Imagine poetry
as a series of terraces, some vast, some no bigger than a pinprick, overlooking
the city of language. The sound and light show begins in the dark: sentences
dart by, one by one, forming wave after wave of the rag and bone shop of the
quotidian, events passing before our eyes like the faint glimmer of
consciousness in an alcoholic stupor. Facts, facts everywhere but not a drop to
drink. (“The Truth in Pudding”)
In his third
poetry collection with the University of Chicago Press, New York poet Charles Bernstein’s
Recalculating (Chicago Il: University
of Chicago Press, 2013) reinforces his exploration of the procedural, the
shifting sands of what exactly poems are made of, and how they are constructed.
Bernstein’s oeuvre is a constant recalculation, even as the title refers to a
technology that didn’t exist when he first began composing and publishing
poems. There is something exciting in the way his poems work to keep up with
and even ahead of not just technology, but the culture itself. Take the poem “Poem
Loading…” made up of the single line, “please wait” (p 12), or a longer poem
that harkens back to his previous collection, “The Most Frequent Words in Girly Man,” that opens: “the / is / of /
to / in / and / like / you / that / it / on / for / but / with / not / as /
war/ no” (p 141). Something of this piece is reminiscent of a poem from the “sound
poetry” issue of Prism International from
decades back, when a poet I can’t recall the name of reworked Robert Frost’s “Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening,” reordering the entire poem’s words in
alphabetical order. And yet, Bernstein composes poems from a series of
foundations, including “translations and adaptations of” pieces by Sylvia Plath, Paul Celan, Cole Porter, Pessoa, Baudelaire, Marjorie Perloff, Wallace Stevens, Robin Blaser and Apollinaire, among so many others. This collection
manages somehow to contain the multitudes of constant questioning and re-questioning
and a considerable re-grounding.
Todtnauberg
after Paul Celan
Arnica, hold-in-trust,
tear
Trump out dim
Bruise admit dim
Stern waffled
drought,
indigo
Hut,
die in that
Bush
—lesson Naming
nouns off
where dim
mines men—
die in die’s
book
gust’s
ribbons fail one
I’m an
huff-none, hurt
Oaf I’m a
dunken den
commends
Wart
in heart’s
end
World-wizened,
uneyed and bent
Arc is un-arc
is, eye’s realm,
Crude, spatter
in führer
Deutsche
light,
Tears a fog,
dear Mensch,
dares admit
abort
die halved
beschmuddled
Cudgel
fade in Hock’s
moor
Folded,
veil.
Always admirable
in the work of Charles Bernstein is the sense of play and wry humour, and the
wide variety of forms he is willing to explore. Part of his exploration of the
poem relates very clearly to how poetry is not only composed, but in how it is
read, and the shifting ways the internet has shifted the contemporary reading
of the poem, such as in the piece “This Poem is in Finnish”:
This Poem is in Finnish
Translate it by toggling here
While I remain
in English, either stranded
Or as one
drunken and wheeled to a paddy
Wagon. There was
a time I drank blueberry
Wine but that
was long ago and my powers
Of recollection
are still too strong to forget.
As one overcome
by waves of wanton flash-
Backs, acid dreams of moments all too real,
Backs, acid dreams of moments all too real,
Finds himself
mirrored by the mind of a very
Little boy
trapped in the body of an old man.
This is an
age where the evolution of the internet has increased poetry production and
readership, as opposed to what had been earlier feared, and Charles Bernstein
has long been at the forefront of such, as both writer and reader. Even this
review, one might say, which will most likely receive more “hits” than most
literary journals have print runs. Charles Bernstein works a pretty big canvas
in his writing, far broader in scope than what lives within the boundaries of Recalculating, a collection that
contains a constant movement. The title of the collection reads as the perfect
metaphor for Bernstein’s work as a whole, moving in one direction until he takes
a deliberate turn and adapts, all the while driving, constantly driving, never
lost, but confidently searching, seeking and wondering.
No comments:
Post a Comment