The Dancer and the Dance: A Book of Distinctions

Seven Passages From A Notebook: Plus A Poem

Seven Passages From A Notebook Plus A Poem 1. “She’s a Language writer,” said WBAI’s Janet Coleman to me. Coleman was speaking of a writer she liked. In a way, that statement was odd. What we call “Language writing” arose out of a discussion—often a fierce and heated discussion—conducted by a group of writers located primarily in California and New York. Lyn Hejinian told me that Bob Perelman’s “Talks” series was instituted as a forum for the presentation, discussion and criticism of the work these writers were producing. I am not speaking here of criticism of Language poetry from poets outside the group. I am speaking of criticism of Language poetry from poets within the group. Language poetry arose out of an argument people were having about the nature of poetry. Now, it seems, Language poetry has become a style of writing which anyone can adopt— without debate or discussion. You can say, “She’s a Language writer” and expect to be understood. Doesn’t that mean that the movement as a movement— something in motion—is over? Isn’t that the shift from something deeply in question—argued about by the participants—into something fixed: a style, a way of writing? You might as well be writing sonnets. 2. I think the concept of “honesty” arises out of various Puritanical impulses. Puritans want people to choose one thing or another—indeed, at the expense of another. The great Puritan epic, Paradise Lost, is all about a wrong choice. I think this is tied to “honesty”: “What I really feel is this . . . “—and you leave out all the things that glimmer around a subject and perhaps contradict it. It is of course good form in our society to be on the side of “honesty”—emotional and intellectual. No one would tell you that honesty isn’t a wonderful thing. And yet: is it? Does it hide something which might call it into question? Is 203 204 The Dancer and the Dance there a sense in which it is a denial and not an affirmation? Nietzsche is one of the very few who would attack honesty in the name of healthy lying. I’m afraid—to be as honest as I can possibly be—I agree with him. “Honesty” demolishes fictions: fictions, I think, are life. Puritans like nothing more than to demolish fictions, to destroy myths. But I think that myth is the only adequate way to understand the world—and that the Puritan position is itself in fact (what else?) a fiction, though it is a fiction claiming a moral superiority which it does not actually possess. It is the supreme arrogance of Puritanism that it believes its one fiction takes utter precedence over all other fictions: Puritan “honesty” is thus a kind of monotheism. The question is not whether one supports lies (“evasiveness”) or truth (“honesty”): the question is what kinds of fictions give life, what kinds give death? . . . To a friend who asked questions: People tend to believe in “honesty” as an absolute: it’s always a good thing. And people get praised for their “honesty”—not necessarily for any particular kind of honesty, simply for being “honest.” But, if there are no absolutes, it’s possible that the virtue of honesty has its limitations, even its negations—especially when it becomes anti-mythology. I’m afraid I have a deep distrust of things Puritan—not to mention things everybody praises. In at least some senses, “honesty” is anti imagination: Tell the truth, be honest, don’t lie. To praise “honesty” is to praise not making fictions. Is that what we wish to tell our poets? Is that any way to arrive at new myths? Isn’t “honesty” an aspect of the Puritan distrust of the imagination—the impulse that made them close down the theaters in Shakespeare’s time? 3. Do tough guys in Brooklyn still say dese and dose for these and those?The Greek words for god and goddess are, respectively, theos and thea.The Roman words are deus and dea. . . The Romans were tough guys, too. 4. When I was in New York over forty years ago—1960? 1961?—I wished to make a journal like this but had great difficulty doing it. Now, the words flow forth. Adelle says, “That’s because, then, you wanted to be a writer. Now, you are a writer.” Undoubtedly...