Williams' hybrid format of essay and poetry combined into one certainly challenges the status quo of both styles, but as with a toddler showing off his skills on a tricycle (or anything else for that matter) the constant call of attention grows tiresome. His point was well taken that he is perfectly adept in both formats, and I get that he's trying to uproot the factions of established styles and traditions, but shouldn't one such shift be enough? No, of course not if you're William Carlos Williams. The guy can't even get enough of his first name, he has to have it in his last name, too! But I digress...
One of the most interesting aspects of Williams' essay, I thought, was the idea that limitations can drive an artist to produce more. On page 179, he frames this thought: "The imagination, intoxicated by prohibitions, rises to drunken heights to destroy the world." This is a very interesting idea for Williams to include because it somewhat debases his ensuing argument, that creation is dependent on imagination and imagination works with less output if subjugated. The phrase "intoxicated by prohibitions," though, brings to mind a situation in which subjugation only increases creation. However, he doesn't necessarily talk about imagination in this passage. It is important to realize the distinct difference between creation out of imagination and creation for the sake of creation. It's the difference between writing because you want to or writing because you have to. (That's not a dig to this assignment, by the way. I'm actually really enjoying this assignment.)
"The value of the imagination to the writer," writes Williams, "consists in its ability to make words. Its unique power is to give created forms reality, actual existence." I found this to be a really interesting quote, especially when put in the same context as our continuing discussion of binaries centered around Rae Armantrout and Philip Levine. If imagination can create these forms as real as if you were to touch them, then it must be frustrating to know of that failure in language to effectively transmit these ideas. If this does frustrate Williams, I can't tell (other than the fact that he mentions the idea) because of his easy boredom with ideas; if he can't find a logical ending to one, he just doesn't end it and moves on. He seems to have no problem expressing complex ideas, but unlike Levine and Armantrout, he doesn't complain much about the failure of language. Instead, he seems to focus most of his grief on failures of ideas rather than the words that express them. It gives me the thought that any idea of his, in his mind, is well-formed. It doesn't matter how it comes across, just as long as it does come across.
I’m really interested in your interpretation of Williams’ work being like a “toddler showing off his skills on a tricycle”. I laughed at that. I actually agree wholeheartedly when you said it seems that he went out of his way to make a point. My first reading of this work, all I could think about was how incredibly random the words seemed to be, and how I didn’t exactly know how everything flowed together. It’s like he was trying too hard to be original that it was too over the top. By the second page, I was getting tired of hearing about what he can do with words. I would rather him just do it, instead of talking about doing it.
ReplyDeleteI also like how you said Williams “doesn't complain much about the failure of language.” You’re right, he doesn’t complain. What he does instead is just stating that it does fail, and that’s that. He doesn’t bother trying to figure out why. Williams is writing because he’s passionate about writing, and any idea in his mind, he’s going to put down on the page, even if it’s not a complete thought. Just like a toddler on a tricycle, throughout this piece, Williams doesn’t hesitate to show off his intelligent thinking and brilliant ideas to his audience of readers.
-Alyssa
Now, now, he didn’t name himself William Carlos Williams; presumably, his mother gave him that name, the last name being a product of the sort of unfortunate legal matrimonial jargon associated with government. Anyway, don’t you think maybe because he’s so brilliant with saying what no one else at this time dared to say and do so openly that he might have the right to be a bit full of himself? I do. But that’s rather irrelevant.
ReplyDeleteSo, thank you for explicating “intoxicated by prohibitions” far more eloquently than I can manage. I agree, that the subjugation of imagination is what drives it, according to Williams, and I think secretly, according to every individual who considers herself an artist. But what I’m really interested in is how exactly he breaks free of those limitations by simply ignoring them in this piece. Granted, one must have a certain awareness of limits in order to break past them the way he does, but aside from his rants on the traditionalists of plagiarism, it seems to me that he doesn’t exactly outline what the limitations that he’s breaking are. He systematically breaks through all of them, but never names them. He writes the poem about Elsie, the housemaid, with all its untraditionally sordid and dense macabre, but doesn’t say that he’s sticking it to the traditional aesthetics of beauty. So, I guess what I’m really saying is how does this relate to his idea that imagination can create real things. Are the boundaries against which he’s rebelling real only because his brain (imagination, mind, etc) makes them real to the world of art and artists?
Oh, and I agree.