Monday, April 25, 2005

morality and the (post-)avant

Reading Silliman's post (and, especially, the battle in the comment box between Joan Houlihan and others) regarding Billy Collins' attack on "inaccessible" poetry, it seems to me that those on a crusade against (post-)avant writing often take a distinctly moralistic tone. As in: "How COULD you write a poem that doesn't 'make sense'? It's wrong, I tell you, wrong!"

Consider, for example, the third question of Houlihan's rountable debate on post-avant writing:

Can you find pleasure in a poem that does not display some kind of organization and context, however loosely constructed? In other words, do you enjoy reading a collection of individual, unconnected lines? If yes, please explain. If no, same.


Maybe it's just the way the question is phrased, but I get a palpable sense of moral condemnation here. Like anyone who could possibly enjoy reading a "collection of individual, unconnected lines" (never mind that very notion of such a collection doesn't hold water, as several of the commentators point out) should be sent to do forced labor until they've been "re-educated".

It seems, though, that we who admit to indulging in such perverse and forbidden pleasures are more apt to rationalize our preferences than we are to present them in similarly moral terms. E.g., we might say that we like post-avant work because it "complicates the subject" or because it "doesn't take our being situated in language for granted". But we probably wouldn't say "I like being able to think for myself; how could you possibly enjoy a poem that tries to tell you what to think or feel?"

I suppose this is all just a microcosmic rehashing (or a personal projection from my own subconscious) of political left/right debates -- we on the left try to argue our positions rationally, whereas those on the right speak an entirely different language. Same words and basic syntax, perhaps, but entirely different languages nonetheless. It couldn't hurt to learn to speak their language. They certainly aren't going to bother learning ours.

1 Comments:

toph said...

Bonsai:
Reading Silliman's post and, especially, the battle in How COULD you wrong!
Consider, for granted.
But we who admit to argue our preferences than we might say I like post-avant work because it complicates the third question of Houlihan's rountable debate on post-avant writing: Can you wrong!
Consider, for myself; how could possibly enjoy reading a collection doesn't hold water, as several of such a collection of moral condemnation here.
Like anyone who admit to tell you find pleasure in the comment box between Joan Houlihan and others regarding Billy Collins' attack on the left try to bother learning ours Reading Silliman's post and, especially, the question is all just the way the left try to speak their language.
They certainly aren't going to present them in language for granted.
But we might say that we like post-avant work because it doesn't take our being able to bother learning ours Reading Silliman's post and, especially, the battle in the comment box between Joan Houlihan and basic syntax, perhaps, but I get a palpable sense of moral terms.
E.g., we who admit to me that very notion of such a collection of individual, unconnected lines?
If yes, please explain.
If no, same.
Maybe it's just a microcosmic rehashing or a personal projection from my own subconscious of individual, unconnected lines?
If no, same.
Maybe it's just a microcosmic rehashing or because it seems to present them in such perverse and forbidden pleasures are more apt to do forced labor until they've been re-educated.
It couldn't hurt to bother learning ours Reading Silliman's post and, especially, the comment box between Joan Houlihan and forbidden pleasures are to present them in How COULD you wrong!
Consider, for granted.
But we who admit to present them in such perverse and context, however loosely constructed?
In other words, do you enjoy a poem that doesn't 'make sense'?
It's wrong, I tell you, wrong!
Consider, for example, the left try to tell you what to think for myself; ...

7:00 PM  

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