The Education of J.H.S.

Today I spent several hours in a hospital and used the time to finally read through Versed, Rae Armantrout's Pulitzer Prize winning book of poems. My surroundings were quite appropriate, because of the dark cloud hanging over the book--Armantrout was diagnosed with cancer during the writing of the manuscript.

I'm not sure if I purchased Versed before or after hearing about Rae Armantrout, or if I had already begun my investigations of Language Poetry. For some reason, I did end up purchasing the book. Since then, I've started following Ron Silliman's blog from time to time, read the anthologies Language Poetries (ed. Messerli) and American Hybrid (ed. Swensen/St. John), and read experimental journals like New American Writing and Lana Turner: A Journal of Poetry & Opinion. I still have a very slight grasp on Language Poetry, or the more broad school of the avant-garde, or experimental.

Versed seems to be informed by Armantrout's interest in quantum physics and science, and the influence of Language Poets like Ron Silliman and Charles Bernstein, and other poets in the Bay Area. Reviewers agree that Armantrout's verse seems more committed to lyrical ideals than most Language Poets (meriting her inclusion in American Hybrid, which purports to represent established writers who use both traditional and experimental techniques). What I'm trying to explain (elliptically, and without much finesse) is that I'm not an expert in this kind of poetry, but I've tried to grasp as much as I can on my own.

Versed is made of two sections: Versed and Dark Matter. Most of the poems are in sections as well, and some of the sections are mere one-liners, almost fragmentary. Armantrout is known for using the disparate elements of the modern world freely in her poems: nature, technology, science, quotes from waking life, dreams, and pop culture are all up for use. I've been reading each of these poems with a certain premise, as if each one is a collection of tiny fragments that somehow relate to the greater whole of the poem and, more generally, the book. With this in mind, I'm only sure about a few of the poems (not sure as to what they mean, but the way technique is used to make them perform).

Ron Silliman says that avant-garde poetry should be easy for anyone with a proficient reading ability to understand. Many seem to believe that these works are beyond meaning. While I don't find meaning of ultimate importance, it troubles me that I cannot so easily understand this kind of work (I've even heard other Lit-netters say that contemporary poetry is much less complex than the verse of the past). Somehow, though, I write poems. And I don't think they're that horrible. One woman in my small workshop group said she thought I must have read voraciously, but the fact is that I am severely under-read. And I'm not sure my skills improve as I do read more.

My dream is to one day find a community of people who share the same poetic interests as I have, so I can investigate the questions rolling in my brain (and the questions that I'm not even capable of forming yet).

And once again, I'm at the end of prose, wondering what's the point of anything.