2 Posts 2 Late

[Okay, not really too late, but I couldn't resist the title. They're only 'late' because the readings were so long ago. Also, I should mention that this is two posts in one physical post for your reading convenience.]

Anne Carson Reading (in Cemex)

I always find myself unexpectedly confused and amused after reading Anne Carson, so it was no surprise that her reading left me with the same ambivalence.

The confusion arises, as I’m sure it does for most, from the – for lack of a better word – weirdness of most of her work. While normally I would be limited to slandering her artistic wit as ‘weird,’ at this reading I realized that a large part of my confusion is not so much an inability on my part to latch onto some sort of meaning in her work – though there is plenty of that – as much as it is a vicarious assumption of what someone else might think of her work, this hypothetical person being someone who’s not an English major, or someone who studies Classics, etc. In other words, I found myself irked by the esoteric nature of her work. (I also shudder at having to use the word ‘esoteric’ to describe something esoteric, but that’s an issue for another blog post.)

When I say “the esoteric nature of her work,” what I’m really thinking of is the Proust piece. To be perfectly honest, as I’m writing this (far too long after the reading than I should be), all I remember is lot of referencing (maybe even quoting?) Proust, and drawing parallels between her life, or some speaker’s/narrator’s life. Now, as someone who considers himself not necessarily well read, but at least on the way to well read, I feel the need to say that I have not read Proust. I know him only because he is so often referenced by academics and academic-type writers, so perhaps my perspective is too skewed and limited to form a valid judgment. Still, I feel like I won’t end up reading Proust in my lifetime – I’ll read 50 YA novels (and write 100 of them) before I take on such a monumental task. I feel the need to bring this up because it serves as backup for my main critique of writings like this that reference intellectuals like Proust, and that is that to me they feel alienating. I understand that for those who have read and love Proust, including references to his work can do the opposite; they can feel inclusive, an invitation into a special club of those who understand.

I suppose this simply goes against my main tenets as a writer. I write because I want to speak to people. I know there is some much-loved saying that asserts that if what someone does can resonate with/change the life of one person, it’s worth it. While I sympathize with this sentiment, I don’t share it completely; for me, a work of writing would feel like a great accomplishment if I could speak to the greatest number of people. Writing has such infinite power – why not aim to unleash it to its fullest extent?

In Anne Carson’s favor, however, and in the favor of those who write works similar to her Proust piece, I do completely understand the desire to use writing as a way of experiencing life. By reconstructing Proust’s narrative in a new way, and perhaps a way that is relevant to her own life, I can see how Anne Carson would find joy or satisfaction in viewing life through this limited, fictional lens. 

Also, to end on a positive note, I should address the amusement I said I feel when I see Anne Carson, and that comes largely from her as a human. It’s her quirks and her eccentricity that make me smile sideways and chuckle. No writer who walks up to the podium and pumps her arms for more applause with a sly grin – nor one who includes an audience call-and-response bit – should be taken too seriously. 

Thank you, Anne Carson, for your silliness.

Anne Carson Colloquium

I’ve attached both of these blog posts as one entry not just for convenience’s sake, but also because they’re quite related, both in the nature of the readings and my feelings towards them.

Without too much introduction, I’ll paste here (unedited, in full) my notes from the reading. Basically, I tried stream-of-consciousness narrate from the perspective of the person I mentioned in the blog post above – the person who is not used to literary or cultural events, who doesn’t know how and doesn’t really care to find hidden meaning in wacky poetry/performance type pieces. Spoiler alert: this person is at least partly me, and sometimes I feel like this person is the audience Anne Carson most enjoys befuddling.

A man is tangling people in string...this is...avant garde? I think I know what that means. I can’t look down for a second without him doing something new with the string. Why is the string that color? It’s so unusual. Are these two people on the sides really just there to hold down the string? I haven’t absorbed a word of the poem except “igneous,” which I think was the first word that Charlotte said. (Oh, I know Charlotte, the tall girl, the one who read with Anne Carson, so it was easy to follow her.) Well now he’s tying string around Anne Carson – he’s allowed to do that? “A library of melted books” – that’s kind of nice, maybe, but also terrible. The string is now going over the audience. This is interesting, bordering on uncomfortable. How rehearsed/choreographed is this? Okay now there are students all around the room standing up and talking at the same time. This is a bit much. Glad I sat in the middle, maybe? Or not? This next piece apparently requires a one minute introduction...enough said. This guy is murmuring “bracket” the way a frog ribbits; it makes me uncomfortable. Just noticed brackets being animated and projected on the wall beside me. Really? Okay now they’re all silent for a while. How would I live tweet this? One guy is in a t-shirt and jeans (the string guy), while the others had the decency to dress for the occasion (or is this even a dress-for-the-occasion type of occasion? I’m wearing shorts!) Did they really bring the string for just that one poem thing? This girl’s hair in front of me is interesting. It’s tied up in a little design, like a flat flower, and the color is rich, layered. She’s wearing the right color of green for her hair. Okay now they just got to “Fragment 87c” – I just don’t even know what this is anymore. Apparently that was supposed to be a dance. Lunch now? Well. Okay.