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Symposium Homepage
The Symposium
West Chester
Poetics
Formalism
Translation
Form and Narrative
Humor
Book Publication
Closing Thoughts
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Panelist
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Topic Discussions
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A. E.
Stallings |
I'd like to address a question to Mark Jarman. I was intrigued with your
comments about the recognition of the narrative element at West Chester.
As you rightfully point out, narrative poetry need not be metrical; though
you suggest that in previous years at West Chester, this seemed to be a
factor in recognizing narrative poets. I'm interested to hear more of your
thoughts on this issue, and if you might address what you feel is to be
gained by a conference that addresses both. Is there any intrinsic
connection between form and narrative? How might the conference better
serve its dual mission? I'd love to hear the thoughts of others about this
too. I found the issue a bit confusing.
OK, that is about four questions, actually. Apologies.
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Mark
Jarman |
In answer to A. E. Stallings' question, I certainly don't want to be
confusing. But consider the title of the conference. Why is form a
separate entity from narrative? I was simply pointing out, though
apparently not clearly, that in the those older poets the conference has
chosen to honor, the emphasis, until Louis Simpson, has been on poets who
wrote in form, i.e. metrical verse. We all know that Simpson is a master
of metrical verse, but for the past 25 or 30 years, he has written his
particular brand of free verse and focused on telling stories in that
form. He has written narrative poetry. I was very happy to see Simpson the
conference's honored poet, and wanted to express the hope that the
conference would continue to expand its notion of form. But I can see how
narrative as a form might be confusing.
So, I want to shift gears, because of a recent book by Ellen Bryant Voigt
called The Flexible Lyric in which she argues that narrative like lyric
should be considered a structural rather than a formal matter. This
interests me very much, because it points to what may happen inside a
sonnet or a ballad, for example. That is to say, a sonnet may be narrative
and a ballad may be lyric, not because the form is inherently one way or
the other, but because of other considerations. I would like to see the
West Chester Conference recognize these deeper, structural potentials.
Otherwise, the conference is simply going to recycle the same issues over
and over again.
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A. E.
Stallings |
Mark (if I may),
I'd like to pose another question (unrelated to the first). I wonder if
you'd address the special concerns and issues (if any) of successful
religious poetry. And maybe address why you chose the sonnet, and how that
choice affected your explorations?
(Alicia)
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Mark
Jarman |
I imagine what makes a successful religious poem, Alicia, is closely
related to what makes any poem successful. It makes language fresh and
memorable. The problem, I guess, for a religious poem is that a particular
kind of language is associated with religious feeling and thought. In the
European tradition, which I will assume is our tradition, it is the
language of the Bible, specifically the early 17th century English of the
King James Version. But it is also liturgical language, from both
Protestant and Catholic faiths. All of it highly charged and very
difficult to alter. The poets of faith that I admire, Donne and Herbert,
for example, prize invention and original metaphor, so that their poems,
which express orthodox belief, succeed because a reader need not share
that belief to read and be moved by them. To me, that is the key thing,
especially in our time. When I set out to write the poems in Questions
for Ecclesiastes and Unholy
Sonnets, I wanted to write a devotional
poetry without assuming the reader would share my beliefs. So I tried to
write against the grain of orthodoxy and to struggle with the connotations
of religious language. That's what I tried to do, and I do not know if I
have succeeded at all. A poet like R. S. Thomas, writing out of the
experience of 60 years as an Anglican priest in Wales, can write about the
human condition of his parishioners as if to inform God of their
suffering. His religious poetry succeeds for other reasons, partly because
of its plain spoken authority.
The sonnet form occurred to me because I was reading Donne's Holy
Sonnets, and I tried writing versions or responses to them. Actually that
exercise didn't last very long. What I discovered was that the sonnet form
itself provided an intensity of focus like prayer or daily devotion.
Though I wrote the sonnets in Questions
for Ecclesiastes and Unholy
Sonnets over the past 10 years, always in the writing of them, there was
a kind of dailiness, true of writing any poem of course, in which the
focus was both some kind of religious feeling I hoped to address and the
execution of the form itself, in which I did try for novelty and surprise,
invention and originality. In the end the sonnets are a record, of sorts,
a kind of journal.
I know this is a long-winded reply, but actually I have tried to be
brief!
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