Writing in the Wake of September 11th and the lead up to the War in Iraq, Julian Spahr utilizes a repetitive but almost dream like style to depict the sense of confusion and chaos surrounding the world as the United States was attacked and then prepared for and launched a massive campaign in the Middle East. Of all the poets we have read thus far, Spahr is the most political. Depending on where you fall on the divide on “the war” that has come to dominate our lives this decade, you’ll either find her agreeable or a flaming liberal who clearly should be silenced. Should your feelings on the war sit somewhere along the proverbial fence, you should feel right at home as well, because there’s enough sense of center-left to not make for too uncomfortable an enterprise. Because despite Spahr’s political leanings, A particular theme of Spahr’s “This Connection of Everyone With Lungs” is this:
Even on this small island we gathered [against the war]
Of course other things happened (55)
Spahr’s “Lungs” doesn’t merely focus on the war, on battles or on missiles and tanks (though she does dedicate some time to these elements) it revolves around it in a wide but intense orbit, encapsulating what was going on during the war. I cannot say that she did this impartially, as impartiality is impossible really to achieve, but the manner in which she writes almost lends itself to that sense.
Spahr’s mission is to really document, from the start of WMDs to the invasion, to record the world’s response to the war in Iraq. Spahr calls the world “a serious of isolated, burning fires as it is every morning” and she manages to bring these fires together and gives them some context by exposing patterns (millions marching) or bombings, all forms of strife that Spahr herself admits she has trouble connecting to when she is faced with the “unanswerable questions of political responsibility” (58).
Spahr utilizes repetition to a much greater degree than the previous poets in this course. Spahr will divide her poems with repeating lines beginning with “Oh, I Speak, Those are, These are, As I Thought, Beloveds” and so forth. And while listening to listening to this aloud would obviously prove to be a little grating, it hammers home its point effectively. Spahr will begin by listing off facts of the war, making for an extremely somber picture with images of fighter jets and bombs. She’ll recount facts leading up to the war which almost made me experience again that sense of dread of what was coming, simply by stating something like:
We did not speak about the December 24 deployment of twenty five thousand soldiers, sailors, airmen and marines to the Gulf Region.
We did not speak about the loading of M1 Abrams tanks...
Spahr does this for a whole page. The feeling that repetition generated inside me was one of mounting tension, like fingers dragged down a chalkboard or that ambient sort of music utilized in horror films that slowly builds up until the monster bursts through a window or out of a closet. Reading it to myself it is inherently terrifying, but loses much of its luster when read aloud, I feel.
When the inevitable finally does arrive, Spahr’s melancholy is obvious. She states, “a huge sadness overtakes us daily because of our inability to control what goes on in the world in our name” (71). If Spahr’s feelings towards the war were not evident before, they are made clear here.
Whether Spahr succeeds or not in documenting the lead up to the Iraq war I feel really depends on the reader’s political leanings. As a Democrat and anti-war proponent, I would whole heartedly say yes, the text is successful. But I know my Republican grandfather would not like it. Because Spahr drops lines like, “eleven million people across the globe took to the streets one recent weekend to protest the war and this gave us a glimmer” or “our hopes that the inevitable will not come true are endlessly dashed” revealing her anti-war position. And this I feel colors the whole text.
The publication of “This Connection of Everyone with Lungs” will be a comfort to those like me, who see the Iraq War as a crime, to those who adore Julian Assange and WikiLeaks and hate what the United States has become. But to those who see the United States through glazed eyes of ignorance clouded by right wing fascism, I’m afraid the profundity of Spahr will fall on deaf ears.
Benjamin, I found your description of Spahr to be very perceptive. I especially appreciated how you pointed out that “Spahr’s ‘Lungs’ doesn’t merely focus on the war…it revolves around it in a wide but intense orbit, encapsulating what was going on during the war.” I also agree wholeheartedly that she was not impartial in her poems and that “impartiality is impossible really to achieve” because no one can ever be truly impartial. Also, if poets were impartial would we even be interested in their poems?
ReplyDeleteThe way you described Spahr’s repetition as being like the music in horror films which builds tension as it progresses was brilliant. I think you really captured her intention. However, I was a little shocked that you think Spahr’s poetry would “fall on deaf ears” especially those ears of who you describe as being “clouded by right wing fascism.” Do you think Spahr was writing these poems to preach to the choir of “Democrat[s] and anti-war proponent[s]” or was her target audience those on the opposite side? I’m not sure, either, but I felt that with her use of such a hot topic and one that affected most Americans coupled with her use of repetition to pound the horrible things she saw on the news into our heads was successful because it did create a growing tension just as you pointed out, for any American who can say where they were on 9/11. This poetry is definitely controversial and impartial and I believe that was exactly her point.