Transverse threads, two women poets and Homer

09bOswald.jpgpenne

The weft of  Margaret Atwoods The Penelopiad is contained in and revealed through the chorus-line voiced by the twelve maids who were hung by Telemachus on Odysseus’ orders after they returned. Margaret Atwood runs the chorus-line throughout her Penelopiad,  the maids sing their songs at ten intervals in the book. I was struck by a comment that Atwood makes in her notes about the maids. She states that :

‘The Chorus of Maids is a tribute to such uses of choruses in Greek Drama. The convention of burlesquing the main action was present in the satyr plays before the main drama.’ (Margaret Atwood, Author Notes for The Penelopiad pp. 197-198)

I am always interested in how women writers burlesque the heroic perception of the classics through use of device and structural under-pinning. In this instance I have been reading Atwood’s The Penelopiad and Alice Oswald‘s Memorial. Atwood and Oswald approach Homeric themes in a sidelong fashion to get to the meat of the oral-tradition. Their poetic focus is decidedly on the lament. Atwood gives voice to the subversive and unquiet maids of The Odyssey. Oswald creates a dirge through interweaving the names of  fallen warriors of The Iliad. Both Atwood and Oswald use the lament as the kernel for their thematic variations from and approaches to Homeric mythos. The poets use repetition to add texture to their laments thereby shaping and focusing the small forgotten voice  toward expressing a universal grief.  This is a not heroic poetry, it is a poetry of keening and loss.

Oswald’s Memorial has drawn quite divided critique. I mention in particular Jason Guriel‘s  reductionistic approach to the book in which he refers to it as ‘a rose-fingered yawn’. This slighting throwaway remark does little to evoke interest in how women poets actually write, nor does it sufficiently disguise Guriel’s critical-ennui. I would point the general poetic-reader to Michael Lista’s critique of Memorial in order to garner a more balanced view of the work.

Atwood’s twelve maids defiantly do not not burlesque the main action of The Penelopiad. They are the main action of the book. Penelope reveals herself to be a tedious bore whose lack of wit and guile are vaguely repellent. I wanted Atwood to get her toe out of the water and focus on the maids who enliven the text with their songs and shantys.  The central pivot of The Penelopiad revolves round the nasty relation between Penelope and Helen rather than on the texturing of the maid’s burlesquing. In this, Atwood’s approach to Homer is a bit of a missed opportunity. The strength of the book is in its sub-theme which Atwood had not developed into a  fuller rendering. 

Oswald did not make a similar mistake in her approach to Homer’s The Iliad.  She has broken-down the book and re-made it a powerful dirge. The fact that this has led to an inability by her critics to get to what she is doing only strengthens the work in my view. The index for Memorial comprises an unnumbered litany of names from The Iliad. Oswald weaves their names into the text whilst interspersing their histories with individual laments for the warrior-groupings. These laments vary in length , they are devices to allow the mourning voice through. They are not separate to the main action of the book but are organically interleaved into and caught up in the theme and direction of this epic poem-dirge.

‘Like a man put a wand of olive in the earth
And watered it and that wand became a wave
It became a whip a spine a crown
it became a wind-dictionary
It could speak in tongues
It became a wobbling wagon-load of flowers
And then a storm came spinning by
And it became a broken tree uprooted
It became a wood pile in a lonely field.

Like a man put a wand of olive in the earth
And watered it and that wand became a wave
It became a whip a spine a crown
it became a wind-dictionary
It could speak in tongues
It became a wobbling wagon-load of flowers
And then a storm came spinning by
And it became a broken tree uprooted
It became a wood pile in a lonely field.’

Page 31, Memorial, by Alice Oswald

It interests me that contemporary women poets are approaching Homer through the use of the lament. They are voicing the silent mourning that occurs when the glory of battle is over. Atwood is giving voice to the abused girls whose life-experience is of enslavement and of mis-use. Oswald does not state that the mourning voice in Memorial is that of a woman, but the cadence of the mourning poems that intersperse her text suggests the chorus, the lament.

In terms of contrast in poetic approaches to direct  engagement with classical literature, one could point to how Ted Hughes re-told the twenty-four Tales From Ovid (Metamorphosis) or look at Heaney’s Beowulf. The fact that critique ignores the poetic engagement of women with the classics of literature only points to critical-disengagement, or at best to a narrow conservatism. It is time that The Chorus (that most pertinent part of Epic) is re-read, and given its place in the overall texturing of great poetic works. What would T.S Eliot’s Murder in the Cathedral be without the integrity of the women’s voices?

images
‘…he took a cable which had seen service on a
blue-bowed ship, made one end fast to a high
column in the portico, and threw the other over the
round-house, high-up, so that their feet would not
touch the ground. As when the long-winged thrushes
or doves get tangled in a snare…so the women’s
heads were held fast in a row, with nooses round
their necks, to bring them to the most pitiable end.
For a little while their feet twitched, but not for very long.’

The Odyssey, Book 22 (470473) 



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Transverse threads, women poets and Homer by C. Murray is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.


Bloomsday ; a Celebration of Irish Women Poets 2012

Nuala Ní Chonchúir

is a writer and poet, who has contributed poems and translations to the blog over sometime. I am linking here to her poetry collections page 

La Pucelle

 
“In the hush of my father’s house,
before dusk rustles over the horizon,
I take off the dress my mother made
-it’s as ruby red as St Michael’s cloak-
and with a stitch of linen, bind my breasts.
 
By the greasy light of a candle,
I shear my hair to the style of a boy,
in the looking glass I see my girlhood
swallowed up in a tunic and pants,
I lace them tightly to safeguard myself.
 
My soldiers call me ‘Pucelle’, maiden,
they cleave the suit of armour to my body,
and know when following my banner
over ramparts into Orléans, that
there will only ever be one like me.
 
When the pyre flames fly up my legs,
I do not think of the Dauphin,
or my trial as a heretical pretender,
but see my mother, head bent low,
sewing a red dress for her daughter to wear.”
 
As Tatú, le Nuala Ní Chonchuir, Arlen House, 2007.


http://poethead.wordpress.com/2009/06/13/la-pucelle-by-ni-chonchuir
/


Eithne Strong

“(née Eithne O’Connell) (1923-1999), poet and writer of  fiction. Born in Glensharrold, Co. Limerick, she was educated at TCD. She worked  in the Civil Service, 1942-3. Her first collection, Songs of Living  (1961), was followed by Sarah in Passing (1974), Flesh-the Greatest  Sin (1980), Cirt Oibre (1980), Fuil agus Fallaí (1983), My  Darling Neighbour (1985), Aoife Faoi Ghlas (1990), An Sagart  Pinc (1990), Spatial Nosing (1993) and Nobel (1999). The  Love Riddle (1993) was a novel.”

from 
http://www.answers.com/topic/eithne-strong#ixzz1xr4mc0lx

Strip-Tease.

 
“A poet
must talk in riddles
if he will not risk himself
 
for fear
of public eye and tongue
blaspheming privacies :
 
a host
of leeches sucking parallels
carnivores to strip his shivering secrecies
 
wrapped
intricately. he should be
silent or speak out.
 
No one
asked for
his arbitrary offerings. “
 
from Sarah in Passing , by Eithne Strong. Dolmen Books 1974.


http://poethead.wordpress.com/2011/03/19/strip-tease-by-eithne-strong/


Sarah Clancy

Phrase Books Never Equip you for the Answers

“On the morning of the fifteenth time we went through
our sleep-with-your-ex routine, I had the usual optimism
thing about mistakes is to not keep repeating the same ones
I said disregarding the government health warning
on the cigarettes I was sucking, crossing the road without
stopping speaking or looking, ignoring the red man pulsing
on the lights at the junction, I was wired direct and I said;
I know, I’ll write you the definitive user manual for me.
You said I was arrogant that we should make it up as we go,
and I said; well could I do a mind map then? With
here be dragons marked clearly in red, so we won’t flounder
like last time end up washed up dehydrated and drained
well I was, fairly wired, I said ‘in each shipwreck we’re lessened
embittered, come on, let me at least try to fix it, I can write us
a blueprint for the new improved version, and you laughed
and said well damn you for a head-wreck, go on then and do it.
 
So I wrote, but it came out all stilted, like a work in translation
see when I say, let me fix that or give it here and I’ll do it
it means I need you, and if I tell you for example how
I’ll re-arrange the universe to your liking it doesn’t mean
I’m superior in fact, translated it’s about the same as the last one-
‘can you not see, how I need you? And when I come out with all those
‘you-shoulds’ that drive you demented, there’s no disrespect in ‘em
verbatim they’re whispering I’d be desolated without you
and when you call me control freak, the tendencies you’re describing
are inherently rooted in my fear of you leaving and how I’ll react.
 
Less-wired more hopeful I brought you my phrase book
on our very next meeting but you kissed my cheek and said
let me stop you a minute and then those awful words that never
signify good outcomes, listen I’ve been thinking… I know
we’ve got this weird cyclical attraction thing going and I’m sorry
for my part in it but really I can’t see it working, the problem
for me is how you just don’t need anything and my phrase book
had nothing listed under that heading.”

© Sarah Clancy
 
Thanks to Sarah Clancy for the poem, Phrase Books Never Equip you for the Answers , which is taken from Thanks for Nothing Hippies . Published Salmon Poetry 2012.


Kate Dempsey

Kate Dempsey’s poetry is widely published in Ireland and the UK including Poetry Ireland Review,The Shop, Orbis and Magma. Kate blogs at Writing.ie and Emerging Writer .

You can catch her on Twitter at PoetryDivas.

It’s What You Put Into It

For Grace
 
On the last day of term
you brought home a present,
placed it under the tree,
a light, chest-shaped mystery
wrapped in potato stamped paper
intricate with angels and stars.
 
Christmas morning
you watched as we opened it,
cautious not to tear the covering.
Inside, a margarine tub, empty.
Do you like it? eyes huge.
It’s beautiful.
What is it, sweetheart?
A box full of love, you said.

 
You should know, O my darling girl,
it’s on the dresser still
and from time to time, we open it.”
 
© Kate Dempsey, all rights reserved.


Celia De Fréine

Celia de Fréine is a poet, playwright and screenwriter who writes in Irish and English, her site is  at
http://celiadefreine.com/

An Bhean Chaointe

 
Taim ag caoineadh anois chomh fada
agus is chumhin liom
ce gur dócha go raibh me óg trath-
seans fiú amháin gp mbinn ag súgradh.
Ni cuimhin liom an t-am sin
ná an ghruaim a chinn an ghairm seo dom.
 
Ni cuimhin liom ach oiread
éinne den dream
atá caointe agam-
ní dhearna mé taighde ar a saol
ná nior léigh mé cur síos orthu
i gcolún na marbh.
 
Ach is maith is eol dom
gach uair a sheas mé
taobh le huaigh bhealschoilte,
gur chomóir me gach saol
go huile is go hiomlán,
gur laoidh mé éachtaí
 
na nua-mharbh
is gur eachtaigh mé
lorg a sinsear.
Tigím anois
go bhfuil na caointe seo
tar éis dul in bhfedhim orm.
 
Dá mbeadh jab eile agam
ba bhreá liom bheith im scealaí-
sui le hais na tine is scéalta a insint.
D’éistfeá liom- tharraingeodh
d’Eddifon asam iad
á n-alpadh sa treo is go slanofaí mé.
 
Faoi Chabáistí is Ríonacha, Published by  Clo Iar-Chonnachta, indreabhán, 2001.


Posterity and all that.

Recently, I wrote a post about how government bodies tend to view poetry. Indeed, I would say that given funding cuts to poetry and writer’s societies on both sides of the English Channel that the view tends toward jaundiced misunderstanding rather than outright aggression. The image embedded in the piece was that of a woman placing flowers  at Ted Hughes  memorial stone at Poet’s Corner in Westminster Abbey.

Ted Hughes’ stone was placed in close proximity to that of  T.S Eliots in the Abbey.  Eliot, the banker, the poet, and  editor of Faber and Faber  mentored and supported Hughes. Eliot’s writing was of the monumental type, and clearly directed to posterity. It lacked intimacy, but produced in his readers the most tremendous reactions. I will admit that my favourite Eliot is his play, Murder in the Cathedral. I have for years tangled with the voices of the women, the chorus. This then is poetic-posterity. These women of Canterbury are doom-sayers, they are from the Greek-chorus. They are both ignored and later chided for their melodramatic utterances.  They are however  heard and regarded by the martyr Thomas À Becket.  They are not in the play to provide a dramatis-personae or as part of a construction, they actually make the play. I decided that I would add a section of the recording here for those interested in how T.S Eliot used the women.

Aside from Eliot, I find it quite difficult to relate to women characters that are written by men, as there is an absence somewhere that I regard as experiential. I look for women-writers with whom I can resonate. I think maybe Anna Livia as written by Joyce has for me a similar resonance to the Canterbury women written by Eliot.

Posterity seems to have increasing importance to those writers who have criticised Carol Ann Duffy in recent weeks. It took 341 years for the English people to countenance a woman laureate and then her laureateship is attacked by the guardians of poetic- dogma, who not once sought to define (say) Ted Hughes’ Laureateship,

Conversely, Carol Ann Duffy’s work which speaks so clearly to many today may seem stale to posterity. I have no idea whether this would distress her.” (Allan Massie)

The idea of poetic-posterity being defined by intellect is almost risible. The life of a poem is defined by the resonance of the image (or images) that are captured within the form of the poem, it is not a question of the perceived intellect of the poet but how the poem illuminates the reader. Nuala Ní Dhomhnaills images are fine-hewn and unforgettable, as are Plath’s, as are the images created by Anna Akhmatova, by Margaret Fuller, by Stevie Smith, or by Ágnes Nemes Nagy. The fact that a certain coterie of critics are glued to the idea of posterity whilst mistranslating the idea of popularity (or populism) wholly misses the point of poetry. It is not about how wordy and intellectual the poet,  but how that image which they have fashioned can adapt, and move with the reader through their lifetime and be always different and always challenging. That government-appointed funders do not recognise the place of poetry in our societies  is worrying.

I am adding here two excerpts of poems/prose which I will properly attribute next week. I want the reader to investigate the images and form therein,  and then possibly wonder at how stupidly gendered and egotistical the intellectual poets’ profound disconnect with their reader actually is become.

Poetry and Poetic Prose, two excerpts.

Excerpt #1.

Trees

“Learn. The winter trees.
Hoarfrosted crown to root.
Immovable curtains.
-
And learn too of the zone
where a crystal steams
and trees merge into mists,
as the body in recollection of it.”

Excerpt #2

Travels

I.

 ’I came to a land where freedom had been realised or was at least believed to be very close to its full realisation. For the people here the word freedom  could consequently not be applicable to themselves but only to other peoples who had not yet discovered the happiness-making formula that means the realisation of freedom. In this land,therefore, the people talked much and with a strong sympathy for all the people beyond the frontiers of their own land who were not free. It was said that one ought to exert oneself to  the uttermost in order to liberate all the lands and peoples of the earth. On the other hand, it would hardly have been the right thing if it had occurred to some compatriot to longingly, invoke, for example, the concept of freedom in an internal context to himself or any of his fellow-countrymen. To be sure, it was not forbidden by law to use the word freedom in that last-mentioned way, but a universally sanctioned convention in reality liquidated the word from any contexts other (than) external ones.

Since everything in this land was so new, so thrillingly and inspiringly new,  I became like a child, reborn, receptive and avid for knowledge, and also became involved in teaching in a school. By day and by hour I received proof which confirmed that freedom really was being realised  in this land as in no other. On the way to work, in buses,  trams and underground trains the workers sat studying books which promised them the chance of experiencing freedom completely realised  in their own lifetimes; a mother married to a simple sailor told me with eyes moist from emotion that there was every reason to expect that her son would attain the rank of admiral one day, and everywhere  there was testimony to the fact  that here women were acknowledged as beings equal to men with all their human rights acknowledged; among other things the fact that within the military profession they possessed the rank of captain, major and even colonel.”

EDIT  18/02/2012:

Excerpt # 1 was Trees by Ágnes Nemes Nagy , from Between Dedalus Press (Dublin) and Corvina Press (Budapest) 1998. In translation by Hugh Maxton.

Excerpt # 2 is by Mirjam Tuominen , The short prose Travels , is from Theme with Variations, published in 1952.

Murder in the Cathedral , the women

 

T.S Eliot and the death of poetry ,  
http://poethead.wordpress.com/2011/12/08/t-s-eliot-and-the-death-of-poetry/

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Based on a work at poethead.wordpress.com.

A very public room of one’s own, online writing

These performative dimensions of public speech always carry tones, gestures, forms of acting out, contradictions, and self-corrections that contribute to new actions and capacities in others. The quote you have singled out to me suggests that poetry can show engaged citizens how to listen to, or respond to, public issues or actions.”

The above statement is about poetic engagement derived from a piece at J2, entitled Recasting poetry, the long biography of a poem.  (at Link) . It is interesting indeed  how writers use the internet and multi-media resources  for poetics , but this piece is not about practice or  gesture, it is about creating poetic spaces in the most public of places , the web. I saw this republished Atlantic article last week and wish to set this short post into that context.

Lots of readers will note the allusion to Virgina Woolf’s statement about writing spaces  in the title of this post, indeed we know all about the oubliettes, the locked-doors, the time stolen or negotiated that forms the woman writer’s battle for self-expression. There are also varieties of instances of perceived adulteries caused by women musing upon their muses, written most poignantly by Mirjam Tuominen which could have net-applications… I may link that one soon.

I am concerned now with the issue of public writing , with space, and with the diary-form translated and updated to the web-blog form, and in  how that impacts upon  the practice of writing, specifically  mine. I recently wrote a piece about writing  practice ( for another blog) on the subject of transcription, which got   me to thinking about how my writing-practice has changed. There is an awkwardness about my left-handedness which does not lend itself to copying and pasting much and most of the poems on this blog  are transcribed directly from books, except the original works which are just written-down and eventually  typed out. However , I do a lot more in the way of communicating than I necessarily would just sitting in a room reading and writing (or doodling). –

It has been excellent in many ways to be able to access other writers and discuss subjects such as poetry, gender, women’s presence online and imbalances in publication of women writers , most particularly literary women writers.

What hasn’t been excellent is that the scrawly-jotty , associative thinking, and lateral imaging things are a bit neglected. No matter how much one refuses to admit it, blogging is a very public method of getting to the essentials of writing , it has its own space, time and decorative element. Blogging has rather severe limitations in terms of tailoring what one thinks people wish to read, and it is not a  spontaneous or creative way of writing.

This very public space  which is defined by what I want to go on the page lacks a creativity that is often exasperating – I don’t doodle here, or cross out things.  Poems  that  I like or think others may like  are what this space is about, it does not have the busyness of sets of inter-related note-books, folders , pencil-cases or writing smells like inky leaks. It is too neat. I am looking for ways to make it more natural at the moment.

One thing which annoys me beyond anything else about women who write is their constant referral to themselves as scribblers and not as writers. The two acts, that of writing and that of scribbling are not really related , scribbling is more a mode of generation than of connection . Very few male authors tend toward that type of florid self-description.

A Saturday Woman Poet, women writers on Poethead in 2010.

A Saturday Woman Poet 2010 , some Women Writers from the Poethead blog .

The Saturday Woman Poet  category of Poethead is related to  other categories and themes within this site called , 25 Pins in a Packet , Women Creators ,  A Saturday Woman Poet and Saturday Women Poets. I will be adding those links and archives at the end of this piece.

Poets who have appeared in the Saturday Woman Poet include, Ágnes Nemes Nagy, Eithne Strong, Nuala Ní Chonchúir , Moya CannonSylvia Plath , Eavan Boland, Nelly Sachs , Glenda Cimino,  Eva Gore-Booth , Sarojini Naidu , Denise Levertov , Liliana Ursu, Shahnaz A’Lami, Mirjam Tuominen and Celia De Fréine.

Alongside these women poets appear their translators and editors. Sometimes I have thought to add a writer of prose and or poetic prose, this list includes Nagy , Mary Lavin, Mirjam Touminen and Elisaveta Bagyrana  .  Tess Gallagher, Kay Boyle and Marian Glasscoe feature as editors and translators of Liliana Ursu , René Crevel and Julian of Norwich respectively .

Collaborative Translation and Visual Art, some favourites  on the Poethead site.

Collaborative translations and artwork are very popular on the site with Alice Maher and Éilis Ní Dhúibhne’s work being very sought after, along with the René Crevel  and Max Ernst posts.  I think that Tess Gallagher’s translations of LilianaUrsu’s  poems are as popular as Weil also. The most interesting thing about the women writers on Poethead is the fact that they are sought and found through search-engines through  memory, scraps of remembered lines are put through multi-lingual engines and readers end up here . The most popular search-engine terms seek   Bachman, Simone Weil and Levertov. It’s also heartening to see Poethead comprises a good fifth of the site’s search-engine  terms, which means that readers come back to visit the site if they are happy enough with the transcriptions, book title information and translator’s works.

I also wanted to add in here a November 2010 Review of Nancy Spero’s Torture of Women , from The Nation Magazine :

“The limits of my language,” Ludwig Wittgenstein famously declared, “are the limits of my world.” One of the most notorious limits of our language, and one that has done much to limit our world, is “man” being the embodiment of humanity. That the pronoun “he” can represent indifferently “he” or “she,” that “man” represents “man” or “woman”: these are grammatical traces of the phenomenon that Simone de Beauvoir made the starting point of The Second Sex more than sixty years ago: “humanity is male and defines woman not in herself but relative to him.”


Archive for the ‘25 Pins in a Packet : Women Creators’ Category

25 Pins in a Packet , Women Creators continued
March 8th 2009 , ‘Necessity, by Simone Weil

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