James Richardson published this poem in The New Yorker a couple of weeks ago. It's relevant for us in so many ways: it's by Richardson, author of "The Dream of Reading"; it begins with an allusion to A Midsummer Night's Dream (and continues with allusions to several other Shakespeare plays); it's an ideal poem for launching a discussion of contemporary poetry in relation to the poetic tradition (a very good idea in preparation for the exam); and finally, it's about life in New York.
In Shakespeare
In Shakespeare a lover turns into an ass
as you would expect. People confuse
their consciences with ghosts and witches.
Old men throw everything away
because they panic and can't feel their lives.
They pinch themselves, pierce themselves with twigs,
cliffs, lightning, and die--yes, finally--in glad pain.
You marry a woman you've never talked to,
a woman you thought was a boy.
Sixteen years go by as a curtain billows
once, twice. Your children are lost,
they come back, you don't remember how.
A love turns to a statue in a dress, the statue
comes back to life. Oh God, it's all so realistic
I can't stand it. Whereat I weep and sing.
Such a relief, to burst from the theatre
into our cool, imaginary streets
where we know who's who and what's what,
and command with Metrocards our destinations.
Where no one with a story struggling in him
convulses as it eats its way out,
and no one in an antiseptic corridor,
or in deserts or in downtown darkling plains,
staggers through an Act that just will not end,
eyes burning with the burning of the dead.
The poem is in the February 12, 2007 issue of The New Yorker, p. 65. On a first read, the poem seems to be a complaint about Shakespeare: it's too long, too painful, too tedious, too fantastic, too much of too many things. But I think it's a tribute (one with mixed feelings). Notice how so many of the scenarios Richardson describes seem to work according to the logics (or formal attributes) of dreams: a lover turning into an ass is condensation; ghosts and witches representing a conscience is displacement; marrying a woman you've never talked to is a typically piece of nonsense loaded with meaning; memory is elusive; people turn into statues, and back again.
From what we know about Richardson, I think it's fair to suggest he's ironic in his "critique" of Shakepeare, implying that all these fantastical, dreamlike details are all too characteristic of what it feels like to be alive, even if they're at odds with reason. Maybe he's suggesting that we're all staggering "through an Act that just will not end." I could go on, but I'll leave that to some of you.
Read on for a series of questions about the poem that may be helpful in thinking through both the ID section and poetry section of the exam. It would be great if you could pursue some of them in the comments section. We'll use some of your comments as a basis to discuss strategies for the poetry section of the exam when we meet in class next time.
Do you think the poem is a critique, a tribute, or something else altogether?
Like a lot of contemporary poetry, there are no end-rhymes here. In fact, the poem could easily be structured as a series of paragraphs, rather than stanzas. What difference to the line breaks (and enjambment) make to the poem's meaning? How does line two begin a pattern of establishing meaning through those breaks?
Aside from enjambment, what other "poetics" do you see in the poem? (See your list of poetic terms.)
What do you make of the change to the second person--"You marry a woman . . . "--in the second stanza?
What does Richardson mean by "cool, imaginary streets"? How might this line be a clue to the speaker's point of view about the relationship between Shakespeare and life.
How many moments of irony do you detect in the poem? How do they work? What do they mean?
How many elements of dreaming do you detect in the poem? How do they work? What do they mean?
And, finally, a game: How many allusions to different works by Shakespeare can you find here?
Comments (2)
Ah! I was all excited to point this poem out to you, so I would look really on the ball--and I forgot! anyway- lines that break like the following "...people confuse/" and "Old men throw everything away/" and "...it's all so realistic/" walk the line between genuine human reflection (even despair) and humor. The lines lift the reader back up after the break, as in "...it's all so realsitic/ I can't stand it..." It's a funny and touching, but somehow never too clever, tribute/critique. He pulls off both. By the way I looked like a real smarty at lunch the other day-- someone was talking about the new issue and I made some very casual comments about Richardson's poem and his work on dream theory!
Posted by Scott Cheshire | February 17, 2007 10:39 PM
Posted on February 17, 2007 22:39
I found the poem ironic, because while the speaker of the poem tries to criticise the over-the-top soap opera that Shakespeare's works seem to be sometimes, the "real" world can be just as fantastic.
For example, I've had a couple of lovers who've turned into asses. Not literally, of course. Although sometimes I wish they had!
The point is, what occurs in Shakespeare's plays does happen in real life. Old men do rash things (l.4-5) A husband can wake up one day and realize that he does not really know the woman he married(l.8-9).
I also found the tone to be ironic in the last stanza. In real life, we hardly "know who's who and what's what."
Allusions-- I think I can identify Midsummer Night's Dream, Hamlet, Macbeth, King Lear, either Twelfth Night or As You Like It, and The Winter's Tale. . .
(and "darkling plain" courtesy of Matthew Arnold).
Posted by Lily Briscoe | February 27, 2007 11:06 PM
Posted on February 27, 2007 23:06