nonsense to be surreal?
Dale Houstman
"Laura" <or...@gurlmail.com> wrote in message
news:JabA5.10763$P5.2...@news1.rdc1.ab.home.com...
> Yet again, a post on what is or is not surreal, brought to you by that
girl
> who just doesn't know it all yet!
>
> Does a surreal poem or written work have to be nonsense in order to be
> surreal? Would it depend on the method? Is nonsense a requirement, or a
> symptom/result?
Nonsense - as it pertains to surrealism - was particularly strong in England
where they have a strong history of nonsense literature. I like nonsense
texts very much, and certainly write my share of them, but the answer is no.
Paul Eluard wrote mainly love poetry, some of which is not discernible from
"regular" poetry. What makes it surrealist (besides the fact he "ran with
the fellas") is its obsessive focus on matters of desire, the idealized
woman (let's not get into that right now!), the dream, etc. But - honestly -
I don't think the distinction is one which has to be made: Peret writes what
can only be seen as a sort of maniacal nonsense, and what was often admired
in the English nonsense writers was (as in Peret and others: Arp comes to
mind) a dedication to "overturning" the expectations of the public, of
satirizing the conventions of the day. Of course, there are differences
that do arise from the fact that nonsense writers tended to write (or to
believe they were writing) for an audience of children, although the
practice takes as much "mature" effort as anything else. It would be very
difficult - I think - to make a case for Breton as a nonsense writer for
example; although his works may be very hermetic they have very little to
none of the humorous facade that is the hallmark of nonsense. But - as I
said - the distinction is not one of great import (at least to me), because
even nonsense is full of sense: it tells a tale in burlesque form, or acts
as an insurgent agent within what would otherwise be an "acceptable" form:
thus Carroll's "borrowing" of didactic Victorian verse for quite another
purpose, Lear's appropriation of the love tale in "Owl and the Pussycat" and
so on. The short "brutal nonsense" of many English writers (which I will try
and post examples of soon) were quite shockingly nasty; speaking of children
being killed quite causally, usually with the sense that more important
things are happening. And so on...
> If I write about a situation in my life that was surreal, in some "normal"
> poetic form, would the work itself be surreal, or would it just be a
> "normal" piece on a surreal topic?
This might depend on what you initially defined as being a "surreal"
situation. If it was merely an odd moment, akin to the dreary "coincidences"
which satisfy most people as being "fantastic" (Mom dying just as you carved
a Butterball turkey, two children killed on different trains but with the
same first name, etc.) I wouldn't find it seductive in its potential.
One shoots for a "unified" poetic experience in which there is no separation
between what is being
stated and how it is being stated. Thus if you already have in mind that
surreal/normal is a useful dichotomy, you may have already taken a step into
the wrong garden. This is a sort of prejudgement of your own imagination
that usually kills the monster.
> Just something I found myself wondering today while moving through
doorways
> and listening to voices, echoes I supposed, of people that weren't there.
What do you think of this experience? What does it "mean"? Why do you wish
to compose it into poetry? Is it entirely a self-sufficient event or must it
be "fleshed out" with addended poetics to make it real to you? Why are you
compelled to :get it down"? And what compells you to pre-think a form for it
that strikes you as "normal"?
Subversion counts for a lot in this arena.
dmh
Laura
who just doesn't know it all yet!
Does a surreal poem or written work have to be nonsense in order to be
surreal? Would it depend on the method? Is nonsense a requirement, or a
symptom/result?
If I write about a situation in my life that was surreal, in some "normal"
poetic form, would the work itself be surreal, or would it just be a
"normal" piece on a surreal topic?
Just something I found myself wondering today while moving through doorways
and listening to voices, echoes I supposed, of people that weren't there.
Laura
My Linkware - Laura Transforms Graphics -
http://www.gurlpages.com/art/orlan/index.html
BATDING - http://www.20-eyes.com/batding/index.html
ac...@freenet.carleton.ca
> Does a surreal poem or written work have to be nonsense in order to be
> surreal? Would it depend on the method? Is nonsense a requirement,
> or a symptom/result?
Here's my opinion, which, as you know, is utterly worthless on the
black market. One of my opinions will get you an old "New Kids On The
Block" 8-track. Which is odd, because they never made NKOTB 8-tracks.
Surrealism isn't just about nonsense, or for that matter, about
automatic writing. In fact, according to Britannica.com (and a couple
of other sources) surrealism can be divided into two schools.
One school says that automatic stuff is the key, and we should all tap
into our brains using automatic behavior. Which tends to look
gibberish-esque.
The other school goes about creating an object/artwork/performance
designed to make you go, "WHA?" This "WHA?" is often brought about by
the juxtaposition of weird things. F'rinstance -- a huge salmon
wearing an elaborate sequined horse's saddle, as if you're about to hop
on and ride the waves. Surreal. Makes you pause and say, "WHA?"
These two schools -- automatic and calculation for effect -- explain
the vast difference between a Breton poem, and a Dali painting.
Given this state of affairs, a surreal poem could take two forms.
One, it automatically spews. Gibberish away! Tally-ho! My electric
weasel can no longer sing underwater except in Italian.
Two, it can be a calculated mix of odd imagery that attempts to provoke
an off-balance sense of weirdness in the viewer's mind. Something like
Kafka, or maybe the following: Each strand of my cat's fur is a tiny
eel. These micro-eels are blind, thoughtless, brainless entities. All
they do is make my cat feel pleasure when I pet him. The eels feed off
the cat's emotional state. He is at their mercy.
(In this specific case, I took an image that came automatically and
played with it, elaborated on it, elongated it, followed it to where it
(logically) went.)
Many of the people in this newsgroup -- no names -- seem to think that
the automatic school is the key. I am not so sure.
I've mentioned before that I find it odd that all automatic writing
tends to have the same "look", the same "feel". It's as if the writer
is well-aware of what automatic writing is "supposed to" look like, and
is actively seeking out "odd" imagery and connections. Just how
automatic *IS* automatic writing, I wonder?
I believe it was Cythera who suggested that one reason our automatic
writing might look the same is that we all come from similar
backgrounds and the same era, and so we have the same inputs in our
lives, thus creating a similar output. We all, after all, watch "Law
and Order". Right? RIGHT?!
This is a valid possibility. But I don't buy it.
I think that we (on some level) know what automatic writing is supposed
to look like, and so when we sit down to produce it we end up with the
same old, familiar, common automatic writing. Not so much "automatic"
as "designed to look like automatic".
Nothing wrong with that, of course, unless you genuinely believe you're
not censoring yourself, and spewing TRUTH.
Lesbian fruitbats drive a banana to Vegas.
Each bit of this came to me at random, but if, say, I came up
with "drive a chevy", I "automatically" censor the "automatic"
thought. "Drive a chevy" isn't "odd" enough. Drive a banana? Now
that's unusual. And everyone knows bananas are funny. I use that
instead.
(Which is what actually happened as I wrote the above.)
I get the impression that, when it comes to writing, our censor can
leap into the crack between words. I type pretty fast, but still,
there is enough time for the censor to step in, and change a word in
the sentence before I even get a chance to type it.
When I speak out loud, however, I find it much more difficult to censor
myself. I often say things I don't expect myself to say. Writing? I
have more control over it. Which is one of the reasons why I like
writing more than talking in the first place.
Oh, by the way -- this is not to suggest that everyone works this way.
I'm sure that some people can write automatically, without censoring.
But I am skeptical when the so-called "automatic writing" they produce
coincidentally takes the shape and form of what everyone else is
producing.
All of this is speculation on my part, but what else have I got besides
speculation? Nothing.
Lately I find myself more and more interested with the "calulated
effect" school as opposed to the "automatic" school. After I've read a
few dozen random thoughts -- "rivers of molten tuna slide up the
mountain and into the eye of my mother" -- I get bored. Surely we can
do better than a lumpy stream of the same old "unusual" images?
> If I write about a situation in my life that was surreal, in
> some "normal" poetic form, would the work itself be surreal, or would
> it just be a "normal" piece on a surreal topic?
Hmmm. According to some in this newsgroup, it's the process that's
important -- presumably the "automatic" process -- and the art work is
just an "artifact" created by the process. Therefore, I suspect they'd
argue that this would be a "normal" text discussing surrealism. The
process wasn't surreal so the artifact isn't surreal.
In my mind, that's a bit too simplistic. Your intentions for the piece
would determine whether it is surreal or not. Are you attempting to
provoke that magical sense of "WHA?" in your reader, by getting them to
identify with something "surreal" that happened to you? If that's your
intent, and if you succeed at doing this, then I would call the piece
surreal.
Hey, even if it wasn't your intent and your text provokes that kind of
a reaction, it's surreal.
Have you seen "The Powerpuff Girls" cartoon? I have no idea if the
intent was surreal, but it sure feels surreal-ish to me.
If surrealism really is all about the process, and the text is really
just an "artifact" made by it, then a person in an automatic state
could produce something rather bland. (This assumes they are GENUINELY
working automatically, and not deliberately trying to produce
something "odd".)
So you could, automatically, write:
The man got out of his car, walked up to the door, and rang the bell.
He was delivering a pizza. A woman opened the door. Thank you for the
pizza, she said, and paid him. The man left.
Totally automatic. Surreal? Not really. It's flat, dull, lifeless,
and promotes no sense of magic. Where's the "WHA?"?
Perhaps surrealism is in the eye of the beholder. After all, I see
certain sections of The Bible as promoting a sense of magic and
surreality. Others would argue that the bible is garbage and they see
no such thing. One person's magic is another person's ugly toad.
To me, a surreal text makes me go "WHA?" and feel a sense of awe,
grandness, magic, and dreaminess. Whether it was produced
automatically or through painstaking effort and calculation doesn't
especially matter. However, I do find automatic writing to be a useful
tool. I often come up with great stuff that way. However, I tend to
think in automatic sentences as opposed to "word by word" automatic
writing.
"The people of the village of Tahoo never bathed, except on one
particular Thursday in the middle of June."
That's the sort of automatic writing the pleases me. One sentence
comes out, automatic. I look at it and say, 'WHA?" and I'm curious
already to chase it. Who are these people of Tahoo? What happens in
their bathing ritual? What's this story going to be about? The next
sentence will logically connect, but it will still have an element
of "automaticness". It will also, I hope, promote "WHA?".
This is all I'm going to say because I meant to go to bed an hour ago.
I expect lots and lots of people will disagree with just about
everything I typed. Oh well.
Nik
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Before you buy.