It's a poem I've actually never posted, because it requires some explanation. It's written in reaction to, or as academic lingo would have it "in dialogue with" a famous poem by William Carlos Williams:
so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens.
This is one of the canonical poems of Imagism, which was probably the most influential school of poetry to develop in the modern era. Ezra Pound founded and named the movement in the early 1900's, and many important poets such as H. D., Williams, Myna Loy and Marianne Moore were involved in it. The main idea of Imagism was, in Pound's words, to have "no ideas but in things." In other words, the poet should express or evoke large ideas, emotions, or concepts not through abstract language but through compressed language and concrete images. The idea was to make the images so vibrant that they spoke deeply for themselves, with no need to explain what was meant. Though the Imagists rarely implemented their concepts completely in their work, the basic ideas have had incalculable impact on poetry ever since. If you want to know more about it, this article is a good concise explanation.
Anyway, this Williams poem is significant because it both states and demonstrates that foundational idea about meaning in objects and images. The poem absolutely fascinates me, but while I appreciate and use in my own poetry many of the concepts of Imagism, I have reservations about it as a philosophy. Yes, images, concrete objects, sense data, and specificity are vitally important in poetry, and often they are the best carriers for meaning. But ultimately I don't think this idea leaves enough room for the definition and illumination of God's existence-- for revelation, for the transcendent realities, the lights that radiate from Him. So my poem is an attempt at argument with Imagism. If this all sounds a little abstract, I think you'll understand better when you actually read the poem. So without further ado. . .
-------------
Taking out the trash, once, watching 5 o’clock descend with
warm wings on the garbage pail, I knew it was time to confront
William Carlos Williams.
(we’d been avoiding each other for several days after our
latest disagreement.)
“Mr. Williams,” I said– “About that poem–
‘so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow’
– you know the one I mean. There’s something to that, and don’t
misunderstand, I like this poem really, but Mr. Williams, what
about–
“So much depends upon the light that falls on a red wheel barrow”
The light, Mr. Williams. You can’t ignore the light. No matter how
red the wheel barrow, how white the chickens, they’re all nothing without
light’s warm cradling hands and singing fingers, light
refracting through ice-gilded twigs, kindling water, filtering or
falling drop by drop from the thawing moon. Light the great
conductor, drawing golden tones from an orchestra of red wheel
barrows, garbage pails. Light, Mr. Williams. What are we
without light?”
Poor Mr. Williams. I harangue him freely, while his words are bound
to my Norton’s pages. Poor Mr.Williams. Such a poet, but he didn’t
(and how I long to make him) apprehend the light.
Woot!!! (Dan has taken to calling me a multiple-award-winning poet. Blushums.)
my sister is an award-winning poet.
ReplyDeletemy sister is a multiple-award-winning poet.
my sister is... awesome.