The Poem in the Story: Music, Poetry, and Narrative

The Poem

The Poem The body is poetry's door; the sounds of words-throbbing in legs and arms-let us into the house. - Donald Hall, Poetry: The Unsayable Said The poem is the key. But it is not the naked poem. The poem never exists without a story, nor can a story stand without a poem. To be sure, we must know the nature of the naked poem if we are to appreciate the pivotal role it plays in the construction and experience of a story. The naked poem has its own attractions, is an art form itself.26 To comprehend the true nature of story, it is imperative that one be aware of the composition of poetry, integral as at is to the composition of story. Poetry is in the very temper ofstory, in its melodic and rhythmic influence on the organization and shaping of images. The nature of imagery is, therefore, also ofcrucial significance, since images are the building blocks ofstories. The raw material is emotion, that ofthe performer and, most signally, that of the audience. The images are not so much repositories ofemotion as evokers of emotion. But it is not enough for a storyteller merely to elicit emotions: to do that alone would be aesthetically perilous and irresponsible . The images have two functions: to move the story and to move the audience-the first in a cause and effect manner, the second in an emotionally resonant way. Primary, or mythic, images must do both. Other subordinate images will cement, detail, and support these central images. There is a second repertory of images that is contemporary in nature and emotionally evocative, but not as deeply so as the mythic images. Both are crucial, for the ancient mythic images will work their way with the contemporary. Three things are happening here: one is historical (the contemporary images shaped by myth), the second is narrative (the linear movement of images from conflict to resolution), and the third is aesthetic (the shaping 25 26 Harold Scheub of the released emotions into form). To make a narrative work, the melodic line is crucial, for it is the logic ofstorytelling. To make the story into art, rhythm is vital, for it is the message. This ordering of imagery into form, this shaping of emotions into form: that is the poem in the story. The Poetics of Storytelling The Music in the Story The real substratum ofmyth is not a substratum ofthought but of feeling. -Ernst Cassirer, An Essay on Man THE POEM IN THE STORY The king's official bard takes the history of the people and fabricates it by building its images, ancient and contemporary, around the song that, through its ordering of the historical images, reveals the poet's truth about the story. It is a day on which the symbols of the Xhosa past openly and brilliantly compete with those of the present. The king, Diliz' Iintaba, appears, dressed in a white suit, and, as he emerges, the throng raises arms and salutes him thunderously. Duting the tumult of the greeting, the king busies himself with his wife and councilors, seeming to ignore the mighty salutation. Then, the salute still in progress, the poet, Mdukiswa Tyabashe, who has been lost in the crowd conversing with some elderly men, slowly comes into view. As he walks to the center of the vast courtyard, the crowd, still shouting greetings to the king, slowly and respectfully makes way for the bard with anticipation, clearing the space, their shouts subdued somewhat as the court poet approaches with dignity the center of the space. "Shu! Shu! Shu!" he shouts, his voice thundering above the roar of the crowd. "Diliz' Iintaba! Diliz' Iintaba!" The roar decreases to a murmur. "Shu!" the poet cries, "Shu! Shu!" Suddenly, all is quiet. Those carving the carcasses of the oxen that have been slaughtered for the occasion also fall silent. The king, in an exaggerated way ignoring the bard, continues to speak in whispers to his advisers. Tyabashe stops walking now: "Shu! Shu!" The crowd softly 27 28 Harold Scheub arranges itself as though choreographed. Tyabashe faces the king. "Diliz' lintaba!" he roars. Holding the head of the cane in his right fist, its point to the ground, he salutes the king. The king stands solemnly in the shade of a small veranda of one of his houses, now speaking quietly and calmly to his wife. "I have...