge he becomes impersonal, he becomes anything i n the world that shares that same fever: birds bursting into a multitude, whippoorwills drumming the night, bees ravishing flowers, a moon blue from d e s i r e . The words of the poem are caught i n the force of the desire, and c l i n g to i t s peculiar craziness: the body "whips," the seasons "seize," the night's t r a c t o r "grinds," and "the matutinal cock clangs." I t i s a charge that has gone crazy or rather not crazy, but has attained a singleness of e f f o r t 30 and e v e r y t h i n g i n i t s p e c u l i a r emotional path i s y i e l d e d up to i t . The poet ag a i n does not choose h i s words, they are y i e l d e d up i n the r u s h . T h i s unwinding knot o r f e v e r i s the push o f the poem t h a t melts one t h i n g i n t o another, breaks form o u t of form (bees out of b i r d s ) , and s t a r t s the " r a i n (that) f o r c e s e v e r y -t h i n g . " The poem pushes i t s way i n t o b e i n g once the i n i t i a l t e n s i o n has been g i v e n . I t s onrush i s almost i n e v i t a b l e , as though the t r a n s m u t a t i o n of b i r d s i n t o bees i n t o d i e s e l i n t o A p r i l i n t o n i g h t j a r i s i n e v i t a b l e , as i n e v i t a b l e as a rope u n t w i s t i n g . I t i s a charge, an a c c e l e r a t i o n t h a t i s not a w i l d abandon but i s an i n e v i t a b l e p e r p e t u a t i o n — o f a c e r t a i n world c o n t o r t i o n , a c e r t a i n melody, a c e r t a i n emotion. The poem throws i t s e l f o u t of i t s e l f . I t grows out o f i t s e l f . L i k e a l l growth i t obeys the laws o f g e n e r a t i o n ( g e n u s — f a m i l y , kind) so t h a t the v a r i o u s images and words are r e l a t e d , they obey the same t r o p i s m , they are l i k e k i n whose names echo each o t h e r ("bees," " b i r d s , " " s e i z e , " " c l a n g , " "drum," "grind") as they populate the poem w i t h the b l o o d o f t h e i r p r o g e n i t o r . To keep t h i s push k i n e t i c — t o keep i t p r o p e l l e d v i a 4 5 language, language must be "the a c t of the i n s t a n t . " I t 46 must "meet head-on what goes on each s p l i t second." Language must a c t out the t e n s i o n as i t i s happening. I t must remain immediate and contemporary w i t h t h a t t e n s i o n to m a i n t a i n the sap of t h a t t e n s i o n . I t must be the speech o f the a c t u a l surge o f l i f e i n t o the p r e s e n t , i n t o the moving and metamorphosing p r e s e n t . I t must be c o i n c i d e n t w i t h time i t s e l f (the u n i n t e r r u p t e d present) and be i n v i g o r a t e d w i t h the change of t h a t p r e s e n t . I t must be the d i r e c t q u o t a t i o n of "what i s happening and what causes e v e r y t h i n g to happen." I t accomplishes t h i s through the b r e a t h and the e a r . CHAPTER 4 BREATH The b r e a t h i s l i k e a runner the way i t pumps i n t o the p r e s e n t , charges and d i s c h a r g e s , i n s p i r e s the world a f r e s h and g i v e s the locomotive o f the l i n e f r e s h d r i v e , f r e s h a p p r o a c h — c o n t i n u a l i n s p i r a t i o n . I t c o n v e r t s the t e n s i o n of the poem i n t o working energy so t h a t the l i n e i s caught i n the urge of the p r e s e n t , i n the rush o f the e l a n . Witness Olson's l i n e s from "Song 3" ("Songs o f Maximus"), In the time o f goodness, go s i d e , go smashing, beat them, go as (as near as you can t e a r Here the b r e a t h i s l i k e a loc o m o t i v e f o r g i n g and d r i v i n g the l i n e ahead. I t has the surge o f the p r e s e n t i m p e r a t i v e . S i n c e the b r e a t h i s a d i r e c t v a l v e o f the h e a r t i t a c t s l i k e a p i s t o n to the pent-up excitement and p u l s e of the h e a r t . I t i s a syncopated p i s t o n . I t p u r p o s e l y misses a beat so t h a t the h e a r t i s thwarted and d r i v e n on by d e s i r e . I t i s e x a c t l y the b r e a t h ' s a b i l i t y to syncopate t h a t f o r c e s the l i n e to move, to break away from any monotony. In the stops and pauses 3 3 so r e g i s t e r e d - - - ; : h e ends o f l i n e s , t he commas, p a r e n t h e s e s , s t a n z a b r e a k s - - t h e b r e a t h can g a t h e r momentum f o r t h e push i n t o the n e x t l i n e o r w o r d , and t h u s r e g e n e r a t e s i t s c h a r g e . Watch i t as i t pushes and s y n c o p a t e s t h e l i n e ( a p p r o x i m a t e l y 1 u n a c c e n t e d b e a t f o r commas, p a r e n t h e s e s , and 1 1/2 u n -a c c e n t e d f o r ends o f l i n e s ) : , , a ^ ah go s i d e , go s m a s h i n g , b e a t them, go as a - u. a <• uu (as n e a r as you c a n t e a r The e f f e c t i s t o f r u s t r a t e t h e r h y t h m , t o p r o p e l i t , and make i t f i n a l l y t e a r f o r t h i n t o one f i n a l a c c e n t e d b e a t . J u s t as t he o t h e r s t a n z a , so f r u s t r a t e d and d r i v e n by t h e s y n c o p a t i o n , r u s h t o w a r d a s i n g l e c l i m a x i n " p i s s , " " s i n g , " and " b a r e . " From "Song 1 , " c o l o r e d p i c t u r e s o f a l l t h i n g s t o e a t : d i r t y p o s t c a r d s And w o r d s , w o r d s , words a l l o v e r e v e r y t h i n g No eyes o r e a r s l e f t t o do t h e i r own d o i n g s The b r e a t h p r o p e l s t he poem n o t o n l y by s y n c o p a t i n g , b u t by c a u s i n g a t e n s i o n be tween v o w e l s and c o n s o n a n t s . The b r e a t h foments i t s e l f i n t h e drum o f " d i r t y , " and i n the o p e n i n g and u r g i n g o f " a l l o v e r e v e r y t h i n g / No eyes o r e a r s l e f t 34 (the vowels urge open), "to do t h e i r own doings" (while the consonants drum s h u t ) . I t i s the vowel t h a t i s important. I t urges and a n g u i s h e s — i t i s the c r y e r . The consonant i s an a r t i f i c i a l impediment purposely placed so t h a t the vowel may have the agony or ecstasy of b u r s t i n g through i t . The poet urges h i s breath l i k e a saxophone p l a y e r who s p o r a d i c a l l y c l o s e s the taps (consonants) f o r the u l t i m a t e joy of opening them and l e t t i n g the vowel sound f o r t h . L i k e w i s e , In the land of p l e n t y , have nothing to do w i t h i t take the way of the lowest, i n c l u d i n g your l e g s , go c o n t r a r y , go s i n g Here again the breath f o r c e s the t e n s i o n between the vowel and the consonant. At f i r s t the vowels are blocked by the hard consonants of " o l e n t y , " "nothing," " i n c l u d i n g , " " c o n t r a r y , " and "take." As though the s o u l must f i r s t break from t h i s p l e n t y to r e l e a s e i t s vowel. For the "ake" i n "take" aches to be heard, and the moan i n "low" and "go" i s f i n a l l y r e l i e v e d by " s i n g " — " s " a s o f t and y i e l d i n g con-sonant l e t t i n g the song s i n g out. CHAPTER 5 RHYTHM E v e r y t h i n g has rhythm. Rhythm i s the dynamic movement i n a n y t h i n g — t h e p a t t e r n o r tr e n d o f t h a t movement. Every-t h i n g has movement and thus e v e r y t h i n g has rhythm. A b i r d has rhythm. A f l o w e r has a c e r t a i n rhythm. I t s rhythm i s i t s surge from i t s r o o t towards e x f o l i a t i o n . Even a c h a i r has rhythm. I t expresses i t s rhythm i n the s t r e t c h o f i t s d e s i g n , the way i t yawns out from the s e a t . The c h a i r i s a n x i o u s l y performing and mimicking i t s rhythm a l l the t i m e — u n t i l such a time when i t crumbles i n t o junk and thence-forward performs the junk-rhythm, the junk dance. So t h a t even s t i l l t h i n g s have rhythm; they express a c e r t a i n t e n s i o n , a h i n t o f movement, i n t h e i r shape. A t h i n g may have not o n l y one rhythm but many a s s o c i a t e d rhythms. The rhythms o f a l e a f are i n the way i t u n f o l d s on the branch, tumbles toward the ground, and whorls c e n t r i p e t -a l l y w i t h a host o f o t h e r l e a v e s . Although i t has many rhythms, there i s s t i l l a c e r t a i n " l e a f n e s s " about a l l i t s rhythms, so t h a t one c o u l d t a l k o f a l e a f - r h y t h m . A person a l s o has many a s s o c i a t e d rhythms. The same body t h a t f o x -t r o t s can a l s o mambo, tango, and t w i s t . The same body t h a t hops can a l s o saunter and g a l l o p . Yet th e r e i s some g e n e r a l q u a l i t y t h a t d e f i n e s human rhythm from l e a f o r b i r d rhythm. The t y p e w r i t e r a l s o has a s s o c i a t e d rhythms i n the punch o f i t s keys and the swing of i t s c a r r i a g e , y e t th e r e seems to be a g e n e r a l t y p e w r i t e r rhythm. Each person i n h i m s e l f has a d i f f e r e n t rhythm from any o t h e r person. Some people are as slow and ponderous as c r o c o d i l e s and t h i s rhythm extends i n t o e v e r y t h i n g they do. Others are as qu i c k and snappish as snakes and t h e i r l a s h snaps i n t o every a c t i v i t y . Yet every a c t i v i t y i n i t s e l f ,has i t s own b a s i c rhythm, no matter how much the p e r s o n a l i t y a f f e c t s i t : so t h a t t h e r e i s a rhythm o f rowing a boat, a rhythm of p i c k i n g up a f o r k , and a rhythm o f e a t i n g . Each has i t s own t r e n d , i t s own p e c u l i a r g r a c e . Even i n mental l i f e , t h i n k i n g has a d i f f e r e n t rhythm than dreaming, and t a l k i n g o f t e n has a d i f f e r e n t rhythm than w r i t i n g . Rhythm c l i n g s i n e v i t a b l y to e v e r y t h i n g then. But beyond the rhythms of each t h i n g i n i t s e l f , t h e r e may be some u n i v e r s a l rhythm, some b a s a l metabolism, which a l l rhythm s p r i n g s from. And which when tapped c o u l d y i e l d the rhythmic s e c r e t s of a n y t h i n g . The human h e a r t i t s e l f seems to be a sp r i n g b o a r d t o a g r e a t v a r i e t y o f rhythms. For the human being can a t times i m i t a t e the rhythm of the monkey, the qu i c k a l e r t n e s s o f the c a t , the slowness o f the bear, and can even i m i t a t e the rhythms of b i r d - f l i g h t , r o s e - t h r u s t , and c h a i r - s t r e t c h . Could i t be t h a t the h e a r t i t s e l f i s somehow i n gear w i t h a l l o t h e r beat i n the w o r l d . The h e a r t ' s beat i s v o l a t i l e , a f t e r a l l , and can qu i c k e n or slow down as the emotion moves i t . T h i s would p r o b a b l y a l l o w i t to f e e l the f a s t pace o f the mouse o r the slowness of the b r o n t o s a u r u s . And i f the emotional temperment o f such animals i s c o n t r o l l e d by the r a t e o f t h e i r h e a r t b e a t then the mouse would be v e r y "nervous" and "on edge" and the brontosaurus v e r y calm, l e t h a r g i c , and w i t h h i s eyes h a l f - c l o s e d i n l a z i n e s s . Can man then f e e l the nervousness o f the mouse or the l e t h a r g y of the brontosaurus through the v a r i a b i l i t y o f h i s own h e a r t -b e a t . I f so, then b r e a t h which i s a v a l v e o f the h e a r t , but a semi-independent v a l v e , can p r o j e c t the many rhythms and moods of the h e a r t i n t o speech. For l i k e the ear "which has c o l l e c t e d , which has l i s t e n e d , which i s so c l o s e to the mind t h a t i t i s the mind's, t h a t i t has the mind's speed. . . so has the b r e a t h c o l l e c t e d and l i s t e n e d to the h e a r t , and i s so c l o s e to the h e a r t t h a t i t i s the h e a r t ' s , t h a t i t has the h e a r t ' s speed. And l i k e the ear which can i m i t a t e the sounds i t hears, the b r e a t h can i m i t a t e and syncopate the v a r i o u s rhythms o f the h e a r t . L i k e a drummer tuned i n to the beat of e v e r y t h i n g , i t can i m i t a t e the rhythm and d r i v e of any c r e a t u r e , mouse o r d i n o s a u r . Thus the poet begins w i t h the premise t h a t "he who possesses ( h i s h e a r t ' s ) rhythms 4 9 possesses the u n i v e r s e . " 38 The h e a r t thus a c t s as a gauge to i n t e r c e p t the rhythm o f any t h i n g and t r a n s f e r s i t to the b r e a t h and poem. Once the rhythm i s i n i t i a l l y pushed i n t o the poem i t moves of i t s own weight and v e l o c i t y and f a l l s i n t o i t s p a r t i c u l a r dance. J u s t as when one s t a r t s to do a tango he f a l l s i n t o d o i n g a tango. The f u t u r e s u b j e c t - m a t t e r and words-to-be i n the poem f a l l i n t o the tango as w e l l . That i s , the rhythm and emotion are the primary f o r c e from which e v e r y t h i n g e l s e s p r i n g s . One does not s t a r t w r i t i n g about a t r e e ; one be g i n s i m i t a t i n g the f o r c e o f the t r e e . And i m i t a t i n g the f o r c e c r e a t e s a v o r t e x i n t o which the words are n a t u r a l l y p u l l e d . In " V a r i a t i o n s Done f o r G e r a l d van de W i e l e " i t i s the rhythm or f o r c e o f d e s i r e t h a t d r i v e s the poem. The rhythm breaks i n t o bloom and f o r c e s e v e r y t h i n g , b i r d s , bees, the whole human b u s i n e s s , to break f o r t h o u t o f i t s e l f and j o i n the rhythm. we plow, we move, we break out, we l o v e i n a c o n t i n u a l noun-verb, noun-verb, noun-verb t h r u s t t h a t yanks the f o r c e o ut of e v e r y t h i n g . E v e r y t h i n g i s t w i s t e d i n t o the torque o f l u s t , the rhythm o f l u s t . In i t s s h o r t sharp t h r u s t s the rhythm i s immediately t r a n s i t i v e caught as i t i s i n the verb of nature and passes l i k e " l i g h t n i n g . " The rhythm o f l i g h t n i n g p r o -c r e a t e s the su b j e c t - m a t t e r of l i g h t n i n g , whatever i s f a s t 39 and f u r i o u s and t r a n s i t i v e — t h e b i r d s , the.bees, the cock, the wind, the r a i n , and whatever e l s e i s " c r a z y " w i t h e n e r g y — i s generated and p u l l e d i n t o the a c c e l e r a t i o n o f rhythm. The rhythm i n t h i s poem wants to go_, and whatever o b j e c t s o r words can h e l p make i t go are y i e l d e d up to i t . The rhythm d r i v e s e v e r y t h i n g to a f r e n z y . I t makes each t h i n g pound or beat the f o r c e out o f the next t h i n g : "The body whips the s o u l , " "the w h i p p o o r w i l l . . . g r i n d s h i s song," "even the n i g h t i s drummed." "The wind, the r a i n " o f the d r i v i n g rhythm " f o r c e s e v e r y t h i n g . " The f i s s i o n i n the poem i s so f a s t t h a t the verbs are sometimes not qu i c k enough to keep the nouns from g e t t i n g a t each o t h e r ' s t h r o a t s and drumming each o t h e r : i r i s and l i l a c , b i r d s b i r d s , y e l l o w f l o w e r s white f l o w e r s The i r i s and l i l a c break f o r t h and fus e i n t o the b i r d s , the b i r d s transmute i n t o a ru s h o f y e l l o w f l o w e r s which are so charged w i t h d e s i r e they are white I Even the s y l l a b l e s h e l p the rhythm keep i t s g_o_. The cantankerous consonants k i c k out the vowels l i k e a i r suddenly punched out o f the stomach, and the rhythm i s thus d r i v e n out of e v e r y t h i n g making "the dogwood l i g h t up the day." Or the s y l l a b l e s , pregnant w i t h d e s i r e , b u r s t from b e i n g "blue from the f u l l o f the A p r i l moon," and b u r s t as w e l l i n the bees and b i r d s , 40 . . . bees d i g the plum blossoms and i r i s and l i l a c , b i r d s  b i r d s . . . . and us, are busy. We are busy i f we can g e t by t h a t whiskered b i r d as though the bees and b i r d s are so busy they b u r s t i n t o blossom. I t i s not the a l l i t e r a t i o n i t s e l f t h a t i s important but the rhythm t h a t i n i t s i n t e n s e d e s i r e d r i v e s the sound to r e c u r , i t i s so p l e a s e d w i t h the b u r s t o f i t . The rhythm compels the words ( t h e i r vowels) to b u r s t out of t h e i r j a c k e t s and blossom i n any way p o s s i b l e . I t whips the " w h i p p o o r w i l l " i n t o song w h i l e "the wind f o r c e s e v e r y t h i n g . " I t "cracks Nature's moulds" by making "the cock" "crow" and " c l a n g . " The rhythm becomes a " D i e s e l " o f d e s i r e t h a t d r i v e s i t s e l f to such a f e v e r ( " D e l i r e s ! " ) t h a t i t compels the s y l l a b l e s to break out of the language and t a l k i n tongues, to l a p s e i n t o pure French, "0 s a i s o n s , o c h a t e u x ! " — 0 seasons, o c a s t l e s — a s though .the d e s i r e has reached the p i n n a c l e o f i t s f r e n z y and transforms i t s e l f i n t o the pure j o y o f d e l i r i u m , o f speech. In "As the Dead Prey Upon Us" i t i s the emotion o f weariness t h a t i n s p i r e s the rhythm. The poet s t a r t s o f f w i t h an a p p r o p r i a t e l y somnambulant drone of 41 As the dead prey upon us, they are the dead i n o u r s e l v e s and the c o n s t a n t drag o f the beat, and the resembling phrases of the dead upon us the dead i n o u r s e l v e s the dead upon us the dead i n o u r s e l v e s sound l i k e a pendulum of doom swinging back and f o r t h . I t s e t s up a drone, a basso o s t i n a t o f o r the r e s t of the poem to flow from. And the whole room was suddenly p o s t e r s and p r e s e n t a t i o n s of brake l i n i n g s and o t h e r automotive a c c e s s o r i e s , cardboard d i s p l a y s , the dead roaming from one to another. . . . In the f i v e h i n d r a n c e s men and a n g e l s s t a y caught i n the net, i n the immense nets which spread o u t a c r o s s each plane o f b e i n g , the m u l t i p l e nets which hamper. . . . In the f i r s t o f these stanzas the rhythm i s f u l l o f s l e e p , or r a t h e r s l e e p l e s s , the l a z y l i s t l e s s drone o f those n e i t h e r i n the q u i c k o f s l e e p or wakefulness. Or as i n the second s t a n z a the rhythm i s caught i n the g r o s s nets o f c e r e b r a l d i s c o u r s e as the poet p l o d s through the weight o f the dead to f i n d the m i s s i n g l i n k t h a t can awaken the s o u l s back to l i f e o r p e a c e f u l death. L i k e one p l o d d i n g through prose s e a r c h i n g f o r the key i n t o the p o e t i c . The nets o f the p r o s a i c spread out a c r o s s the page hampering. The rhythm then switches from i n s o m n i a c a l drone to r h a p s o d i c a l complaint, the w a i l of a man to h i s mother, 0 peace, my mother, I do not know how d i f f e r e n t l y I c o u l d have done what I d i d or d i d not do. That you are back each week That you f a l l a s l e e p w i t h your, f a c e to the r i g h t That you are as p r e s e n t there when I come i n as you were when you were a l i v e That you are as s o l i d , and your f l e s h i s as I knew i t , t h a t you have the company I am used to your having but oh t h a t you a l l f i n d i t such a cheapness! » » • • (o mother, i f you had once touched me o mother, i f I had once touched you) I t has song i n s t e a d o f drone b ut i s the slow d o l e f u l song o f a chorus o f mourners, beckoning, b e s e e c h i n g . The r h e t o r i c a l "That you are back . . . t h a t you f a l l . . . t h a t you are . . . e t c , " u p l i f t s the rhythm i n t o a song of remorse and p r o v i d e s a t e n s i o n o f u n r e q u i t e d l o v e t h a t demands to be f u l f i l l e d . I t f i n d s i t s r e q u i t a l i n "the v e n t ! " With the command of "You must have the vent . . . we must have what we want" the rhythm s k i p s gears out of the drone and remorse of s l e e p -l e s s n e s s and i n t o the i m p e r a t i v e o f l i f e . D e s i r e demands to be q u i t e d . The nets must be d i s e n t a n g l e d . The poet l e a d s the charge: 0 s o u l s , burn a l i v e , burn now t h a t you may f o r e v e r have peace, have what you cr a v e 0 s o u l s , go i n t o e v e r y t h i n g . . . Here the rhythm.gets o u t of bed, throws o f f i t s s l e e p i n g shrouds, and marches headlong i n t o b e i n g a l i v e . "Awake, men, awake" i t commands. The s o u l "has s l i p p e d the cog," "Nothing / b e f o r e the hand o f man": the hand has taken the g r i p o f , and g i v e n the urge to l i f e i t s e l f . The prose which h o r i z o n t a l l y slumbered has awakened i n t o the v e r t i c a l p o e t i c , and what was once the monotony of s l e e p has broken i n t o a b u r n i n g , r a g i n g f e v e r . 44 Olson says "rhythm i s time (not measure. . . ) . The r o o t i s r h e i n : to flow. And ma s t e r i n g the flow o f the s o l i d , time, we invoke o t h e r s . " ^ ^ By time he means p s y c h o l o g i c a l t i m e — t h e flow o f the c o n s c i o u s n e s s . T h i s flow i s p r o p u l s i v e and c r e a t i v e because i t has f r e s h focus c o n t i n u a l l y . I t p e r c e i v e s the world anew every second. I t i s f r e e to w i t n e s s and move w i t h the f l u x i o n i n l i f e because, indeed c o n s c i o u s n e s s (when t r u l y r e a l i z e d ) i s c o i n c i d e n t w i t h the p u l s i n g movement of l i f e i t s e l f . . I t i s d i r e c t l y i n t i m a t e w i t h the law o f change. Olson wants to grasp t h i s p r o p u l s i o n o f the mind and move al o n g i t s "nerve," to f o l l o w the course o f the excitement. Rhythm i s the p r o p u l s i o n o f time. When any t h i n g i s p r o p e l l e d i t s p a s t i s c a r r i e d r i g h t i n t o the t h r u s t o f the p r e s e n t . The momentum o f the p a s t pushes the rhythm i n t o the f u t u r e . I t i s l i k e a man b e i n g chased. He runs so f a s t each movement o f h i s body a n t i c i p a t e s the next second. I f a t h i n g moves f a s t enough then i t s body c o n t r a c t s . The poem a l s o seems t o c o n t r a c t as the rhythm a c c e l e r a t e s — t h e l i n e s r u n s h o r t e r and q u i c k e r , the words h u f f and p u f f i n d i v i d u a l l y . When the rhythm i s so charged i t i s as though the poet i s taken out o f h i m s e l f and becomes p a r t o f a n e u t r a l o r u n i v e r s a l f o r c e (witness the change o f rhythm i n "Song 3" from the p e r s o n a l mode to the e x u l t a n t ) . 45 Or witness the rhythm of g e t t i n g i n t o "the p r o c e s s , " g e t on w i t h i t , keep moving, keep i n , speed, the nerves, t h e i r speed, the p e r c e p t i o n s , t h e i r s , the a c t s , the s p l i t second a c t s , the whole b u s i n e s s , keep i t moving as f a s t as you can, c i t i z e n . 51 I t i s a r e v e i l l e , a c a l l - t o - a r m s . Each word chases each o t h e r and the p r o p u l s i o n i s so f a s t the p a s t i s t h r u s t immediately i n t o the p r e s e n t . The back s e a t d r i v e r has been t h r u s t i n t o the d r i v e r ' s s e a t who i s a l r e a d y going o u t the w i n d s h i e l d . D e s t i n y i s d i r e c t l y and immediately r e a l i s e d . So t h a t t h e r e i s o n l y the p r e s e n t t e n s e . One i s not w a i t i n g f o r the a c t i o n i n the sentence to happen, f o r the s u b j e c t to l e a d to a verb and p r e d i c a t e . I n s t e a d , the s u b j e c t has gathered verb and p r e d i c a t e i n t o i t s e l f and i s immediately blossoming f o r t h every second. M a n i f e s t d e s t i n y , the new f r o n t i e r . Speech i s no l o n g e r the drag, the harness i t used to be, but i s the q u i c k and easy t o o l of the c r e a t i v e c o n s c i o u s n e s s which i s newly c o n c r e t e a t every second. The c o n s c i o u s n e s s has e n t e r e d the f l u x i o n of l i f e i t s e l f , the v e r y p u l s i n g movement of l i f e which i s c o i n c i d e n t w i t h change i t s e l f . And speech i s p u l l e d along w i t h i t . The words move f a s t e r and f a s t e r u n t i l speech i s f i n a l l y l i b e r a t e d i n t o the p r e s e n t 'moment and a t t a i n s a k i n d o f s a t o r i o f c o e x i s t i n g w i t h the p u l s e o f n a t u r e . I t i s elemental once more and thus c r e a t i v e and can say and be a n y t h i n g i t wants to be i n n a t u r e . The poet has become Nature w r i t i n g . C a r r i e d i n t o the f l u x i o n he has c o n t i n u a l spontaneous and f r e s h f o c u s . He p e r c e i v e s the world anew every second and consummates i t i n t o speech every second. T h i s i s the v e r t i c a l p o e t i c i t s e l f ! as c o n t r a s t e d w i t h h o r i z o n t a l p r o s e . Here speech i s c o n s t a n t e m i s s i o n , s i n c e i t i s one w i t h the f l u x i o n of l i f e , and thus i s c o n s t a n t i n s p i r a t i o n of l i f e . The reader r e a d i n g the passage above moves a t the speed o f h i s nerves, a t the r a t e of h i s b l o o d . He e n t e r s the emotion o f l i f e and goes w i t h i t , w i t h i t s i m p u l s i o n . He moves a t the r a t e of enthusiasm i t s e l f . The speed and i n t e n s e energy o f "the p r o c e s s " are so f a s t and f u r i o u s t h a t one t h i n k s of F e n e l l o s a ' s comment t h a t i f Nature were to w r i t e a sentence i t would take a l l e t e r n i t y . For Nature i s expanding and imploding everywhere a t once: "Motion l e a k s everywhere l i k e e l e c t r i c i t y from an exposed 52 w i r e . " The f a c t i s t h a t N a t u r e — a s f l u x i o n and e l a n — d o e s not w r i t e sentences but i s a poet whose every g e s t u r e s p r i n g s f o r t h to generate thousands of o t h e r g e s t u r e s . And the human poet when he w r i t e s w i t h i n the speed o f "the p r o c e s s " becomes the poet Nature who c o n t i n u a l l y and momentaneously d i s c h a r g e s a new world from h i s pen. The chase of the rhythm o c c u r s i n a l t e r n a t i n g f l a s h e s o f hot and c o l d . The rhythm g e t s wound up and then l e t s go, wound up and l e t s go every second. T h i s i s the d r i v i n g f e v e r o f the rhythm. I t a c t s l i k e a g e n e r a t o r t h a t r e c h a r g e s i t s e l f momentaneously. A person who a l t e r n a t e s a hot sauna w i t h a n _ i c e - c o l d shower e x p e r i e n c e s the same q u i c k r e - c h a r g i n g w i t h h i s r i s e i n b l o o d - p r e s s u r e . With the b l o o d pounding i n t o h i s b r a i n he e x p e r i e n c e s f r e s h focus o f the world every second, and f e e l s the p u l s i n g r u s h o f l i f e i t s e l f . Rhythm i s l o o s e d . "To r a i s e the beat of the b r a i n to b r i n g i t oxygen"^"* which W i l l i a m s sees as concomitant w i t h the a c t o f the i m a g i n a t i o n , the f l u x i o n o f l i f e . The poet must g e t the rhythm r e a l l y hot and worked up, and then, w h i l e i t ' s i n the heat o f i t s flow, f o r g e i t and shape i t i n t o words, c a r e f u l not to l o s e i t s h e a t — t h e a g i l i t y of the b l a c k s m i t h . Thus Olson d i s c u s s e s "mastering the flow" o f the rhythm: "And maste r i n g the flow o f the s o l i d , time (rhythm), we invoke o t h e r s . Because we take time and hea t i t , 54 make i t serve o u r s e l v e s , our, form." N o t i c e a b l y he makes the l i n e serve him. He i s l i k e a man on a h a n d b a l l c o u r t who keeps the b a l l o f the l i n e moving a l l the time, keeping i t s v e l o c i t y up, and aiming to scor e as much as p o s s i b l e . He keeps the b a l l w i t h i n c l o s e bounds a l l the time, does not l e t i t bounce w i l l y - n i l l y . I t i s t h i s d u a l o f the q u i c k b a l l and the a l e r t man which g i v e s the l i n e i t s q u i c k and c o n t r o l . He sc o r e s w i t h "our" and " f o r m " — t h e y are re p o s s e s s e d o f t h e i r i n f i n i t i v e . "Our" i s no l o n g e r a vague pronoun but i s a verb l i k e "go" o r "do." And w i t h time broken and ru n n i n g there i s no "form" except what the poet i s forming. L i k e w i s e , the l i n e , 48 But t h e r e i s a l o s s i n Crane o f what F e n e l l o s a i s so r i g h t about, i n syntax, the sentence as f i r s t a c t o f n a t u r e , as l i g h t n i n g , as passage o f f o r c e from s u b j e c t to o b j e c t , q u i c k , i n t h i s case, from Hart to me, i n every case, from me to you, the VERB, between two nouns. 55 The sentence here p r a c t i c e s what i t preaches. I t t r a n s f e r s f o r c e v e r y q u i c k l y due to the s h o r t c a t a p u l t i n g p h r a s e s . Olson a g a i n i s i n h i s h a n d b a l l c o u r t . "Quick" passes so q u i c k l y t h a t whatever happens "from me to you" i s immediately t r a n s f e r r e d . The b a l l o f the l i n e i s not allowed to become f l a c c i d w i t h s t a l e meaning. He c o u l d e a s i l y have s a i d "The sentence must be t r a n s i t i v e . " But i n s t e a d , meaning i s made to be what i t r e a l l y i s , c o i n c i d e n t w i t h energy i t s e l f and must s t a y i n c i r c u i t l i k e the h a n d b a l l . So O l s o n sensuously enacts F e n e l l o s a ' s axiom. The poet a c t u a l l y makes the l i n e , f o r g e s i t w h i l e i t i s heated and p a s s i n g . CHAPTER 6 WORDS I f the b r e a t h g i v e s locomotion and drama to the l i n e , the ear p r o v i d e s the speech t h a t p l a y s w i t h i n the l i n e . Hence, melody and harmony. The ear i s the tympanum to the world o f sound. I t i s a drum f o r the w o r l d to percuss upon ( s e n s i t i v e to tune as w e l l as beat: a drum and piano p e r c u s s i v e ) . Through the s k i n of the ear the poet p i c k s up a l l the s l i g h t a c c i d e n t s and d i s t u r b a n c e s of sound; the g r a c e -notes of sound, how the s y l l a b l e s of sound f a l l towards each o t h e r i n p l a y . And the ear remembers the sound o f each t h i n g . The mind t e l l s i t what each t h i n g "means" so the ear can a s s o c i a t e the sound w i t h i t s source. And the sounds seem a p p r o p r i a t e to the sources they s p r i n g from: the "maw" of the mouth, the "spangle" o f the s t a r , the "doom" o f the dead. The world seems onomatopoetic to the e a r . I t a l s o enjoys the rhyme o f sounds. How one sound moves q u i c k l y upon another sound i n t i m a t i n g i t and f l a t t e r i n g i t . How " k i s s " f a l l s toward " b l e s s " and " b l e s s " towards "curse"; how "weep" immediately f a l l s upon " w a i l " ; and "sunday" has an a c c i d e n t w i t h "summer day." The sounds hear each o t h e r not e s p e c i a l l y because they a l l i t e r a t e b ut because they musculate ( t h e i r sound and sense t w i s t together) i n the same 50 way. As soon as "bark" i s g i v e n , "break" and " b i t e " snap a t i t s neck. The ear knows the f e e l i n g o f each sound, i t f e e l s the i n t e n t o f each sound. I t hears "writhe" c l e n c h i t s e l f l i k e a muscle and w r i t h e f o r t h . I t hears " c a l l " c a l l out l i k e a crow cawing, seeking i t s echo. With the mind's h e l p the ear j o i n s s y l l a b l e to s y l l a b l e and word to word i n a whole l i n e to i m i t a t e the sound o f a c e r t a i n emotion. To g i v e emotion a house to l i v e i n , a boat to row o f f from. Accidence i s the a u r a l dance o f words i n the poem. Ac c i d e n c e i s f l e x i b l e to meanings of "agreeing w i t h , " " f a l l i n g towards," "happening," " f a l l i n g i n t o g r a c e , " and "concordance" (accidence i m p l y i n g a dance r e s u l t i n g i n c o n c o r d ) . I t s L a t i n r o o t s might be a c c i d o ; f a l l on, happen; accedo; approach, agree w i t h ; cedo: y i e l d t o . The E n g l i s h word "cadence" thus occurs when speech f a l l s i n t o flow, o r f a l l s towards a r e s t . Each word has c o n t i n u a l a c c i d e n t s w i t h o t h e r words t h a t are l i k e i t s e l f . A word i s l i k e a p a r t i c i p l e t h a t p a r t i c i p a t e s a c c i d e n t a l l y . I t f a l l s o u t o f i t s e l f when r e f l e c t i n g and i n f l e c t i n g upon i t s e l f . An a c c i d e n t i n music i s the "grace-note," a s l i g h t l y p l a y e d note which q u i c k l y f a l l s upon a more s u b s t a n t i a l note. I t informs t h a t note. Words too i n f o r m one another: a c c e n t i n g and a c c i d e n t i n g one another g r a c e f u l l y . . Each word i s a g r a c e -note, d e s i r i n g t o f a l l towards a more agreea b l e word, to f a l l i n t o g r a c e . Each word i s a grace-word responding g r a c e f u l l y , g r a t e f u l l y , i m i t a t i n g i t s e l f o u t of d e s i r e . 51 Language a t f i r s t seems m y s t e r i o u s . A person i s born i n t o language j u s t as a baby i s born i n t o a strange w o r l d . Words are strange to him. They " n e i t h e r h i d e nor r e v e a l " themselves. They are g i f t s to him from h i s p r e -d e c e s s o r s , h eirlooms, and t h e i r meanings, c o n n o t a t i o n s , and myths have a l r e a d y accrued l i k e sediment around the b a s i c word over time j u s t as a p e a r l s l o w l y develops around a b a s i c stone. The poet has to comprehend t h i s sediment as well- as p o s s i b l e . The b e s t he can do i s cross-examine the word about i t s o r i g i n and subsequent t r a d i t i o n . As Hugh Kenner s t a t e s the problem, Language i s a T r o j a n horse by which the u n i v e r s e gets i n t o the mind. The b u s i n e s s o f the a r t i s t i s to be c o n s t a n t l y aware t h a t the horse houses armed w a r r i o r s , even w h i l e a d m i t t i n g i t to h i s own mental c i t a d e l . He has then a chance o f winning them over, upon t h e i r emergence, and c r o s s - q u e s t i o n i n g them about the c o l l e c t i v e con-s c i o u s n e s s o u t s i d e of which they are the armed r e p r e s e n t a t i v e s . 56 That i s , the words are armed w i t h myths and a s s o c i a t i o n s . The word "water" means not o n l y "H 20" but has i d e a s o f baptism and innocence c l i n g i n g to i t . The word " c r o s s " i s armed w i t h sentiments o f s u f f e r i n g and repentance. Rather than be caught unawares by the words' l a t e n t powers, the poet u n l o c k s the myths entangled i n the words. He can then use the words e f f e c t i v e l y f o r h i s own advantage, h i s own myth-making; he can m a i n t a i n h i s words l i k e a s t a n d i n g army of d i s c i p l i n e d w a r r i o r s w i t h sharp weapons, and throw up h i s own f r o n t . 52 Once he understands the sediment around the words he forms a covenant w i t h the words by which he promises to remember t h e i r o r i g i n a l meanings and r e s p e c t t h e i r mythic a s s o c i a t i o n s . Then he can use the words to ensnare o t h e r s i n t o these myths. The poet becomes a f i s h e r o f men. He i n c a n t s the words as a p r i e s t i n c a n t s a n c i e n t r i t e s . He uses the words to evoke a n c i e n t and l a t e n t f e e l i n g s r o o t e d i n the c o n s c i o u s n e s s ' o f men. He performs a k i n d of 57 "anamnesis," an evoking and " r e c a l l i n g of something 58 l o v e d " and c h e r i s h e d . Anamnesis: " r e c a l l i n g o r r e -p r e s e n t i n g b e f o r e God an event i n the p a s t so t h a t i t becomes 59 here and now o p e r a t i v e by i t s e f f e c t s . " By s k i l l f u l i n -c a n t a t i o n o f the word " c r o s s " or even "wood" he s t i r s a warmth and opens an o l d wound. By d i s c r e t e l y pronouncing the word "water" a t the r i g h t moment he enacts i n the minds o f h i s c o n g r e g a t i o n the a s s o c i a t i o n s o f " b l e s s e d f o n t " and v i r g i n s p r i n g . He uses the o l d words l i k e o l d charms o r r e l i c s . He never breaks the covenant. The word demands to be r e c a l l e d and r e - l i f t e d , a s k i n g , as C h r i s t asked of h i s d i s c i p l e s a t the L a s t Supper, "Do t h i s f o r a r e c a l l i n g o f me." The words are a T h a n k s g i v i n g o f an o l d a c t . The poet h o l d s a l l o b j e c t s i n r e v e r e n c e . T h i s i s h i s f i r s t a c t o f d e v o t i o n . T h i s he does b e f o r e he names the o b j e c t s . He regards o b j e c t s not f o r t h e i r p r a c t i c a l v a l u e but f o r t h e i r r e l i g i o u s v a l u e , as g i f t s from the gods; or i f the o b j e c t i s man-made, as an o f f e r i n g to the gods. He thus t r e a t s a l l o b j e c t s as "anathemata," g i v e n f o r s a c r e d purposes. The r a i s o n d ' e t r e of every o b j e c t i s g r a t u i t o u s , i t e x i s t s f o r i t s own p l e a s u r e , or as sacrament to God. When an o b j e c t i s so h e l d i n reverence then i t s name w i l l a l s o be h e l d i n rev e r e n c e . Such as "rose": the name l i n g e r s to bear witness to the beauty of the o b j e c t . Or " p e a r l " : ' the v o i c e pronounces i t s l o w l y i n testament o f something so lo n g composed by the o y s t e r . Or "angel": one l i f t s the word hoping the sound w i l l t r a n s u b s t a n t i a t e i n t o s p i r i t and commemorate the a c t u a l a n g e l . One l e t s the word l i n g e r on h i s l i p s almost as one would study the t e x t u r e o f a jewel w i t h h i s hand's t o u c h — h o p i n g t h a t the f e e l and shimmer o f the jewel w i l l i n some way be absorbed i n t o the name of the jewel, hoping t h a t the name " g o l d " w i l l f e e l l i k e g o l d , and "sa p p h i r e " shine l i k e s a p p h i r e . Or t h a t "pony" w i l l have the g e n t l e t r o t o f the pony. And " f o a l " w i l l have the tender f e e l o f something j u s t born o u t o f i t s mother's f o l d . The names themselves are anathemata, b l e s s e d g i f t s i n d e v o t i o n to the o b j e c t or to the gods who f a s h i o n e d i t . The name c a r r i e s the numen o f the o b j e c t . I t c a r r i e s the l o c k e d - i n s p i r i t o f the o b j e c t . A c t u a l l y the word "name" comes from the L a t i n word nomen. But one wishes to r e l a t e nomen w i t h numen ( L . ) , the s p i r i t or p r e s i d i n g power. One f e e l s as i f the s p i r i t of the o b j e c t i s l o c k e d i n t o the name of the o b j e c t . The name, i t s nomen sounds l i k e an omen of i t s d e s t i n y . Which i s why names seem p r e c i o u s . As w i t h p e r s o n a l names. When a mother c a l l s out to her son, "0 David," she i s c a l l i n g f o r the s p i r i t o f David to answer. A l l Davids t h a t ever were or w i l l be harken to her c a l l . W a r r i o r s and kings a l i k e are aroused. I t i s the numen she c a l l s , the s p i r i t - b o d y of the name. In the sound of a name there i s the p u l l o f a whole d e s t i n y . Each name i s a p a t r i a r c h o r m a t r i a r c h . "Diana" evokes a h u n t r e s s , "Lawrence" one who i s crowned w i t h l a u r e l s . Each name s h i v e r s from b e i n g c a l l e d . Or the person s h i v e r s who c a l l s i t . Thus the embarrassment or shyness i n s a y i n g a name. The s p i r i t resounds i n the timbre of i t s c a l l . Names are o l d g l o r i e s . What a p p l i e s to people's names a l s o a p p l i e s to names of o b j e c t s and names o f f u n c t i o n s . There i s something i n each word t h a t l e t s a person r e c o g n i z e the o r i g i n o f t h a t word, t h a t l e t s him f e e l the shape and t r e n d o f i t s d e s t i n y . W i t h i n each word there i s a s m a l l e r and more a n c i e n t word t h a t s t r u g g l e s to pronounce i t s e l f . W i t h i n each word t h e r e i s a seed of t h a t word, t o u g h — a s tough as the f i r s t time i t was s a i d . This i s the etymon (Greek " t r u e " ) — t h e t r u e and p r i m i t i v e form o f the word. I t i s the root-muscle o f the word. The poet must d i s c o v e r t h a t root-muscle and f l e x i t to h i s d e s i r e . For i t c o n t a i n s the o r i g i n a l power o f the word, the o r i g i n a l i n t e n t and impulse of the word. The r e a d e r must t r y to v o i c e t h a t root-muscle i n pronouncing the word: to make h i s tongue push the " l i n g u a " i n "language," to dramatize the " g e i s t " i n "ghost," to breathe the Aryan "as" (to breathe) back i n t o " i s . " And thus r e i n f o r c e the i d e a t h a t l i f e depends on b r e a t h , t h a t when one bre a t h e s he brea t h e s i n "prana," v i t a l w orld energy. When the poet says "That g i r l i s p r e t t y , " the reader must breathe " i s " d e e p ly i n t o h i s lungs to i m i t a t e p r e t t i n e s s b e i n g breathed i n t o the g i r l . The poet wants to r e i n t r o d u c e the etymons "hus," "hud" and "hydan" back i n t o the word "house," to show t h a t "house" was o r i g i n a l l y a p l a c e to h i d e . So when the poet says "Let's to hydan" he means "Let's go home." The poet must w r i t e from the r o o t on up. The r e a d e r must r e a d from the r o o t on up. Both must speak w i t h f i r s t mouth, f i r s t emotion. T h e i r words are "wurdum" and "verba" e x p e l l e d from t h e i r T e u t o n i c and L a t i n lungs to s t a r t l e the l i s t e n e r i n t o h i s "sawol" (Teutonic s o u l ) . When a man names an o b j e c t he names i t immediately, d i r e c t from the excitement the t h i n g arouses i n him. The name he c a l l s o u t i s a p h y s i c a l r e a c t i o n to the o b j e c t i t s e l f . I t c a r r i e s the c a r n a l p a s s i o n o f the o b j e c t . As McClure says, when a man speaks words (names) the words must proceed d i r e c t from the r e a l "meat" o b j e c t through a man's " r e a l meat l i p s 61 and t h r o a t . . . to oth e r meat s p i r i t o r l i s t e n e r . " The words should not be a b s t r a c t from l i f e , but should be " p a r t 6 2 o f p h y s i o l o g y . " L i v e t i s s u e c o n n e c t i n g the source to the l i s t e n e r . The words must be motivated by whatever motivates the o b j e c t . They must move w i t h the p a s s i o n of the o b j e c t , and keep i t moving, emoting. They must be tense w i t h the nerve of the o b j e c t , b r i g h t or heavy w i t h the f i r e o r gloom o f the o b j e c t . The word " j a c k a s s " f o r example i s as raw as the day i t was born. The same f o r the words "blood" and "bone." Such words are r e a l ligament, c o n n e c t i v e t i s s u e between source and l i s t e n e r . W i t h i n such a word i s heard the warp and woof of the r e a l world, the mimicry of the w i l d , the branches between l i v i n g and n o n - l i v i n g t h i n g s . In p h o n e t i c languages the p a s s i o n o f the o b j e c t must be caught i n the sound of the word. " F i r e " emotes f e a r and i r e . "House" r e v e r b e r a t e s "haunts" and g h o s t s . "Wrench" i s wrenched from the t h r o a t . The poet depends l a r g e l y on onoma-t o p o e i a . The sounds of the words must somehow be v i s u a l . In ideogrammic languages, however, the poet need not r e l y on sounds. For he draws p i c t u r e s t h a t a c t u a l l y pantomime the v i s u a l a c t i o n of r e a l i t y . The Chinese language i s l i k e a p o e t r y t h a t enacts r e a l i t y . I t s words are l i k e p i c t u r e s of r e a l i t y t h a t a c t out 6 3 s t o r i e s . The word f o r "mouth," f o r example, i s a p i c t u r e o f a mouth w i t h two words and a flame coming out of i t . The word f o r "see" i s an eye w i t h two l e g s w a l k i n g through space. The word f o r "sh i n e " i s a p i c t u r e o f the sun and the moon. Thus the r e i s h a r d l y a d i v i s i o n between the word and the a c t . The word resembles and performs the o b j e c t ' s a c t . Each word moves and comes to l i f e : the mouth speaks, the eye sees, the sun s h i n e s . Nothing i s s t a t i c . E v e r y t h i n g performs i t s a c t , t r a n s f e r s i t s energy onto the next t h i n g . L i f e i s put i n t o motion. The word f o r " s p r i n g " i s a p i c t u r e of the sun u n d e r l y i n g the b u r s t i n g f o r t h of p l a n t s . The word f o r "water r i p p l e " d e p i c t s a boat p l u s water thus showing how 64 the boat causes the r x p p l e . Each word i s an a c t o r a l i v e to h i s cause and e f f e c t . He shows what moves him and how he moves o t h e r s . Each word i s a t r a n s i t i v e a c t l e a d i n g to o t h e r a c t s . I t i s l i k e a v i s u a l drama u n f o l d i n g and p r o g r e s s i n g , i n which the p u l s e o f l i f e i s seen c o n t i n u i n g . The c h a r a c t e r s 6 5 i n t e r a c t w i t h each o t h e r and "work out t h e i r f a t e . " There are no a b s t r a c t nouns such as "freedom" or " l o v e " except what i s charaded by the c h a r a c t e r s . Nothing i s a b s t r a c t e d from the process o f what i s happening and c a u s i n g o t h e r t h i n g s to happen. Since the ideogram i s p r i m a r i l y a language of a c t i o n , the verb i s the r o o t of the language. I t i s the r o o t i n s o -much as no t h i n g i n nature i s separated from i t s a c t i o n . A l l nouns are t h i n g s t h a t are a c t i n g . They imply v e r b s . T h i s i s o n l y n a t u r a l . As F e n o l l o s a e x p l a i n s , "The eye sees noun 6 6 and verb as one: t h i n g s i n motion, motion i n t h i n g s " and thus the Chinese language does not separate them. The symbol f o r "man" has two l e g s w a l k i n g , and so on. "The verb must be the primary f a c t of n ature, s i n c e motion and change are 6 7 a l l t h a t we can r e c o g n i z e i n her ( n a t u r e ) . " A l l languages, 58 F e n o l l o s a p o i n t s out, o r i g i n a l l y have verbs a t t h e i r r o o t s . I t i s the most p r i m i t i v e and v i a b l e way of e x p r e s s i n g the a c t i o n s of n a t u r e . And a l l o t h e r p a r t s o f speech a r e a r b i t r a r y e x t e n s i o n s o f the v e r b . The pronoun " I , " f o r i n s t a n c e , i n Chinese i s r e p r e s e n t e d by a "spear i n the hand," or by " f i v e and a mouth" which s i g n i f i e s a weak and d e f e n s i v e 68 " I , " h o l d i n g o f f a crowd by speaking. Both v e r b s . The p r e p o s i t i o n "by" i n Chinese i s r e p r e s e n t e d by the c h a r a c t e r meaning "to cause"; to=to f a l l toward; in=to remain, to d w e l l . 70 Any " ' p a r t of speech' i s (thus) o n l y what i t does." So t h a t each Chinese word i s " f u l l o f the sap o f n a t u r e . " Whatever i t s p a r t o f speech each word must be " l i k e 71 a sun," as h i g h l y charged w i t h the p a s s i o n of i t s source as p o s s i b l e . A l l words were once sun. Even some E n g l i s h i n t r a n s i t i v e verbs which have l o s t t h e i r a b i l i t y to "sun" were o r i g i n a l l y a c t i v e and t r a n s i t i v e from t h e i r source. "The E n g l i s h 'not' equals the S a n s k r i t na, which may come from the r o o t na, to be l o s t , to p e r i s h . 'Be' i s from bhu, to 7 2 grow." Rhythm="rhein:to f l o w . " I t ' s l i k e t a l k i n g to a f o r e i g n e r . I f he doesn't understand your language you t r y to speak as e m o t i v e l y as p o s s i b l e . You would t r y to be p e r f e c t l y c l e a r and d i r e c t . Not to use s u p e r f l u o u s words t h a t j u s t adorn and "decorate" speech, and which he wouldn't understand anyways. Rather your words should be so e x c i t i n g , so s h i v e r i n g w i t h the e m o t i o n y o u ' r e t r y i n g t o g e t a c r o s s t h a t t h e y t r a n s c e n d t h e l a n g u a g e b a r r i e r . I f you were t r y i n g t o t a l k a b o u t t h e sun you w o u l d say sun w i t h s u c h v e r v e t h a t t h e f o r e i g n e r w o u l d a b s o l u t e l y b r i g h t e n u p . Maybe n o t " s u n " the o b j e c t b u t c e r t a i n l y " s u n " t h e e m o t i o n w o u l d c a r r y a c r o s s t o h i m . As S p i c e r s a y s "A r e a l l y p e r f e c t poem c o u l d be p e r f e c t l y t r a n s -l a t e d by a p e r s o n who d i d n o t know one word o f t h e l a n g u a g e 73 i t was w r i t t e n i n . " B e c a u s e t h e p o e t w o u l d be t a l k i n g i n the tongue o f t h e e l a n and t h e l i s t e n e r w o u l d be l i s t e n i n g to . t h e u n i v e r s a l a l i v e i t s e l f . And t h u s , "A r e a l l y p e r f e c t 74 poem has an i n f i n i t e l y s m a l l v o c a b u l a r y " b e c a u s e i t w o u l d have no e x c e s s o f words ( f o r adornment o r ornament) b u t o n l y p u r e l y e m o t i v e words t h a t " s t i c k t o t h e r e a l " a n d " p u s h t h e 75 r e a l " i n t o t h e poem. The word t h e n i s a m a r t y r f o r t h e r e a l . He ( the word) l i v e s and d i e s e p h e m e r a l l y i n h i s s t r u g g l e t o f o r c e t h e r e a l i n t o t h e o p e n . H i s e n t i r e l i f e s t r u g g l e and t a l e n t i s d e f i n e d w i t h i n t h e l i m i t s o f t h e s e c o n d he i s e v o k e d and h e a r d . He i s t h u s l i k e an a c t o r who w i t h o n l y a b a r e minimum o f s t a g e and t i m e and w i t h i n t h e l i m i t s o f body and v o i c e 7 6 must u n f o l d a p a s s i o n o r " c a t c h a c o n s c i e n c e . " He g e s t u r e s o r p a n t s w i t h l o v e f o r a moment and t h e n s u c c u m b s . Tha t he must d i e i n t h e n e x t s econd g i v e s h i m c a u s e t o l i v e a c u t e l y and p a s s i o n a t e l y f o r t h e s econd he i s a l i v e i n t h e hope o f m o t i v a t i n g a l o v e o r r e v e a l i n g a v i s i o n . He must be as v i t a l i n h i s s econd as t h e o b j e c t he a c t s o u t i s v i t a l i n i t s seco Or e l s e d i e unknown. He has no f u t u r e o r p a s t t o a p p e a l t o . CHAPTER 7 TENSION The poet does not use language as a s u b s t i t u t e f o r r e a l i t y . He uses i t as the d i r e c t v o i c e of t h a t r e a l i t y . Each t h i n g i n r e a l i t y i s so tense w i t h l i f e o r so f l u i d t h a t i t seems about to s p i l l i t s e l f f o r t h i n t o speech. As though the c a t were j u s t on the verge o f speaking i t s " c a t n e s s . " As though the water, so caught i n the curve of i t s ebb and flow were about to l a p s e i n t o i t s water c a n t a t a . Or as though the sun were about to d e l i v e r i t s sun soprano. The poet c a t c h e s each t h i n g on i t s verge, on the t i p of i t s tongue and he h e l p s s t a r t i t f o r t h i n t o speech. E v e r y t h i n g i s l i k e an o r a c l e to him, about to pronounce i t s s e c r e t s , about to r e l e a s e i t s mysterious names. E v e r y t h i n g seems d i r e c t l y antecedent to speech. The poet p r o v i d e s the f i n a l s p r i n g by which each t h i n g can mouth i t s a c t , can c a l l i t s e l f f o r t h i n t o sound. The poet must g e t i n t o the s p r i n g o f the o b j e c t o r emotion to speak i t f o r t h . The o b j e c t i s l i k e a tense d i v i n g board t h a t the poet jumps upon to t e s t i t s weight and d i r e c t i o n . A d i v i n g board o r a tense tongue from which the poet can s p r i n g o f f i n t o speech. But f i r s t he must i d e n t i f y w i t h i t s t e n s i o n . E v e r y t h i n g has t e n s i o n . T e n s i o n i s the s t r a i n of the t h i n g , the s t r a i n of a l l i t s p a r t s . Tension i s what g i v e s an o b j e c t i t s form and i t s rhythm. Tension i s what causes rhythm, what motivates i t . Each t h i n g has i t s own p e c u l i a r t e n s i o n j u s t as each t h i n g has i t s own p e c u l i a r rhythm. Tension i s the way each t h i n g r e s t r a i n s and expresses i t s energy. Some t h i n g s are "more" tense than o t h e r s . They r e s t r a i n t h e i r energy more. A rock i s more tense than a r i v e r of water. Ice i s more tense than steam. E a r t h i s more tense than a i r . But e v e r y t h i n g has some t e n s i o n ; otherwise i t would be c o m p l e t e l y d i f f u s e , vague s p i r i t . Tension i s the f o r c e o f i t s form. Form i s the e x p r e s s i o n of t e n s i o n . T h i s i s what Olson means by h i s " p r i n c i p l e , " the second law o f open v e r s e , t h a t "form i s an e x t e n s i o n o f c o n t e n t . " That i s , any form i s i n a s t a t e of a c t i v e t e n s i o n . The poet can sympathize w i t h the t e n s i o n i n a n y t h i n g . He can i m i t a t e t h a t t e n s i o n i n h i m s e l f . He can f e e l the tense anger i n a snake about ready to b i t e . He can f e e l the t e n s i o n i n a b i r d ' s wings as they beat a g a i n s t a i r to f l y . He can f e e l the t e n s i o n i n the ebb and flow of water as i t reaches out to touch the shore, and then i s drawn back, un-r e q u i t e d . He can f e e l the p u l l , the s t r a i n of a f l o w e r to break out o f the s o i l and blossom f o r t h . He can even f e e l the t e n s i o n i n a garden hose, i n i t s c o n s t r i c t e d form, how i t "wants" to s p r i n g out l i k e a snake and water the ground. Or he can f i n d i n h i m s e l f , i n h i s own slow m a t u r a t i o n , the slow hard compression o f a rock over a l o n g p e r i o d o f time. The poet thus f i r s t gets i n t o sympathetic t e n s i o n w i t h the o b j e c t . He f e e l s the squeeze o f the o b j e c t i n t o i t s e l f , and then t r i e s to i m i t a t e t h a t squeeze, to t w i s t i t i n t o speech. His h e a r t and t h r o a t g r i p the o b j e c t l i k e a t o u r n i q u e t t h a t t i g h t e n s up and i m i t a t e s the p a r t i c u l a r squeeze (tension) o f the o b j e c t . So t h a t each word w i l l be g n a r l e d , shaped a c c o r d i n g to t h a t t e n s i o n , t h a t emotional t w i s t . H is v o i c e becomes t h a t t w i s t . T h i s i s the r e a l mean-i n g o f onomatopoeia (poeia; to makej onoma: name=to make a name from the o b j e c t ) . That i s , the o b j e c t ' s t e n s i o n i s wrenched i n t o v o i c e . As i n "Song 2" where the t h r o a t w r i t h e s i n s h o r t gasps to i m i t a t e the wretched s t a t e o f the s o u l n e t t e d i n the impediments o f s o c i e t y , a l l wrong And I am a s k e d — a s k myself ( I , too, covered w i t h the gu r r y o f i t ) where s h a l l we go from here, what can we do when even the p u b l i c conveyances s i n g ? how can we go anywhere, even cross-town how g e t out o f anywhere (the bo d i e s a l l b u r i e d i n shallow graves? There i s a c e r t a i n t e n s i o n o f wrench, of the p a i n f u l t w i s t i n g of the s o u l , when "wrong" i s pronounced. With "ask" an urgency i s invoked s i n c e the b r e a t h c r e a t e s a v o i d i n drawing i n a i r to pronounce i t . I t begs escape from t h a t v o i d , and the p a i n f u l s o u l whips out i n t o "where," "what," and "when" to f i n d avenues of r e l e a s e . The t e n s i o n of the s o u l i s sprung immediately i n t o speech. I t i s u r g e n t l y onomatopoeiac. Even "graves" must g r i n d i t s grey sound i n t o the poem, and the s o u l i n i t s d i s g u s t evokes "gurry," the hard "g" gumming up the s o u l w i t h i t s grease. Or i n "As the Dead Prey Upon Us" where the misery o f the dead and doomed i s wrenched i n t o v o i c e . The word "prey" sounds l i k e "pray" and so one hears the p e r s i s t e n t hungry drone o f the i n s a t i a t e dead as though a t p r a y e r . The s n a r l of the dead r e c u r s i n the c o n s t a n t murmur of t h e i r moans. They "roam" the "room" "poor and doomed" amid "the throng o f the unknown young." The sound of the words i s l i k e a c o n s t a n t groan of people c h a i n e d t o g e t h e r i n agony. So t w i s t e d i s the agony, so p e r v e r t e d i s the s o u l t h a t when one t r i e s to break out o f the c h a i n s i t sounds l i k e a s t u p i d " j a c k a s s . " The body j e r k s o u t l i k e a j a c k a s s to a c c o m p l i s h i t s d e s i r e . The word i s immediately sprung from t h i s d e s i r e . When the poet says the s o u l "stays caught i n the n e t " the word "caught" sounds l i k e a " c a l l " t h a t cannot r e l e a s e i t s e l f as e a s i l y as i t should through the l a p o f the " 1 1 " but i s b l o c k e d by the hard nets o f the " t . " Each word has the f o r c e o f the p a r t i c u l a r t e n s i o n t h a t moves i t . 65 The poet does not s e a r c h f o r words to convey the o b j e c t or emotion. He squeezes the o b j e c t i n t o words. Through the pump of h i s h e a r t and squeeze o f h i s t h r o a t . I f the o b j e c t were a horse the poet would take the t e n s i o n of the horse, g a l l o p and a l l , and g r i n d i t through the horse-grinder" o f the t h r o a t , i n t o horse-words. What comes out w i l l be not o n l y grunts and neighs but h o r s e - v i s i o n and horse-mind. Or g r i n d the f o r c e o f the f l o w e r i n t o f l o w e r words. The p u l p t h a t comes out w i l l v i b r a t e w i t h the f l o w e r . But f i r s t the poet must sensuously expe r i e n c e how the t h r o a t can g e t i n t o a sympathetic squeeze w i t h the o b j e c t and so g r i n d i t i n t o words. Then the f l o w e r , so ground, w i l l e r u p t and r e i n c a r n a t e i t s f o r c e i n t o j u i c y f l o w e r v o c a b u l a r y . The words must pass d i r e c t l y from the o b j e c t as from an o r a c l e . They must c o n t i n u a l l y o r a c u l a t e , u t t e r the i n n e r mystery and t e n s i o n o f the o b j e c t . Not speak about the mystery (circumference i t c e r e b r a l l y ) but be a d i r e c t whorl o f the o b j e c t . I f the poem i s thus mysterious i t i s because i t i s spoken from the o r a c l e . Strange names and u t t e r a n c e s are p u l l e d through the o r a c l e ' s " t h r o a t . " They w i l l send f o r t h not e s p e c i a l l y the look o f the o b j e c t nor i t s dimensions but the emotional p u l l o f the o b j e c t , i t s t e n s i o n . 66 The poet w r i t e s from h i s gut. That i s where mind and matter meet. That i s where he f i n d s the t e n s i o n of any-t h i n g i n the wor l d . His words are gut r e a c t i o n s . They are tense l i k e knots. They s h r i e k f o r a second and then c o n t r a c t . T h i s i s what makes each word urgent and tough. L i k e a seed,-compact, charged w i t h energy. As from "Song 5 , " Appleseed 1 s gone back to what any o f us New England The poet i s w r i t i n g d i r e c t from the core of h i s b e i n g , from h i s American gut. He i s l e t t i n g America do the t a l k i n g . The r e a d e r , to understand t h i s poem, must r e a d from h i s c u l t u r a l g ut. (One should read m o s t l y a l l poems w i t h h i s gut, where t e n s i o n i s l o c a t e d , not w i t h h i s eyes) . The reader must f e e l l i k e the American seed. F o r who c o u l d understand t h i s poem without b e i n g t h a t seed h i m s e l f . Does the poet not f o r c e the re a d e r i n t o the core of h i m s e l f to f i n d what i s genuine and germain t h e r e . Does the poet not f o r c e him i n t o the p i t of the stomach where the r o o t s o f one a r e . Each word i n the poem i s l i k e a p i t . Whereas the bad poet i s eager to l e t f l y a f l u r r y o f f l o p p y words as soon as he gets g o i n g , the e f f e c t i v e poet t r e a t s every word l i k e a d r i e d t e r s e p i t s t o r e d w i t h energy. As a p i t i t remains compact i n i t s e l f , f o r c e f u l , o r a c u l a r , w i t h s p e c i f i c i n f o r m a t i v e power. "New England" f o r example, i s as d r y and powerful as a f l a g . Or l i k e a seed i t has p o t e n t i a l e n e r g y — t h e new foundland, the w e l l s p r i n g o f the American dream, the c o l o n i a l v i s i o n . I t i s powerful w i t h o u t being o v e r l y v e r b a l ; s e e d l i k e . Being the l a s t words i n the poem i t i s l i k e an anthem t h a t suddenly stands up and s i n g s . Even " ' s " i s s t r o n g by i t s e l f . As a p o s s e s s i v e i t i s an e x c l a m a t i o n of h e r i t a g e . The American i s of_ New England, o f the new f r o n t i e r , of the b i r t h p l a c e o f l i b e r t y , o f the s o u r c e s . The wonder o f the New World l i e s i n s t o r e i n s i d e him ( l i k e an appleseed) whenever he wishes to use i t . He i s America's, and Appleseed's c h i l d . The ' " s " i s proud to stand a l o n e . In s t i l l another sense the ' " s " i s l i k e the r u r a l American c o n t r a c t i o n o f "has" as i n "What happened to the f i e l d ? " " ' s gone back to seed." I t has the f l a v o r o f i d i o m . . In e i t h e r sense the " 's" p u l l s the r e a d e r back i n t o the g r o u n d — o f h i m s e l f , i n t o the p i t o f the stomach. I t "goes back" to h i s source, h i s "what." "New England" and "Appleseed" are these sources or p i t s . They a c t as a " d r y i n g f o r c e , " they h o l d the f e e l i n g s i n the poem t i g h t l y t o g e t h e r , s e e d l i k e , not l e t t i n g them wander l i k e water. "New England" as o r i g i n a l p l a c e from whence American c i v i l i z a t i o n s p r i n g s and "Apple-seed" as o r i g i n a l seed from which a l l f r u i t s p r i n g s (as Johnny Appleseed--America, a dormant g i a n t ) . Both o r i g i n a l i n the r e a d e r , i n h i s c o r e . CHAPTER 8 POETRY VS DISCOURSE I f the word s p r i n g s v e r t i c a l l y from the source then i t i s c o n c r e t e to t h a t source. I t i s a p r o j e c t i l e of t h a t s o urce. I t does not pretend to "understand" t h a t source s i n c e i t i s more an i n t u i t i v e e r u p t i o n than an i n t e l l e c t u a l e x p l a n a t i o n . I t i s more an a c t o r than a p l a y w r i g h t . More apprehensive than comprehensive. I t i s caught i n the s p r i n g o f the t e n s i o n and has l i t t l e time to " t h i n k " o t h e r than be born i n t o speech. One d i f f e r e n c e between p o e t r y and d i s c o u r s e i s the time both take to accomplish t h e i r g o a l s . D i s c o u r s e m e d i t a t e s , r e f l e c t s b e f o r e choosing the a p p r o p r i a t e word. I t s words do have time to " t h i n k " and to understand what th e y ' r e d o i n g . In p o e t r y the time f o r r e f l e c t i o n i s p r a c t i c a l l y n i l because the poet must a c t q u i c k l y to f o l l o w the impulse o f emotion, to s t a y w i t h i n the s p r i n g of the o b j e c t ' s t e n s i o n . I f the poet w a i t s too long he l o s e s the impulse and must w a i t t i l l i t i s aroused i n him a g a i n . Of course, a f t e r the poem has been w r i t t e n i n i t s f i r s t d r a f t the poet may review h i s words and seek l_e mot j u s t e , but even then t h a t r e q u i r e s l e s s an i n t e l l e c t u a l e f f o r t than a moving back i n t o the t e n s i o n , and f e e l i n g the p a r t i c u l a r "body tone" of the o b j e c t . Whereas 70 d i s c o u r s e i s l e s s i m p u l s i v e and more concrened w i t h the s t e p -by-step disentanglement o f every a s p e c t of an i d e a . Moreover, d i s c o u r s e d w e l l s i n the p a s t , p o e t r y i n the impulse o f the p r e s e n t (or t h r u s t of the " h i s t o r i c a l present.") The purpose of d i s c o u r s e i s to h a l t time and s o r t of say "Okay, we've g o t t e n t h i s f a r , now l e t ' s c o n s i d e r the meaning of l i f e up to t h i s p o i n t . " And i t takes l i f e a p a r t , a n a l y s e s i t , and a b s t r a c t s from i t c e r t a i n g e n e r a l t e n d e n c i e s . I t i s e m p i r i c a l i n t h a t i t s e l e c t s from a l l e x p e r i e n c e g e n e r a l t r e n d s , motives, and laws t h a t govern i t . I t seeks to u n i f y and c a t e g o r i z e e x p e r i e n c e under these laws. I t i s i n t e r e s t e d i n what i s g e n e r a l o r n e u t r a l f o r a l l e x p e r i e n c e , forming laws t h a t encompass a l l e x p e r i e n c e . I t seeks to t r a n s c e n d the l i m i t a t i o n s o f the moment, o f the p a r t i c u l a r , f o r a broader v i e w p o i n t . I t seeks to gather up p a r t i c u l a r e x p e r i e n c e s and b i n d them i n t o t h e o r i e s . I t s v o c a b u l a r y thus seeks words t h a t g e n e r a l i z e e x p e r i e n c e , and a c t l i k e j e l l o to g e l a l o t of e x p e r i e n c e t o g e t h e r . Words such as " l i f e " or "nature" or " r e a l i t y " which c o n v e n i e n t l y but vaguely u n i f y a whole group of t h i n g s . Such words don't have to be sharp or poignant themselves s i n c e t h e i r i n t e n t i s to n e u t r a l i z e , to round o f f the edges o f sharp p a r t i c u l a r s , to take the b i t e out of i n d i v i d u a l items. Such words should not spontaneously s p r i n g from r e a l i t y but should be d e l i b e r a t e l y and a b s t r a c t l y c o n c e i v e d to m o l l i f y 71 the i n d i v i d u a l b i t s o f r e a l i t y and absorb them i n t o t h e i r f o l d . Such words e x t r a c t whatever i s common to i n d i v i d u a l e x p e r i e n c e and then throw out the i n d i v i d u a l i d i o s y n c r a c i e s . Thus i t uses words l i k e "energy" which i s the c h a r a c t e r l e s s denominator o f a l l i t s s e p a r a t e a c t s , o r " s o c i e t y " subtracted^ from a l l i t s i n d i v i d u a l s , and even the word " i n d i v i d u a l " i s a g e n e r a l i z a t i o n f o r a l l the v a r i o u s t e x t u r e s , f a c e s , shapes and s i z e s t h a t have ever been. Such g e n e r a l words whitewash the world down i n t o monotones, to keep the world steady and easy to e x p l a i n . To a v o i d a r e b e l l i o n o f d i v i d e d p a r t i c u l a r s . The person who grows accustomed to u s i n g such words tends to t h i n k they a c t u a l l y d e p i c t r e a l i t y i n s t e a d o f r e a l i z i n g t h a t they are merely a r b i t r a r y b l o o d l e s s p a t t e r n s drawn over r e a l sharp p a r t i c u l a r s . A person who uses such words a l l the time t o d i s c u s s e x p e r i e n c e i s l i k e a monotheist. He b e l i e v e s t h a t many t h i n g s can f a l l under s i n g l e c a t e g o r i e s , t h a t l i f e i s r e d u c i b l e to a s e t o f s e x l e s s " i t s " — n e u t r a l pronouns l i k e "nature," " r e a l i t y , " "beauty," e t c . The poet, on the o t h e r hand, n e i t h e r wants to w h i t e -wash the world nor t u r n i t i n t o j e l l o . He wants t o break i t open and make i t s p i l l f o r t h i n t o a l l i t s v a r i o u s b e a u t i e s . L i k e a t r e a s u r e c h e s t . Or the world as a p i n a t a f i l l e d w i t h gems, diamonds, r u b i e s , each o f a d i f f e r e n t t e x t u r e and c o l o r . He wants h i s words to be "the a c t of the i n s t a n t , " f u l l o f the s p i l l o f e x p e r i e n c e . F u l l o f s u r p r i s e s . L i k e j a c k - o -72 l a n t e r n s , or j a c k - i n - t h e - b o x e s t h a t s p r i n g out. The poet hates dead weight, heavy c a t e g o r i c a l words t h a t observe e x p e r i e n c e from the o u t s i d e r a t h e r than s p r i n g i n g from the p u l s e of the e x p e r i e n c e . He does not want to n e u t r a l i z e h i s poem w i t h "meaning." To him meaning i s what l i v e s i n s i d e the p a s s i o n o f the o b j e c t . Meaning i s so i m p l i c i t to the i n n e r t e n s i o n and movement of an o b j e c t as to be i n e x t r i c a b l e from i t . He thus does not " t h i n k " w h i l e w r i t i n g the poem. "Observation o f any k i n d i s . . . p r o p e r l y p r e v i o u s to the a c t of the poem, and . . . must not, f o r an i n s t a n t , sap the 77 going energy o f the c o n t e n t towards i t s form." He a c t s . H i s speech s p r i n g s l i k e a j a c k - i n - t h e - b o x from the t e n s i o n of the o b j e c t . He a l l o w s the o b j e c t to perform l i k e a f r e s h -f l e d g e d a c t o r on the p o e t i c stage and o r a c u l a t e i t s own v o c a b u l a r y . I f the poet has a v i e w p o i n t , i t i s o n l y t h i s p l u r a l i s m o f the t r e a s u r e c h e s t , each separate jewel i n the world performing i n i t s own s p e c i a l way, aware o n l y o f i t s own m a j e s t i e s and wisdoms: There are no h i e r a r c h i e s , no i n f i n i t e , no such many as (mass, t h e r e are o n l y eyes i n a l l heads, to be looked out o f . 78 The poet i s not a g e n e r a l who manages h i s troops from headquarters, who t a l k s i n terms o f d i v i s i o n s and b a t t a l i o n s and who s t r a t e g i z e s h i s b a t t l e s ; but r a t h e r a p r i v a t e who s t a y s i n the f r o n t - l i n e s f l u s h to e x p e r i e n c e i t s e l f , to s e i z e 73 a l i v e a l l i t s in -be tweens . For him there i s no such g e n e r a l -i t y as "energy" but r a the r f i r e c r a c k e r s , w h i p p o o r w i l l s , bees, t r a c t o r s , and snapdragons. The poet takes the s e c u r i t y -b l a n k e t o f " I " away from a man and l eaves him on the t i p s o f h i s eyes , e a r s , and t o e s . He takes the convenien t handle of. " i t " away from him ( " i t ' s a sunny day , " " i t ' s a good l i f e " ) and makes him name h i s causes . The poet i s l i k e "a p e d e s t r i a n t a k i n g you over the 79 ground ," over the rough ground, around the exac t c u r v e s , and i n t o the f i s s u r e s o f r e a l i t y . T h i s i s the p l easu re o f 8 0 h i s p o e t r y . I t keeps you " w r e s t l i n g w i t h the c i n d e r s " o f the e x p e r i e n c e . D i s c o u r s e , on the o the r hand, does not bother w i t h these c i n d e r s , the "minu t i ae" o f e x p e r i e n c e . D i scou r se 81 i s "a t r a i n which d e l i v e r s you a t a d e s t i n a t i o n . " I t i s very s e l e c t i v e i n what i t says because i t s main i n t e n t i s to hu r ry you toward a c o n c l u s i o n , to r e l a t e a c e r t a i n i d e a . I t d i s r e g a r d s any th ing i n the way of t ha t g o a l . L i k e the t r a c k s 8 2 of any r a i l w a y i t " leaves out a l l the gaps o f d i r t between." As i t l a b e l s and a b s t r a c t s from huge chunks of expe r i ence i t becomes more and more remote from the a c t u a l "go" and " c i n d e r " of r e a l i t y . Needless to say, when someone says "she i s a g i r l " he leaves out a l l the i d i o s y n c r a c i e s and t ens ions o f the g i r l . When someone says "the che r ry t r ee i s r ed" he says no th ing o f the p a r t i c u l a r i t i e s of t h i s che r ry t r e e , o r o f what i t f e e l s to be a c h e r r y t r e e . Or when someone says "I went to the s to r e to buy some meat f o r d i n n e r " he leaves out the whole adventure of the s t o r e , the " t o o t s i e r o l l s and Oh Boy Gum." These adventures and p a r t i c u l a r i t i e s concern the poet. Poetry i s the way of the p i o n e e r , d i s c o u r s e the way o f the salesman. The salesman w i l l t r y to s e l l you a t a b l e by s a y i n g , "This i s a b e a u t i f u l teak t a b l e d i r e c t from -T h a i l a n d " and end t h e r e . The pion e e r would l e a d you i n t o the t h i c k steamy j u n g l e , hot wit h the s h r i e k s o f p a r r o t s and monkeys, the palm t r e e s f l o u r i s h i n g l i k e p i n e a p p l e groves, make you f e e l the slow a b s o r p t i o n of water under the a n c i e n t j u n g l e f l o o r and the water r i s i n g up through the r o o t s o f the teak t r e e , make you f e e l the bend and warp of each teak branch as i t t h r u s t s i t s way through the overbrush, take you i n t o the hut o f the n a t i v e who ca r v e s the t r e e i n t o a t a b l e , p l y i n g the d i s c i p l i n e d hand o f the j u n g l e to i t . The poet g i v e s you the process w i t h a l l i t s " s p l i t - s e c o n d a c t s , " the very nerve o f the t a b l e . He prese n t s the f i n i t e c h a r a c t e r of the t a b l e , t e l l i n g you no more about i t than what i t i s — but w i t h i n t h a t l i m i t he g i v e s you a l l the whats o f i t s i s . CHAPTER 9 METAPHOR The s e c r e t o f metaphor i s t h a t man i s l i k e a seed who c o n t a i n s i n h i m s e l f the whole world i n f o r m a t i o n . He c o n t a i n s i n h i m s e l f the p r i n c i p l e s , the causes, the whole t e l o s t h a t governs the wor l d . He i m p l i c i t l y knows and resembles e v e r y -t h i n g . Man i s l i k e a germ of a l l n a t u r e . Moreover, man i s a complete t e l e o l o g y i n h i m s e l f . That i s , i f nature were a t r e e man would be immediately both seed and blossom o f t h a t t r e e , both acorn and oak, e f f i c i e n t cause and e n t e l e c h y . Baby and God. I f nature were a t r e e man would be i m p l i c i t l y i n t e r t w i n e d i n t o the r o o t , stem, and branches o f t h a t t r e e . A t every second he reabsorbs the worl d f o r c e and blossoms i t f o r t h , absorbs and blossoms. L i k e a seed t h a t blooms i n t o flower and r e t u r n s back to seed every second. Each second the emotional i n t e n s i t y and i n t e l l i g e n c e o f nature i s renewed i n him. He i s f r e s h l y informed every second. Thus when man speaks he speaks l i k e a growing t r e e . H i s words are l i k e acorns, compact and p r o f i c i e n t , t h a t blossom f o r t h m e t a p h o r i c a l l y . Because man abides by the same p r i n c i p l e s o f growth t h a t govern o t h e r n a t u r a l c r e a t u r e s much o f what he does resembles o t h e r n a t u r a l a c t s . He cannot h e l p t h i s . H i s 76 a c t s are n a t u r a l l y metaphoric. As he yawns and s t r e t c h e s h i s arms i n the morning he resembles the branches o f a t r e e s p r o u t i n g f o r t h . As he s t r a i g h t e n s up and walks, he r e p e a t s i n a few seconds the e v o l u t i o n of the v e r t e b r a i c animal from f i s h to e r e c t monkey. As he speaks w i t h the f e r v e r of h i s -s o u l he i s l i k e a f r u i t opening up and y i e l d i n g i t s j e l l i e s . As h i s b l o o d c i r c u i t s through h i s body i t i s l i k e the sap o f a t r e e b e i n g p u l l e d from r o o t to branch. In performing h i m s e l f he i n t i m a t e s and performs a l l n a t u r e . His words are a l s o n a t u r a l l y metaphoric. Each word spoken consummates a l l l i f e . The poet says "And"—and the e t e r n a l c o n t i n u i t y takes p l a c e . " B u t " — a n d man's r e s i s t a n c e to death i s i m m o r t a l i z e d . Each word t e l e s c o p e s i n t o concen-t r i c r i n g s l i k e a stone thrown i n t o the middle of a s t i l l pond. Other s i m i l a r forms r i p p l e from i t . He says "jaw" and a l l jaws t h a t ever were—Samson's j a c k a s s jaw, the gaping jaw o f a dead man, the jaws o f H a d e s — o r a n y t h i n g resembling "jaws"such as p l i e r s o r crane s h o v e l s m e t a p h o r i c a l l y r i p p l e from h i s one word. He says "beach" and immediately new f r o n t -i e r , r a i l r o a d p l a t f o r m , " f i r s t p l a c e , " and Mt. Ida ( f i r s t p o s t - d i l u v i a n beach) o c c u r . Each word suggests i t s resembling forms. By t a l k i n g he resembles the w o r l d . He i m i t a t e s i t s l i k e n e s s e s . Moreover, by the a c t of metaphor one man i s a l l men. One man consummates a l l humanity. His b l o o d i s t h e i r b l o o d 77 and through h i s v e i n and a r t e r y flows the sympathy t h a t flows through a l l men. Thus t h e r e i s only one man i n the world j u s t as there i s o n l y one woman i n the wo r l d . And each person i s t h a t one man or woman. There i s o n l y one man and w i t h i n him are a l l men, a l l emotion. The extremes o f l o v e , hate, and f e a r are pressed together i n him l i k e a seed. W i t h i n him are the c r i e s and pangs of those t o r n from l i f e and those wrenched i n t o i t . W i t h i n him i s t h a t wheel o f r e t u r n upon which a l l men are s t r e t c h e d t a u t as upon a rack o f l i f e , so t h a t each o f h i s words i s t a u t , i s spoke from t h a t wheel. Moreover, man c a r r i e s h i s whole p a s t i n s i d e him. His whole p a s t r e c a p i t u l a t e s i t s e l f i n s i d e him every second l i k e o l d b l o o d and s a l t newly t a s t e d . Not o n l y as myth, legend, and t r a d i t i o n passed down to him but as r e l i c s o f an 8 3 o l d p h y s i o l o g y . He s t i r s to "the s a l t b eat o f h i s b l o o d . " H i s t e e t h are as b r i t t l e as d i n o s a u r bone. H i s h e a r t as d e l i c a t e as a f r o g ' s h e a r t . H i s arms no l e s s a g i l e o r clumsy than f i s h f i n s , h i s eyes r e p t i l i a n i n q u i c k n e s s . He i s a m i l l i o n years o l d . And has the wisdom of a m i l l i o n y e a r s . The bones o f the dead are i n s i d e him. He s i n g s t h e i r songs and c a r r i e s t h e i r weapons. He i s r e t u r n e d to h i s primacy every second. That i s , he i s as o l d and as new as nature always i s - every second. 84 He remains p r i m o r d i a l , "coeval w i t h c r e a t i o n . " He r e c a p i t u -l a t e s h i s pa s t , h i s e n t i r e p h y l o g e n i c a l p a s t every second. 78 He speaks not onl y f o r the p r e s e n t but f o r the p a s t as w e l l . He opens h i s o l d man's t o r t o i s e mouth to speak. He speaks w i t h a n c i e n t tongue and newly c l e f t mouth. Moreover, he seems e t e r n a l . As though w i t h i n the h u r r i c a n e o f h i s p e r s o n a l i t y l i e s the calm eye o f e t e r n i t y t h a t "gazes c o l d l y on l i f e and death" and speaks w i t h the 8 5 judgment o f the f a t h e r s ("the patrimony o f past.") And thus he stammers i n t o aphorism as though a n c i e n t kinsmen were s t u t t e r i n g a t h i s door. He w r i t e s from an e t e r n a l cave, o r a c l e . He w r i t e s l i k e a prophet, as though e t e r n a l knowledge were c o n t a i n e d i n him. As Duncan says, "The authors are i n 86 e t e r n i t y . " Thus each t h i n g he says i s a p h o r i s t i c , i s f o r a l l time and a l l men. He i s not only r o o t , stem, and blossom of the t r e e b ut has the mind of the t r e e as i t has e x i s t e d through c e n t u r i e s . The c o l d c l a r i t y o f i t s mind. "Ancient 87 s a l t i s b e s t p a c k i n g . " The man so attuned to the sympathies and symmetries of the world i s the master of metaphor. He i s germ t o the world and can i d e n t i f y w i t h any o f i t s a c t s . For him each human g e s t u r e i s an i c o n c a s t f o r an i n s t a n t i n the h a l l of the human drama. For him when a new-born babe c r i e s out a g u l l s h r i e k s and a man breaks i n t o p r a i s e o f God s i m u l t a n e o u s l y . Each a c t s a l u t e s a l l tantamount a c t s . No a c t o r o b j e c t gets l o s t b u t i s kept a l i v e i n the sympathies. 79 When the word "metaphor" i s spoken, "echo," "tantamount," and " r e v e r b e r a t e " r e v e r b e r a t e from i t . Metaphor i s not so much a f i g u r e o f speech as a f i g u r e of the world i t s e l f . I t i s the d i s c o v e r y t h a t the world i s f u l l o f a c t s t h a t resemble each o t h e r . A man c r i e s out i n p a i n and a sirejn screams. Metaphor. A candle i s l i t and an eye i s opened. Metaphor. A man l o o k s a t a t r e e and sees i n i t h i s own arm, w r i s t and f i n g e r s i n the movement from trunk to branches. Metaphor. Every a c t of opening o r c l o s i n g , s p r i n g i n g f o r t h or s h u t t i n g down evokes thousands of o t h e r l i k e a c t s i n i t s name. As though the world i s a f a m i l y o f a few b a s i c a c t s — o f b i r t h , p r a i s e , grasp, and d e a t h - - t h a t r e p e a t themselves e n d l e s s l y i n k i n d r e d a c t s . Each b a s i c a c t immediately i n -timates ( i m i t a t e s ) a l l i t s k i n d r e d a c t s . An eye opening i n t i m a t e s a flo w e r blooming, an egg h a t c h i n g , dawn b r e a k i n g , a b i r d s i n g i n g , a stream gushing f o r t h . A l l metaphors o f b i r t h and r e l e a s e . A cup r e v e r b e r a t e s the G r a i l , the h e a r t , the hands i n p r a y e r , the upturned f l o w e r . A l l metaphors of p r a i s e and o b l a t i o n . A house r e v e r b e r a t e s the cave, the ark, the temple, the museum. Metaphor i s e n d l e s s l y g e n e r a t i v e and r e v e r b e r a t i v e . The c r o s s echoes the ship-mast, the s c a r e -crow, the body caught i n c e n t r i f u g e . In metaphor one a c t bin d s many o t h e r a c t s i n t o i t s e l f by i t s p r i n c i p l e o r shape o f i n t e n t i o n . Metaphor a c t s l i k e a w r i s t to gather i n t o i t s e l f a l l the s t r e n g t h and p u l l o f s i m i l a r a c t s so t h a t when the one a c t i s performed o r spoken a l l i t s k i n d r e d a c t s w i l l 80 d i s c h a r g e themselves l i k e so many f i n g e r s p o i n t i n g a t v a r i o u s t h i n g s i n the w o r l d . Metaphor i s the organ of the e q u a l . The poet i n s i s t s on a democracy t h a t makes t h i n g s r e l a t e . Things o f t e n r e l a t e because they have homologous a c c i d e n t s . That i s , they e i t h e r look a l i k e , a c t a l i k e , o r serve the same purpose. For example, a l e a f i s a l e a f , and a hand i s a hand. But a l e a f i s a l s o a hand i n so much as i t l o o k s l i k e and knows l i k e a hand. Both l e a f and hand s t r e t c h and c u r l and r e a c h out f o r f o o d — the l e a f as i t exposes i t s e l f f o r p h o t o s y n t h e s i s . So through metaphor, l e a f becomes hand. In the same way, s i n k becomes bathtub becomes d i g e s t i v e t r a c t . Mouth becomes cave becomes o r a c l e . Nervous system becomes j a z z band becomes f o r e s t . T y p e w r i t e r becomes p i a n o . Poet becomes p r i e s t . E v e r y t h i n g i s i n continuous testament to o t h e r t h i n g s . The poet aims to keep each a c t c l e a n i n the poem, so c l e a n and p r i m a l t h a t i t r e v e r b e r a t e s many k i n d r e d a c t s and f o r c e s the reader i n t o sympathetic s u s p e n s i o n . To make each a c t nakedly e v o c a t i v e of humanity. And to make each word so t i g h t w i t h i t s scream t h a t a l l humanity i s consummated i n i t . So t h a t even g i v e n the word "the," the t r u t h , the triumph of even the s m a l l e s t t h i n g s , t h e i r "the" w i l l be evoked l i k e a prime mover. To keep each a c t (act:word) so c l e a n and so s t a r k t h a t i f "mouth" i s mentioned immediately a n c i e n t cave i s seen; o r i f "tongue" i s mentioned an o l d l i z a r d k e enly 81 p r o t r u d e s ; or i f "ship-mast" i s mentioned C h r i s t suddenly appears strapped to the c r o s s and a g u l l w i t h o u t s t r e t c h e d wings s h r i e k s i n the wind. Metaphor provokes metamorphosis. One a c t e a s i l y c o n v e r t s i t s e l f i n t o another a c t and s t i l l i n t o another a c t and y e t r e t a i n s i t s b a s i c impulse. The poet begins w i t h a p a r t i c u l a r emotion and p r o j e c t s from i t a s e t o f metaphors which w i l l h o p e f u l l y be the equal o f t h a t emotion. In " V a r i a t i o n s Done f o r G e r a l d van de W i e l e " f o r example, the b i r d s metamorphose i n t o the bees which metamorphose i n t o the w i l d f l o w e r s which i n t u r n become a d i e s e l o f d e s i r e . They are a l l d i f f e r e n t o b j e c t s , y e t they are a l l metaphors o f t h a t same enthusiasm i n n a t u r e . That enthusiasm has charged i n t o c o u n t l e s s forms each mimicking the next. There i s a sheer d e l i g h t t h a t makes each t h i n g metaphorize i n t o the next t h i n g and show f o r t h i n i t . Thus metaphor i s a chameleon t h a t p l a y s out many v a r i a t i o n s on the same theme. The c a r , f o r example, i n "As the Dead Prey Upon Us" gathers i t s s i g n i f i c a n c e as i t degenerates i n t o the dead s o u l s i n the l i v i n g room, the nets or l a d d e r s o f b e i n g , and the bourgeois a c c e s s o r i e s o f the playpen, the v i c t r o l a , and the movie machine. In f a c t , every o b j e c t i n the poem t h a t e n t a n g l e s the s o u l , t h a t ensnares i t i n the e n d l e s s g r i n d of h a b i t are impedimenta t h a t burden the s o u l and d i s t r a c t i t from p a r a d i s e , a l l these o b j e c t s are m e t a p h o r i c a l l y o b l i g e d to each o t h e r : the v i c t r o l a t h a t 82 c y c l i c a l l y r e p e a t s i t s e l f as i t r e v o l v e s (suggesting man g e t t i n g caught i n the c l i c h e phrases o f l i f e ) , the playpen t h a t suggests the i n n o c e n t s o u l b e i n g pened i t , the r o c k i n g c h a i r t h a t suggests the r o c k i n g i n t o s l e e p o f the s o u l , a n e s t h e t i z i n g i t i n t o limbo, a l l i n t i m a t e the same t h i n g , -the bondage o f the s o u l by the m a t e r i a l w o r l d . T h i s does not mean t h a t the c a r gets l o s t , but on the c o n t r a r y i t becomes t r u l y found. The playpen, the v i c t r o l a , the r o c k e r , the dead s o u l s c l i n g i n g t o g e t h e r are the d i r e c t a c c i d e n t a l outgrowths of the c a r . They are the v a r i a t i o n s t h a t r i p e n out from the b a s i c theme. They c o n t i n u a l l y r e i n t i m a t e the car by r e i n t i m a t i n g the i d e a o f h i n d r a n c e . I t i s as though the c a r has r e - i n c a r n a t e d i t s e l f i n t o these o t h e r c o n t r a p t i o n s o f entanglement. o The main o b j e c t i n the poem, be i t a lemon, a c a r , o r a k i n g f i s h e r , goes through a metamorphosis (a m e t a p h o r i c a l growth) i n which i t r e - i n c a r n a t e s i t s e l f i n t o o t h e r forms. A p o e t i c o b j e c t i s thus l i k e a r a d i o a c t i v e element w i t h c o u n t l e s s h a l f - l i v e s t h a t come i n t o b e i n g as the o b j e c t de-cay s . The o b j e c t decays i n t o i t s r e l a t e d forms. T h i s i s what Jack S p i c e r means when he says t h a t to t r u l y make the o b j e c t v i s i b l e i n the poem, to make i t r e a l , the poet must a l l o w i t to decay (as any t h i n g n a t u r a l decays i n t i m e ) . For even "as t h i n g s decay they b r i n g t h e i r e q u i v a l e n t s i n t o 8 8 b e i n g . " So t h a t a l l the forms i n the o b j e c t ' s e v o l u t i o n w i l l "co-respond"; they w i l l a l l i n t i m a t e the same source. SUMMARY Somehow the poet f i n d s i n h i s own h e a r t a l l the emotions i n the world, i n h i s own gut a l l the t e n s i o n s i n the w o r l d . He i s l i k e a seed who c o n t a i n s i n h i m s e l f the whole world i n f o r m a t i o n . As C o l e r i d g e a s s e r t s , "For o f a l l we see, hear, f e e l and touch the substance i s and must be i n o u r s e l v e s " and a l s o t h a t "(man's knowledge) i s one w i t h the germinal causes i n n a t u r e . " Man i s germ to the world: he i s i m p l i c i t to the w o r l d . He seems to c o n t a i n a l l rhythms of the world i n h i m s e l f (and thus can i m i t a t e any one rhythm), and a l l t e n s i o n s i n h i m s e l f . As a seed he i s a tense seed, and can i m i t a t e a n y t h i n g e l s e t h a t i s tense, compact. In s h o r t , i n performing h i m s e l f he i n t i m a t e s and performs e v e r y t h i n g e l s e i n the w o r l d . To i m i t a t e c o n s c i o u s l y anything e l s e i n the world, however, r e q u i r e s i n t u i t i o n . To i m i t a t e the rhythm and t e n s i o n o f an o b j e c t the poet must f i r s t i n t u i t i t . H e n r i Bergson says t h e r e are two methods of understanding an o b j e c t : a n a l y s i s and i n t u i t i o n . A n a l y s i s d i v i d e s the o b j e c t i n t o a l l i t s component p a r t s and sees how each p a r t a f f e c t s the next p a r t . I t e x p l a i n s — s e p a r a t e s the v a r i o u s p a r t s out onto a plane ( f l a t s u r f a c e ) to study the c a u s a l r e l a t i o n s h i p between each p a r t . I n t u i t i o n , on the o t h e r hand, grasps 84 the whole sense of the o b j e c t immediately and i n s t i n c t i v e l y w i t h o u t having to separate i t out i n t o i t s v a r i o u s components. I t i d e n t i f i e s w i t h the o b j e c t : i t i m p l i c i t l y understands i t s motives, i t s ' d e s i r e s ' and i t s 'ambitions.' I t so i m p l i c i t l y understands the o b j e c t t h a t i t may be s a i d t h a t to i n t u i t an" o b j e c t i s to c o i n c i d e w i t h i t , t o exp e r i e n c e the o b j e c t from the i n s i d e - o u t . I n t u i t i o n does not t h i n k o f the o b j e c t as a mechanism of v a r i o u s p a r t s as a n a l y s i s would, but r a t h e r as a s i n g l e u n d i v i d e d impulse. I t p l a c e s i t s e l f a t the h e a r t o f the o b j e c t , w i t h i n the 'seed' o f the o b j e c t and f e e l s the very growth-urge and tendency of the o b j e c t . The poet must e x p e r i e n c e i n t u i t i o n to w r i t e the poem. He must e n t e r i n t o i m p l i c i t sympathy w i t h whatever i t i s he i s w r i t i n g about. He must grasp the 'mind' o f the o b j e c t , i t s i n t e n t i o n . He must i d e n t i f y w i t h i t i n such a way t h a t a l l the v a r i o u s elements t h a t make up the o b j e c t and which, t o the u n i n t u i t i v e eye, may have seemed l i k e mere appendages o f the o b j e c t , suddenly cohere i n t o an o r g a n i c and p u r p o s e f u l whole. So t h a t e v e r y t h i n g about i t seems e n t i r e l y a p p r o p r i a t e . In order to i n t u i t any o b j e c t the poet must g e t i n t o t e n s i o n w i t h the o b j e c t . Every o b j e c t has t e n s i o n . E l s e i t would be vague d i f f u s e s p i r i t . (Even emotion has t e n s i o n ; e l s e i t would have no f o r c e o f f e e l i n g ) . The t e n s i o n o f 85 an o b j e c t i s i t s coherence, how a l l i t s f e a t u r e s are t e n s e l y c o n t r o l l e d i n t o a c e r t a i n u n i t y . Tension i s the d e s i g n and rhythm of the o b j e c t , the way i t s p a r t s are p u l l e d t o g e t h e r . Tension i s the s t r a i n , the 'nervousness' of an o b j e c t , the way i t s s t r u c t u r e expresses, a c e r t a i n y e a r n i n g . By f e e l i n g the t e n s i o n of the o b j e c t the poet can f e e l i t s i n t e n t i o n ( t e n s i o n : i n t e n t i o n : tendency). He can f e e l i t s l i n e s o f f o r c e , i t s t e n d e n c i e s , the way i t tends to resemble o t h e r t h i n g s . When the poet g e t s i n t o t e n s i o n w i t h an o b j e c t he knots h i m s e l f i n t o sympathy w i t h the o b j e c t . He sympathizes w i t h the s t r a i n and p u l l o f i t s p a r t s . He entwines h i m s e l f i n t o t h a t s t r a i n as i f i n t o the o b j e c t ' s f a t e . He i s so tense w i t h the o b j e c t t h a t a t the s l i g h t e s t touch he v i b r a t e s l i k e a t u n i n g - f o r k p l a y i n g o u t a l l the melodies t h a t are p e c u l i a r to t h a t o b j e c t , i t s overtones and undertones, d i s c l o s i n g who the o b j e c t i s , where i t came from, and what i t wants to be. In o t h e r words, he becomes the t e n s i o n of the o b j e c t and allows a l l the t e n d e n c i e s i n h e r e n t i n t h a t t e n s i o n to express themselves. He goes through a process o f r e - i n v e n t i n g the o b j e c t . He r e e s t a b l i s h e s ( i n t u i t s ) the i d e n t i t y of the o b j e c t and p l a y s out a l l i t s a f f i n i t i e s and resemblances. The o b j e c t c o n t i n u a l l y dissembles and reassembles i t s e l f i n t o v a r i o u s images, as i f i n search of i t s t r u e i d e n t i t y . I t e x p e r i e n c e s the v a r i o u s a v a t a r s of i t s b e i n g . I t c o n s t a n t l y c a l l s out 8 6 new names, new metaphors of i t s e l f , as i f pr o b i n g f o r i t s etymon, i t s p r i m a l name. T h i s i s the a c t o f i m a g i n a t i o n . For once the poet i s tense w i t h the o b j e c t then the imagina-t i o n l e t s t h a t t e n s i o n unwind and p l a y out a l l i t s f a n t a s i e s ( i t s f a t e ) . Thus any time the mind gets i n t o sympathetic t e n s i o n w i t h an o b j e c t , then the o b j e c t goes through a metaphoric d e c l e n s i o n o r h i s t o r y of change. A b i r d may become a bee which may become a w i l d f l o w e r . T h i s does not mean t h a t the o r i g i n a l b i r d gets l o s t (or t h a t the i n t u i t i o n i s misled) but o n l y means t h a t a l l i t s sympathies and a f f i n i t i e s g e t pl a y e d o u t . T h i s s u c c e s s i v e d e - s t r u c t u r i n g and r e - s t r u c t u r i n g of an o b j e c t by the mind's i m a g i n a t i o n may be c a l l e d an a c t of t r a n s u b s t a n t i a t i o n s i n c e i t seems t h a t the o b j e c t f e e d s upon i t s e l f to f i n d i t s way to i t s e s s e n t i a l 'being.' The poem i s thus both p r o s p e c t i v e and p r o p u l s i v e . I t i s p r o s p e c t i v e f o r when the poet has i d e n t i f i e d w i t h the t e n s i o n o f the o b j e c t and entwined h i m s e l f w i t h i n the knot o f i t s f a t e , then the pr o g r e s s o f the poem f o l l o w s a c e r t a i n i n e v i t a b i l i t y , a c e r t a i n metaphoric path, w i t h a view to c e r t a i n imagery. As though the o b j e c t i s bound to behave i n a c e r t a i n way, to h i t upon c e r t a i n resemblances of i t s e l f as i t v i b r a t e s . The poem i s p r o p u l s i v e because from the moment the poet s t a r t s an i n t u i t i v e rush w i t h the o b j e c t i t i s l i k e b e i n g drawn i n t o a c e n t r i p e t a l process or v o r t e x t h a t w i l l not end t i l l the o b j e c t ' s t e n s i o n i s f u l l y p l a y e d 87 out. I t i s probably the same "process" that Olson r e f e r s to when he says "one perception must immediately and d i r e c t l y lead to a further perception . . . keep moving, keep i n , speed, the nerves. . . . " The poet entwined i n the tension of the object rides the nerve of the object as i t moves him from one impulse to another, one image to another, one perception to another. I f the poet i s r i d i n g the nerve of the object then at every point i n the poem there w i l l be a continual pick-up and transmission of energy (fresh metaphor) ju s t as energy sends continual impulses along a nerve. If the poet rides the nerve then the poem w i l l be written i n the present tense, meaning that the poet i s present-l y i n tension with the object (not a matter of "emotion r e c o l l e c t e d i n t r a n q u i l l i t y . " ) If he rides the nerve the poem has " k i n e t i c . " k i n e t i c — • from kinetikos (Greek) - motion rel a t e d to c i t a r e (Latin) - to set i n motion, to rouse, to c a l l , to c i t e and c i t a t u s (Latin) - quick, impetuous related to excite i n c i t e - to urge on, to set i n rapid motion That i s , the poem quickly enacts the object, i t transforms the object into working speaking energy. In tension with the object the poet must try to write quickly, almost impetuously, so that the whole 'history' of the object gets displayed and none of i t s excitement i s l o s t . 88 To w r i t e so q u i c k l y , a t the r a t e o f the t e n s i o n , i s c a l l e d w r i t i n g i n time. Bergson c a l l s i t " r e a l time." F e n o l l o s a emphasizes "the fundamental r e a l i t y of time." Olson says "Rhythm i s time (not measure . . . .) The r o o t i s ' r h e i n ' : to flow. And mastering the flow o f the s o l i d , time, we invoke o t h e r s . " They are a l l u s i n g "time" w i t h the same meaning. By "time" they mean "the p r o c e s s , " the p r o p u l s i o n o f c o n s c i o u s -ness, s p e c i f i c a l l y the r u s h o f the i m a g i n a t i o n when the poet i s i n t e n s i o n w i t h the o b j e c t . Time i s the passage o f f o r c e , the verb of change. As F e n o l l o s a says, the primary law of nature i s t h a t " a l l a c t s aire s u c c e s s i v e , even continuous; one causes o r passes i n t o another." This i s e v i d e n t i n the c o n t i n u a l d i s s o l v i n g and r e c r e a t i n g o f an o b j e c t by the i m a g i n a t i o n , and the drama o f changing imagery i t undergoes. The poet must move w i t h time, as q u i c k l y as i t o c c u r s , i f he i s to be conductor o f a l l the s p l i t - s e c o n d images t h a t emanate from the o b j e c t . For to move w i t h time i s to move a t the speed o f i m a g i n a t i o n , the speed of metaphor. The poet must break i n t o "the p r o c e s s , " "keep i n , keep moving," he must " d r i v e a l l nouns (o b j e c t s ) . . . back to p r o c e s s — t o a c t . " Only i n time can the o b j e c t a c t o u t i t s drama of b e i n g and becoming; o n l y i n time w i l l the o b j e c t be " a l i v e , " as though i t were "a continuous moving p i c t u r e . " When the poet i s i n t e n s i o n w i t h the o b j e c t then he i m p l i c i t l y moves w i t h the rhythm of the o b j e c t . For the rhythm i s , a f t e r a l l , the flow o f the p a r t s o f the o b j e c t i n t o i t s e l f . 89 The rhythm i s n a t u r a l l y p r o p e l l e d ou t of the t e n s i o n . The rhythm i s keen, up f r o n t , a t the mercy o f the s p l i t - s e c o n d breakaway o f words, the images tha t p r o j e c t ou t of each o ther a t the speed o f f a n t a s y . The poet merely g ive s ven t to the rhythm through h i s b r e a t h . The rhythm must be p r o p e l l e d from the b rea th w i t h the f e r v o r p e c u l i a r to the t e n s i o n . A t the moment o f t e n s i o n the p o e t ' s whole p h y s i o l o g y knots up i n t o sympathy w i t h the o b j e c t . H i s hea r t and t h r o a t g r i p the o b j e c t l i k e a t o u r n i q u e t t h a t t i g h t e n s up to i m i t a t e the s t r a i n o f the o b j e c t , the t e n s i o n o f i t s p a r t s ( e . g . , o b v i o u s l y the t h r o a t would c o n s t r i c t l e s s i n d e s c r i b i n g a b a l l o o n than i n d e s c r i b i n g a snake about to l a s h o u t ) . So tha t each word w i l l be g n a r l e d , shaped a c c o r d i n g to t h a t t e n s i o n . This i s the meaning o f onomatopoeia (poe ia : to make; onoma: name=to make a name from the o b j e c t ) . That i s , the o b j e c t ' s t e n s i o n i s wrenched i n t o v o i c e . The words i n the poem, then , must be l i v e t i s s u e connec t ing the o b j e c t w i t h the r e a d e r . The words must be impetuous, from the ve ry 'mouth' o f the o b j e c t ("a s n a r l of the sou rces . " ) The poet must t r y to get so contemporary w i t h the o b j e c t , so tense w i t h i t , t ha t the o b j e c t speaks through h im, naming and r e -naming i t s e l f , as though announcing i t s own v o c a b u l a r y . In o the r words, when the poet begins to w r i t e a poem about a t r e e , he does not contemplate what words go w i t h " t reeness" ; r a t h e r he begins i m i t a t i n g the fo rce o f the t r e e . And i m i t a t -i n g the f o r c e c r e a t e s a v o r t e x i n t o which the words are n a t u r a l l y p u l l e d . T h i s i s the a c t of metaphor, the words l e a p i n g immediately from the source to the r e a d e r . The words w i l l then be tense w i t h the nerve of the t r e e i t s e l f . The words must not be too l o o s e and g e n e r a l i n meaning but t a u t as the poet i s t a u t to the o b j e c t ; o r as Hulme says, "dry and hard" as though the words were i s s u i n g from the v e r y bone o f the o b j e c t . The words as m a t r i x o f the r e a l . The poet i n i n t u i t i o n , then, i s l i k e one strapped to the h e a r t and nerve o f the o b j e c t , i n u t t e r sympathy w i t h the o b j e c t , and whose f a t e compels him to c a l l o ut a l l the names o f the o b j e c t and r e c i t e i t s l e g e n d s . FOOTNOTES Ernest Fenollosa, "The Chinese Written Character as a Medium for Poetry," Prose Keys to Modern Poetry, ed. K. Shapiro (New York: Harper and Row, 1962), p. 139. 2 I b i d . , p. 142. 3 Charles Olson, "Human Universe," Human Universe and  Other Essays (New York: Grove Press, 1967), p. 10. 4 Ibid., p. 10. 5 Ibid., p. 10. g Charles Olson, "Projective Verse," The New American  Poetry, ed. D. A l l e n (New York: Grove Press, 1960), p. 387. 7 I b i d . , p. 387. 8 I b i d . , p. 387. 9 Donald Sherburne, A Key to Whitehead's "Process and  Rea l i t y , " (New York: MacMillan, 1966), p. 8. 1 0 W i l l i a m Carlos Williams, "A Beginning on the Short Story (Notes)," Selected Essays of William Carlos Williams (New York: Random House, 1954) , p. 30TH 1 1Samuel T. Coleridge, "On Poesy or A r t , " Modern C r i t i c i s m , ed. W. Sutton and R. Foster (New York: The ress, 1963), Ibid., p. 39 Odyssey P p. 39. 12 13 Henri Bergson, The Creative Mind (New York: Green-wood Press, 1968), p. 35. 92 1 4 I b i d . , p . 35 . 1 5 I b i d . , p . 36. 1 6 I b i d . / p . 36 . 1 7 I b i d . , p p . 188-189. 1 8 T . E . Hulme, " In t ens ive M a n i f o l d s , " Specu l a t i ons (New Y o r k : H a r c o u r t , Brace and C o . , 1924) , pp-. 189-190. 1 9 I b i d . , p . 177. 2 0 I b i d . , p . 179. 2 1 H u l m e , p . 188. 2 2 B e r g s o n , p . 190. 2 3 I b i d . , p . 110. 2 4 I b i d . , p . 28 . 2 5 H u l m e , p p . 196-197. 26 Bergson, p . 19 . 2 7 A l f r e d Nor th Whitehead, Process and R e a l i t y (New Y o r k : The Humanit ies P r e s s , 1929) , p . 43 . 28 Bergson, p . 35 . 2 9 W h i t e h e a d , p . 43 . 30 Hulme, p . 188. 31 Bergson, p . 18 6. 3 2 W h i t e h e a d , p . 94. 3 3 Sherburne, p . 16 . 3 4 J a c k S p i c e r , A f t e r L o r c a (London: A l o e s Books , 1971) , p . 21 . 35 I b i d . , p . 21 . 3 ^ I b i d . , p . 36. 37 O l s o n , " P r o j e c t i v e V e r s e , " p . 395. 3 8 — W.C. W i l l i a m s , "The Poem As a F i e l d o f A c t i o n , " S e l e c t e d Essays o f W i l l i a m C a r l o s W i l l i a m s , p . 281. 3 9 S . T . C o l e r i d g e , "On the I m a g i n a t i o n , or Esemp la s t i c Power," Modern C r i t i c i s m , p . 32 . 4 0 W i l l i a m s , "A Beg inn ing on the Shor t S t o r y ( N o t e s ) , " p . 308. 4 1 I b i d . , pp . 308-309. 4 2 I b i d . , p . 307. 4 3 C o l e r i d g e , "On Poesy o r A r t , " p . 39 . 44 I b i d . , p . 39 . 4 5 0 1 s o n , "Human U n i v e r s e , " p . 4 . 46 O l s o n , "Human U n i v e r s e , " p . 6. 47 Bergson , p . 1 1 . 4 8 0 l s o n , " P r o j e c t i v e V e r s e , " p . 389. 4 9 O l s o n , "Human U n i v e r s e , " p . 10 . 5 0 O l s o n , "Aga ins t Wisdom As Such , " Human Un ive r se and  Other E s s a y s , p . 70 . 5 1 0 1 s o n , " P r o j e c t i v e V e r s e , " p . 388. 52 F e n o l l o s a , p . 142. 94 5 3 W i l l i a m s , p. 308. 5 4 Olson, "Against Wisdom As Such," p. 70. 5 5 0 l s o n , " P r o j e c t i v e V e r s e , " p. 392. Hugh Kenner, "The ' P o r t r a i t ' i n P e r s p e c t i v e , " .Joyce's " P o r t r a i t " C r i t i c i s m s and C r i t i q u e s , ed. Thomas C o n n o l l y (New York: A p p l e t o n - C e n t u r y - C r o f t s , 1962), pp. 34-35. 57 David Jones, "Preface to 'The Anathemata,'" The  Anathemata (New York: The V i k i n g P r e s s , 1965), p. 21. 5 8 I b i d . , p. 21. 59 Jones, The Anathemata, p. 205. 6 0 J o n e s , "Preface to 'The Anathemata,'" pp. 27-28. 61 M i c h a e l McClure, "Phi U p s i l o n Kappa," Meat S c i e n c e  Essays (San F r a n c i s c o : C i t y L i g h t s , 1963), pp. 13-15. 62 I b i d . , p. 14. 63 F e n o l l o s a , p. 14 0. 6 4 I b i d . , p. 141. 6 5 I b i d . , p. 140. 6 6 I b i d . , p. 141. ^ 7 I b i d . , p. 146. 6 8 I b i d . , p. 147. 6 9 I b i d . , p. 147. 70 F e n o l l o s a , p. 145. 7 1 I b i d . , p. 154. 95 7 2 0 1 s o n , " P r o j e c t i v e V e r s e , " p. 389. 73 S p i c e r , p. 21. 7 4 I b i d . , p. 21. 7 ~*Ibid ., p. 22. 7 6 A l b e r t Camus, "The Absurd Man," The. Myth of Sisyphus  and Other Essays (New York: V i n t a g e , 1955), p. 57. "Twxth thanks to Camus f o r i n s p i r i n g t h i s passage.) 7 7 0 1 s o n , " P r o j e c t i v e V e r s e , " pp. 390-391. 7 8 Olson, " L e t t e r 6," The Maximus Poems (New York: Jargon, 1960), p. 29. 79 p. 135. Hulme, "Romanticism and C l a s s i c i s m , " S p e c u l a t i o n s , 80 Hulme, " C i n d e r s , " S p e c u l a t i o n s , p. 236. 81 Hulme, "Romanticism and C l a s s i c i s m , " p. 135. 8 2Hulme, " C i n d e r s , " p. 223. 83 Olson, C a l l Me Ishmael (San F r a n c i s c o : C i t y L i g h t s , 1947), p. 13. 8 4 I b i d . , p.116. 8 ^ I b i d . , p. 116 . 8 6 Robert Duncan, " V a r i a t i o n s on Two D i c t a o f W i l l i a m B l a k e , " Roots and Branches (New York: S c r i b n e r ' s 1964), p. 48. 8 7 W i l l i a m B. Yeats, "From 'A General I n t r o d u c t i o n t o My Work,'" 20th Century P o e t r y and P o e t i c s , ed. G. Geddes (Toronto: Oxford U n i v e r s i t y P r e s s , 1969), pp. 569-570. 8 8 S p i c e r , pp. 36-37. BIBLIOGRAPHY Bergson, H e n r i . The C r e a t i v e Mind. New York: Greenwood Pr e s s , 1968. C o l e r i d g e , Samuel T a y l o r . "On Poesy or A r t , " Modern C r i t i c i s m , ed. W. Sutton and R. F o s t e r . New York: The Odyssey P r e s s , 1963'. N Das, R a s v i h a r y . The P h i l o s o p h y o f Whitehead. New York: R u s s e l l and R u s s e l l , 1964. F e n o l l o s a , E r n e s t . "The Chinese W r i t t e n C h a r a c t e r as a Medium f o r P o e t r y , " Prose Keys t o Modern Po e t r y , ed. K. Sha p i r o . New York: Harper and Row, 1962. Hulme, T.E. "Bergson 1s Theory of A r t , " S p e c u l a t i o n s . New York: Harcourt, Brace & Co., 192$~. . "The P h i l o s o p h y o f I n t e n s i v e M a n i f o l d s , " Specu- l a t i o n s . New York: Ha r c o u r t , Brace & Co., 1924. Olson, C h a r l e s , "Human U n i v e r s e , " Human U n i v e r s e and Other  E s s a y s . New York: Grove P r e s s , 1967. . " P r o j e c t i v e V e r s e , " The New American P o e t r y , t ed. D. A l l e n . New York: Grove P r e s s , 19 60. Whitehead, A l f r e d North. Process and R e a l i t y . New York: The Humanities P r e s s , 1929. W i l l i a m s , W i l l i a m C a r l o s . "A Beginning on the Short S t o r y (Notes)," S e l e c t e d Essays o f W i l l i a m C a r l o s W i l l i a m s . New York: Random House, 1954. 

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