Journal articles on the topic 'Contemporary sonnet'

In this article, I address contemporary Hebrew translations of Shakespeare’s Sonnets, specifically those by the Israeli poet Anna Herman. My reading of Herman’s translation of Sonnet 18 contextualizes this translation in the Hebrew translation history of the Sonnets. I discuss how Hebrew retranslations of the Sonnets illuminate and complicate our understanding of shifts in the development of modern Hebrew writing and translation from the nineteenth to twenty-first centuries. How do Herman’s translations ‘compare’, as it were, with the translations that have come before, particularly those by male translators? As part of a neoformalist turn in contemporary Hebrew poetry, I call attention to the ways in which Herman’s translations, which were published in 2006, revitalize our reading of the original Shakespearean English and the Hebrew translations that followed, thereby constituting an altogether contemporary text.

Abstract In this article, I address contemporary Hebrew translations of Shakespeare’s Sonnets, specifically those by the Israeli poet Anna Herman. My reading of Herman’s translation of Sonnet 18 contextualizes this translation in the Hebrew translation history of the Sonnets. I discuss how Hebrew retranslations of the Sonnets illuminate and complicate our understanding of shifts in the development of modern Hebrew writing and translation from the nineteenth to twenty-first centuries. How do Herman’s translations ‘compare’, as it were, with the translations that have come before, particularly those by male translators? As part of a neoformalist turn in contemporary Hebrew poetry, I call attention to the ways in which Herman’s translations, which were published in 2006, revitalize our reading of the original Shakespearean English and the Hebrew translations that followed, thereby constituting an altogether contemporary text.

Chūya Nakahara as the author of Japanese sonnet: Translation perspectives This article offers a reflection – against the historical and literary background of the epoch – on Chūya Nakahara’s work (1907–1937), who was the precursor of the Japanese syllabicaccentual verse (particular of the sonnet). Comparative analysis of his poem Mata kon haru (Spring comes again) and its Polish translation (included in the only Polish anthology of contemporary Japanese poetry entitled Cherries bloomed in winter) aims at shedding light on how difficult was the adaptation of the sonnet to the Japanese language. The OJAD (Online Japanese Accent Dictionary) service seems to offer a new promise for the research practice, proving that the intonation cadence may be treated similarly as feet in the poetry written in European languages.

Since Alfred Thomas’s discovery in 1971 that Hopkins had entered the death of his parishioner, Felix Spencer, in St. Francis Xavier’s church record book, scholars have interpreted Hopkins’s sonnet, “Felix Randal,” in the context of his ministerial experience in Victorian Liverpool. This paper aims to add to existing research on “Felix Randal” by analyzing some of the sonnet’s underlying themes in the light of Hopkins’s Bedford Leigh and Liverpool sermons, and sources on Felix Spencer and his environment that have not yet received attention by critics. These sources include The Gore’s Directory, contemporary newspapers, and material on Felix Spencer’s burial. The investigation will reveal that, despite the differences between Hopkins’s sermons and “Felix Randal,” some of the teachings in his sermons, together with information on the social conditions in his urban parishes, can help the reader to probe the obscurities in the sonnet, and offer additional interpretations of its meaning.

How might a song carry the past without being burdened by history? In his performances for the camera, for audio recordings, and for live audiences, the artist Kalup Linzy explores the urgency of this question for contemporary black and queer subjects. Linzy's 2009 video song cycle, SweetBerry Sonnet, is a musical archive of radical passivity—one that manifests the anticipatory stance taken towards the world by the multiple personae Linzy invents for his live performances and videos.

<p>This article is an attempt to provide a comparative study between Elizabeth Barrette Browning and Christina Rossetti, two famous authors in the Victorian period. As the first female poet Browning throws a challenge by dismantling and mingling the form of epic and novel in her famous creation <em>Aurora Leigh. </em>This epic structurally and thematically offers a new form that questions the contemporary prejudices about women. Being influenced and inspired by Browning, Rossetti shows her mastery on sonnets in <em>Monna Innominata: A Sonnet of Sonnets</em>. Diversity in the themes of her poem allows Rossetti to demonstrate her intellect and independent thinking, which represents the cultural dilemma of Victorian women. Though Browning is addressed as the ‘first female poet’ and the pioneer of revolutionary female poets, her <em>Aurora Leigh </em>recognizes and celebrates the success of a female poet in that period but at the same time acknowledges the importance of traditional romance as well as marriage union at the end of the poem. On the other hand, in <em>Mona Innominata, </em>Rossetti mingles the traditional idea of romance with High Anglican belief to establish and uphold the position of women in the society as an individual and self sufficient one. She is the first poet in Victorian period who boldly denies the dominance of men in a woman’s life by celebrating sisterhood in her another famous work <em>Goblin Market</em>. Though Browning and Rossetti belong to the same period, Rossetti is quite advanced than Browning in terms of experimenting with forms, themes and breaking the conventions of Victorian era.</p>

El género lírico sicho, desarrollado principalmente a finales del reino Koryo (918-1392) y a lo largo de 500 años del reino Choson (1392-1910), destaca por la amplia base de escritores y lectores que disfrutan de él y, a la vez, por su presencia activa en el panorama de la literatura contemporánea. Su larga tradición y su vigente actualidad testimonian más que suficientemente su valor como uno de los géneros más importantes de la literatura coreana. A nuestro juicio, la razón por la que el sicho sobrevive hasta hoy radica en su forma sencilla de tres versos breves, siendo un medio adecuado y eficaz para transmitir la sensibilidad lírica del pueblo coreano. Se tiende a pensar que, a lo largo de la historia de la literatura coreana, cada época concibe su propio género lírico, ya incorporado y archivado en la tradición oral, como el hyangga (향가), propio del reino Silla o el sokyo (속요) característico de Koryo. En cambio, la forma lírica del sicho persiste entre los diferentes tipos de poemas contemporáneos, tal como sucedió con el soneto en Occidente, cuya composición es aún muy valorada.The lyric genre shijo, developed primarily in the late Koryo period (918-1392) and over 500 years of the Choson Kingdom (1392-1910), stands out by the broad base of writers and readers who enjoy it, and, at the same time, by its active presence in the landscape of contemporary literature. Its long history and active present testify more than sufficiently its value as one of the most important genres of Korean literature. In our view, the reason why shijo survives today lies in its simple form of three short verses, being an appropriate and effective way to transmit the lyrical sensibility of the Korean people. We usually think that, over the history of Korean literature, every time conceive its own lyric, incorporated and filed in the oral tradition, as hyangga (향가) proper of Silla kingdom, or sokyo (속요), characteristic of Koryo. Instead, the lyrical form of shijo persists among different types of contemporary poems, like the sonnet in the Western tradition, whose composition is still highly valued.

Tony Harrison’s poetry is rooted in the experience of a man who came out of the working class of Leeds and who, avowedly, became a poet and a stranger to his own community. As Harrison duly noted in one interview, from the moment he began his formal education at Leeds Grammar School, he has never felt fully at home in either the world of literature or the world of his working class background, preferring to continually transgress their boundaries and be subject to perpetual change. The paper examines the relation between poetic identity, whose ongoing construction remains one of the most persistently reoccurring themes of Harrison’s work, and the liminal position occupied by the speaker of Harrison’s verse. In the context of the sociological thought of such scholars as Zygmunt Bauman and Stuart Hall, the following paper discusses the way in which the idea of being in-between operates in “On Not Being Milton,” an initial poem from Harrison’s widely acclaimed sonnet sequence The School of Eloquence, whose unique character stems partly from the fact that it constitutes an ongoing poetic project which has continued from 1978 onwards, reflecting the social and cultural changes of contemporary Britain.

"Tom's Garland" responds to demostrations by the unemployed and the poor in London in the latter 1880s. Hopkins's response is mediated by a conception of society as a commonwealth, a notion he elaborated in his sermons, and by contemporary representations of poverty, which assumed the demonstrators could be divided into two groups, those willing to work and the merely shiftless. Hopkins's poem represents both groups as excluded from the commonwealth; it distinguishes them from each other, and both from the employed working class, by several means, including the formal: Tom, representative of the employed, appears in the inner sonnet, the willing unemployed in the first coda, the shiftless in the second. Hopkins relies upon a metaphor of the commonwealth as body to suggest that Tom, the foot of the society, is justly performing his natural function, although Hopkins in other writings demonstrates that he knew this conclusion was untenable. The poem therefore must establish by rhetorical and tropological means that the working class is happy with its position in the commonwealth. The poem's essential move in establishing this judgment is a trope of suspension, based in a relation between Tom's physical actions and mental acts of judgment-a fundamental Hopkinsian figure. Contrary to Hopkins's self-understanding of this relation as mimetic, it is best analyzed on the model of mathematical functions. This analysis reveals that the judgment is not grounded mimetically in Tom's happiness but in Hopkins's class beliefs.

The article discusses the morality of W. B. Yeats’ sonnet Leda and the Swan in the context of a widening gap between the sexual mores of earlier times and our own, and whether the poem remains a suitable choice for the teaching of stylistics. I begin by examining stylistics treatments of the poem, and its political, social and artistic context, then move on to consider charges of misogyny against the poem for eroticising and failing to condemn the rape it depicts. To assess these charges I examine other literary uses of the Leda myth both before and after Yeats, including earlier poems which romanticise the rape, and later ones which vilify it. I also consider the implications of my discussion for the teaching of other canonical poems on similar themes. The last part of the paper discusses more generally the place of morality in literature and literature teaching, including stylistics: whether teachers and analysts should promote a moral world view and moral behaviour through their choice of texts and comments on them, or whether there are other valid criteria for selecting and describing a text such as Leda and the Swan. To elucidate current views, I draw parallels with the moral didacticism of the highly influential literary critic F. R. Leavis in the mid twentieth century, and ask whether aspects of his patrician view have undergone a surreptitious revival in some contemporary pedagogy and criticism at the beginning of the twenty first.

RÉSUMÉCet article traite d'un tour spécifique au français: la structure concessive avecavoir beau+ infinitif (Il aura beau sonner, je ne lui ouvrirai pas(Riegelet alii1996: 520), à comprendre comme:Il pourra bien sonner/Il pourra sonner autant qu'il veut, je ne lui ouvrirai pas). Nous nous y interrogeons sur la nature du lien syntaxique qui s'instaure, en français moderne, entre les deux membres de cette structure « en diptyque ». Nous commençons par un aperçu critique des descriptions dont la séquence a fait l'objet dans les grammaires du français contemporain; nous tirons ensuite quelques enseignements de l'évolution des emplois entre moyen français et français contemporain. Pour conclure cette étude à caractère préliminaire, nous formulons quelques hypothèses relatives au scénario diachronique de coalescence dans lequel notre structure semble engagée.

Best book of poems I’ve read in years by a contemporary and have had thepleasure of being lifted by, shot into the orbit of harmonious rapture grins andthe joyousness of countless YES, O, YES. The collection resonates and purifiesthe deep sweet water in the cells where the real self drinks. The resonatingbuilds stanza by stanza, poem after poem, informed by an American spiritualand mystical lineage from Transcendentalism to the Beats of the BeatitudeVision into as-yet-to-be identified and named Third Wave, holding in itsunnumbered beckoning hands the world‘s mystical poetry body. Moore’s spectacularcontribution to this present building surge arrives before his audiencewith a thorough immersion in Islam’s Sufi way. This is experience inspired intosong, not a complex geometry of imaginary gymnastics afloat in an alienatedmental life ...

Abstract Exploring Jen Bervin’s 2004 revision of the Shakespearean sonnets, this essay situates her project Nets within a visual and verbal tradition of erasure art past and contemporary and underscores her work’s queer potential. Through Bervin’s creative-critical intervention, Nets reorients the spatio-temporal boundaries of the Bard’s infamous sequence, unsettling its most entrenched assumptions of subjectivity and form. Her erasure not only unearths disparate meanings in but imagines alternative possibilities for Shakespeare’s sonnets, cultivating new pleasures and beauties therein. Doing so, Nets begins to reveal how erasure can function as a powerful poetic mode for those whose subjectivities and voices have long been excluded from official literary and cultural histories: how erasure becomes a bold act of will.

This text intends to explore how renewed interest in the Baroque has transcended the field of literature and Sor Juana is once more attracting the attention of artists who update the Baroque with contemporary techniques and attitudes. The text focuses mainly on a contemporary picture of Sor Juana, parodying the well-known portrait by Miguel Cabrera and how it also contains elements of the Neo-Baroque. In addition, this picture includes in the composition the first quatrain of one of the poet’s sonnets, which creates an ekphrastic dimension and multiplies the possible readings.

Aim. Determine features of epidemic process (EP) of Sonnei dysentery in Khabarovsk Region in 2012 - 2014 due to atypical causative agent. Materials and methods. Detailed characteristics of 161 cultures of Shigella sonnei isolated from 81 patients from epidemic focus in children boarding school in Bikin as well as from 22 patients from sporadic and group foci of dysentery in Khabarovsk (biochemical type, colicin-genotype, spectrum of drug resistance) is given. Molecular-biologic subtyping was carried out for 11 strains by Pulsed Field Gel Electrophoresis method (PFGE). Results. Materials of observation of a prolonged foci of Sonnei dysentery with contact-domestic transmission route of the infection in children boarding house for disabled (October 2012 - September 2014) are presented. The diseases are etiologically connected with atypical mannitol-negative types of shigella isolated for the first time in 40 years of observation in Khabarovsk region. Epidemic process of shigellosis was supported by prolonged carriership of the causative agent in patients and special contingent of the nursing home. Shigella cultures isolated in the focus belonged to the same colicin-genotype and 2 distinct drug resistance clones, but a single genotype established by PFGE method. Conclusion. Results of the studies give evidence on the importance of determination of traditional phenotypic and contemporary genotypic variants of shigella and the necessity of search for arguments, additional methodic approaches for establishing similarities and differences of shigella isolates from within the same outbreak of the diseases as well as for comparison of strains circulating in different territories.

Luis de Góngora y Argote, (1561-1627), Spanish poet, is one of the most influential Spanish poets of his era. His Baroque, convoluted style, known as Gongorism was so exaggerated by less gifted imitators that his reputation suffered after his death until it underwent a revaluation in the 20th century.. In his literary works has expressed very well his feelings and emotions perfectly, especially the thought of his time and the themes of criticism and disappointment of the Baroque. His poetic work breaks molds and inaugurates a new language whose virtuality, still unsurpassed, continues to mark the course of contemporary poetry. This investigation is divided in two chapters, the first presnte the biography and style of Gongora besides its works that comprise the satire. The second chapter is concerned Cultism and gonorismo, besides the Architecture of the sonnets of Góngora

This study scrutinizes selected protest poems written by the prominent black poet of the Harlem Renaissance Claude McKay (1889-1948). McKay is considered as a key literary figure of the Negro movement who played a significant role in struggling for and awakening his own people to demand their rights. His major aspiration was to end all forms of prejudice and oppression against blacks portrayed in his poems during the most effective movement in African American literary history comprising the times between 1920 to almost the mid-1930s. McKay established himself as a powerful literary voice for social justice during the Harlem Renaissance constantly struggling for people's identity and rights against the widespread prejudice, segregation, and racism against blacks in America and worldwide along with his pride in his black race and culture. These central issues had different impacts on the Harlem Renaissance and on the lives and works of those who participated in that movement; depicting how both race and racism could define the African American experience in the early twentieth century, as well. McKay, skillfully combined traditional forms and political protest in many of his sonnets. He took the old poetic genre and made it new and relevant to his own project by examining within its bounds unconventional and contemporary subjects. Along with his poetic diction and imagery, he juxtaposes contrasting images to show the hypocritic nature of America, showing his inevitable faith in the country. McKay's enthusiasm for and belief in the authority of intellectuals was strengthened by his understanding of America's deep-rooted racism. He closes many of his sonnets with gloomy observations of blacks' sufferings. The clear conclusion of his struggle was the fact that negro writers succeeded in showcasing the sufferings of people, incited blacks to demand their legal rights, and proved they are capable of everything and as genius as whites. Keywords: McKay, Struggles, Racism, identity, prejudice, rights.

Résumé Marshall McLuhan a décrit l'imagination artistique comme un "premier système d'alarme" des changements majeurs qui s'opèrent dans la logique de la société technologique. Pour McLuhan, les artistes sont comparables à des "sondes" qui explorent la relation entre la technologie et la culture, précisément parce que leurs œuvres se situent si souvent aux frontières de l'expérience technologique. Si tel est le cas, il existe donc un groupe d'artistes manitobains contemporain qui a beaucoup de choses à nous dire sur l'art émancipatoire et la technologie puisque ses productions artistiques évoquent la technologie comme déchéance et extase. La vision manitobaine constitue une façon radicalement nouvelle de "voir" l'impact social et culturel de la technologie.

Cette étude porte sur l'hybridité du sujet migrant, comme construction discursive, telle qu'elle ressort du roman marocain contemporain de la diaspora. A travers l’analyse d’un échantillon de corpus, en l’occurrence Retour à Tanger (Eds. Koutoubia/Alphée, 2009) du Franco-marocain Rachid Tafersiti, elle ambitionne de sonder les ambiguïtés des définitions que s'attribue ledit sujet, aux confluents des territoires et des identités qu'il traverse, et qui s’échelonnent du déni à l’affirmation, en passant par le rejet des critères définitoires de soi et d’une référentialité au premier degré. Cette triple modalité invite à une lecture dynamique des représentations du sujet dans le discours, souvent occultées ou trahies par ce dernier (et par le jeu de la mémoire) et qu’une analyse de l'énonciation dans le texte s’attacherait à élucider.

AbstractThe Period of orientation minded Indonesian’s modern poetry aesthetic. The orientationminded Indonesian’s modern poetry aesthetic leads to aesthetic theory of harmony,deviation, and emancipatory. The conception of poetry by Sanusi Pane, Rustam Effendi’spoems appearance, and the sonnets by M. Yamin which have soul about nationalism,have relation to harmony of pantun and syair’s asthetic. Mind of deviation aestheticmarked by Chairil’s free poetry that emphasized the depth of the meaning rather thanlinguistic devices. Emancipatory aesthetic found by credo Sutardji that liberating wordsfrom the hegemony of meaning. Remy Silado offering the mbeling poem’s aesthetic asan integral part of the aesthetics of Indonesian’s contemporary poetry. Those minded isvery useful for the construction of the historiography Indonesian’s modern poetryaesthetic which is until right now still through emptyness.Keywords: indonesian poetry aesthetics, aesthetic harmony, aesthetic deviation,aesthetic emancipatoryAbstrakLintasan Pemikiran Estetika Puisi Indonesia Modern. Orientasi pemikiran estetika puisiIndonesia modern mengarah pada teori estetika harmoni, deviasi, dan emansipatori.Konsepsi sajak oleh Sanusi Pane, penampilan sajak-sajak Rustam Effendi, dan sonetasonetayang berjiwa kebangsaan M. Yamin secara harmoni masih terikat pada estetikapantun dan syair. Pemikiran estetika deviasi ditandai oleh kemunculan puisi-puisibebas Chairil yang menekankan pada kedalaman makna daripada sarana kebahasaan.Pemikiran estetika emansipatori ditemukan pada kredo Sutardji yang membebaskankata dari penjajahan makna. Remy Silado menawarkan estetika puisi mbeling sebagaibagian integral dari estetika puisi Indonesia kontemporer. Itu semua sangat bergunauntuk penyusunan historiografi estetika puisi Indonesia modern yang hingga saat inimasih mengalami kekosongan.Kata-kata kunci: estetika puisi Indonesia, estetika harmoni, estetika deviasi,estetika emansipatori

Abstract Background In urban Australia, the burden of shigellosis is either in returning travelers from shigellosis-endemic regions or in men who have sex with men (MSM). Here, we combine genomic data with comprehensive epidemiological data on sexual exposure and travel to describe the spread of multidrug-resistant Shigella lineages. Methods A population-level study of all cultured Shigella isolates in the state of Victoria, Australia, was undertaken from 1 January 2016 through 31 March 2018. Antimicrobial susceptibility testing, whole-genome sequencing, and bioinformatic analyses of 545 Shigella isolates were performed at the Microbiological Diagnostic Unit Public Health Laboratory. Risk factor data on travel and sexual exposure were collected through enhanced surveillance forms or by interviews. Results Rates of antimicrobial resistance were high, with 17.6% (95/541) and 50.6% (274/541) resistance to ciprofloxacin and azithromycin, respectively. There were strong associations between antimicrobial resistance, phylogeny, and epidemiology. Specifically, 2 major MSM-associated lineages were identified: a Shigellasonnei lineage (n = 159) and a Shigella flexneri 2a lineage (n = 105). Of concern, 147/159 (92.4%) of isolates within the S. sonnei MSM-associated lineage harbored mutations associated with reduced susceptibility to recommended oral antimicrobials: namely, azithromycin, trimethoprim-sulfamethoxazole, and ciprofloxacin. Long-read sequencing demonstrated global dissemination of multidrug-resistant plasmids across Shigella species and lineages, but predominantly associated with MSM isolates. Conclusions Our contemporary data highlight the ongoing public health threat posed by resistant Shigella, both in Australia and globally. Urgent multidisciplinary public health measures are required to interrupt transmission and prevent infection.

Nine introductory theses about dystopia Resumen: Este artículo proporciona una introducción actualizada a la distopía y una exégesis del apogeo ilimitado que esta vive. Y lo hace planteando nueve tesis. El supuesto de partida es que el término “distopía” no designa solamente una forma literaria. Sus premisas, metodologías y actitudes elementales son visibles en el pensamiento social contemporáneo y otras muchas expresiones culturales. En las dos primeras tesis diferencio el género distópico de otros géneros afines y sondeo las coincidencias temáticas que atesoran sus expresiones literarias y filosóficas. A lo largo de las tres tesis posteriores, señalo las causas sociales e ideológicas que subyacen a su hegemonía actual. Finalmente, dedico las cuatro últimas tesis a calibrar las implicaciones políticas de la distopía y a determinar las relaciones que guarda con la utopía. Abstract: This article provides an up-to-date introduction to dystopia and an exege- sis of its huge heyday, in nine theses. The starting point is that the term “dystopia” does not designate only a literary form. Its basic premises, methodologies and attitudes are visible in contemporary social thought and many other cultural expres- sions. In the first two theses, I distinguish the dystopian genre from other related genres and probe the thematic coincidences among their literary and philosophical expressions. Throughout the three subsequent theses, I point out the social and ideological causes that underlie its current hegemony. Finally, I devote the last four theses to calibrating the political implications of dystopia and to determining its relationship with utopia. Palabras clave: distopía, utopía, antiutopía, progreso, imaginación. Keywords: dystopia, utopia, anti-utopia, progress, imagination.

Background. In recent years, there has been an increasing interest in the performing style issues in modern musicology. However, creative work of each musician provides new and new grounds for further reflection, in particular, the creativity of the outstanding contemporary singer Jonas Kaufmann. He is now at the height of his career and his works include opera roles and chamber programs based on the compositions by R. Wagner, J. Verdi, J. Massenet, J. Puccini, R. Strauss, F. Schubert, J. Bizet, and J. Paisiello. The urgency of this study exists owing to the lack of a scientific description of the creative work of J. Kaufmann. The objective of this study is to determine the main features of Kaufmann’s singing style from the point of view of the phenomenological approach. Methods. The complex research methodology is based on the theoretical substantiation of the analysis of a performer style through the positions of the phenomenology of creativity (research by E. Husserl, A. Losev, M. Arkadyev, G. Tsypin). The application of a systematic approach led also to the involvement of the theory of the performing style (research by V. Medushevsky, V. Moskalenko, and Yu. Nikolaievska). Results. The results of the research support the idea that J. Kaufmann’s singing style is a system of interrelated parameters. There are three components of the singing style. The first is related to the general phenomenon of style, the second – to the process of performance and the third – to the specifics of vocal performance. Thus, the musical style (component 1) is an expression of the peculiarities of musical thinking, and musical compositions are the product of dialogue and communication between the performer and the composer (according to V. Medushevsky). In this sense, the status of the performer, who, in fact, is the creator of the interpretation, is strengthened. For the theory of the performing style (component 2) the definition of V. Kholopova is relevant, that style is a «category-introvert» and the concept of «style of creative personality» (S.Shyp), «style of musical creativity» (V. Moskalenko), «type of creative personality» (E. Liberman),»archetype of a musician» (O. Katrych), which focus on individual characteristics, but in the perspective of the formation of universal features. The thinking of the performer-vocalist (component 3) is focused on the vocal-acting embodiment and reincarnation with the help of the voice as an instrument of what is laid down by the composer in the text of the composition, based on his own creative thinking and personality type. Thus, the definition is proposed: The performing vocal (singing) style is the integrity of the highest order, which manifests itself as a type of music-making, based on the characteristics of the timbre colouring of the sound and formed vocal techniques (orientation on language phonetics, rigor or improvisational freedom, expression, etc.). The noted theoretical provisions allow revealing more fully the specifics of J. Kaufmann’s performing style. In addition, basing on journalistic research, interviews and biographical materials, the periods of J. Kaufmann’s creative work has been proposed. Based on the guidelines of the phenomenology of creativity (G. Tsypin) and various interpretative versions of J. Kaufmann, the following components of his singing style have been formulated. 1. Intellectualism, conceptuality of the idea and «cyclicality» of the embodiment – the parameter that is manifested in the singer’s interpretation of the image of Faust in different interpretations (1999 – opera by F. Busoni, 2002, 2005, 2011, 2012, 2015 – dramatic legend by H. Berlioz and opera by S. Gounod, 2011 – symphony by F. Liszt). Moreover, the basis of the singer’s interpretations in the compositions by Ch. Gounod, F. Busoni, H. Berlioz is the German tradition of interpreting the image of Faust and, in particular, Goethe’s poem), which forms the integrity of the singer’s interpretative concept. It has been pointed out that J. Kaufmann always chooses complex programs (chamber cycles by R. Wagner, R. Strauss, G. Mahler) for the formation of liberabends, and the programs are dominated by song cycles «Five Songs on Matilda Wesendonk’s Poems» by R. Wagner, «Three Sonnets of Petrarch» by F. Liszt, «Seven Sonnets of Michelangelo» by B. Britten, «Winter Road» by F. Schubert, «Songs about the Dead Children» by G. Mahler), or evenings are even dedicated to the creative work of one composer (R. Wagner, R. Strauss, G. Mahler), which is reinterpreted by the singer and presented in a new emotional and intellectual key. 2. Commitment to director’s theatre. J. Kaufmann shares the views on the dominance of director’s theatre in the modern world, which he repeatedly noted in the interviews. And although, in particular, the interpretation of Faust as a character of the concepts of different directors is centred by the artist”s personal understanding of the depths of this image, still in different performances one can see its different shades (which depend on the director’s interpretations). 3. Composite system of vocal expression means that allow the singer to model different facets of images. It is noted that J. Kaufmann’s interpretations are characterized by: economy of performing means, commitment of the singer to the cantilena, the role of the rhythmic component in the vocal score, the ability to adjust his voice in different vocal ensembles, brilliant piano and mezzo voce, brightness of forte, filigree of diminuendo and more. J. Kaufmann treats the text (score) with respect, always knows the libretto, he never allows himself to exaggerate in terms of agogics, dynamics, etc.). In Kaufmann’s performance, masculinity always prevails. Conclusions. The essence of the phenomenon of J. Kaufmann’s work is the desire not to stand still, to move forward, to open new pages of music or to rethink already known ones, i. e. the tendency to constant self-development, in terms of phenomenology This applies to the interpretations of the works by F. Schubert, G. Mahler, R. Strauss, the mentioned interpretation of the image of Faust in the works of various composers, which demonstrates his constant rethinking. J. Kaufmann’s chamber performing is of great interest for the study of his style. The complexity and diversity of images, texts of works, the unity of style, the ability to distribute the power of the voice, to subordinate its capabilities to the artistic idea – these are the features that characterize a true master. In addition, in his control is to almost the entire tenor repertoire – opera, concert, and chamber. Overall, we regard him a singer of universal type.

This article explores how contemporary US black poetics evidences the entanglement of the history of lyric with the history of race. Through readings of the work of Claudia Rankine, Evie Shockley, Tyehimba Jess and Terrance Hayes, I make the case that this poetics situates American lyric within the violence of Reconstruction to imagine how Black Reconstruction may be enacted in cultural form. My contention is that this poetics makes lyric “unfit for history” and thus exposes the racialization processes embedded in poetry's modern life forms. I show how this poetics does not simply recuperate lyric subjectivity but presents a different model of subjectivity altogether, one that is rooted in a fugitive idea of blackness. I locate this lyric from the publication of Shockley's the new black (2011), as a reckoning with the failures of representation that were pronounced in the colour-blind politics of the Obama era and chart it to Hayes's engagement with Trumpian politics in his sonnet sequence American Sonnets for My Past and Future Assassin (2018). I argue that this contemporary poetics, which makes its argument through a destabilization of genre, unravels the racialization processes embedded in the form of reading poetry that Virginia Jackson refers to as “lyricization.”

Special features of a modern internet poetry-genre «pyrizhok» are reviewed in the article. The investigation of texts, which are not suited to the traditional norms of literature, is based on the scientific understanding of contemporary literary process on the part of literary scholars such as O. Rakitna, O. Yudina, T. Kononenko, K.Rakitna, M. Pekhа. Traditional canonical forms of poetry do not always satisfy the modern recipient, at the same time the new forms have not achieved sufficient evolution. Comparative analysis of traditional forms of concise poetry is made, such as tchastivka (humorous rhyme), kolomiyka (Ukrainian dance and song), sonnet, rubai from the one hand and modern forms of internet lyrics genre of «pyrizhok» and «poroshok» from the other hand. Despite “patties” («pyrizhky») are rather related with folklore, they are created by a particular author, often under the pseudonym. The presence of a particular author is akin to a “patty” with a canonical genre — rubai. This canonical genre is associated with one author — Omar Khayyam. According to authors, Vladyslav Richter is the “patties’” first creator, but his work only gave impetus to the development of the genre. A huge number of unknown authors led the genre into a category of canonical / anticononical. In this work, the complicated and contradictory character of the category “canon” is investigated. The evolution of the terms “canon” and “decanonization” in poetry comes along the process of democratization in literature. Similar features incidental to «pyrizhok» and “сomics” are found namely briefness, laconic brevity, illustrativeness and contextuality. In such a manner all the forms of internet-poetry might be considered as experimentally provocative genre. Decanonization is observed on all stages — from stylistic layer to high-principled accent. «Pyrizhok» reflects social disposition and is a part of decanonization process. In this research the attempt of provingthat «pyrizhok» is one of the most democratic genre of modern poetry is made. It is needed to be investigated by literature specialists.

Jesus without Christ or Christ without Jesus? Material concerning the so-called “historical Jesus” is widely discussed today. Time and again this discussion has led to a diminishing emphasis on faith in the living Lord Jesus Christ in heaven. The investigation of the life of Jesus has often resulted in isolating the historical Jesus of Nazareth from that which is preached about Christ as God’s Messiah. This article positions the current Jesus research within the frame of its historical development. It becomes clear that the results of contemporary research can be traced back to historical-critical research of more than two centuries, as a result of which the diversity of images of Jesus has grown exceedingly. The consequences and inadequacies of such Jesus research are indicated. This article suggests that a valid hermeneutical key for historical research should be taken from the Bible itself. Furthermore, it is argued that the investigation of the earthly life of Jesus can never be isolated from his life and work as Messiah of God as described in the Gospels.

L’analyse proposée de L’Implacable Brutalité du réveil et d’Autopsie d’un père permettra de sonder la place et l’impact de la politique et du politique dans les romans et la réflexion littéraire de Pascale Kramer. Keywords : Pascale Kramer, roman contemporain, roman francophone, roman et politique

Literature is highly influenced by society and cultural contexts in which it is produced or read. It is a reflection of how a particular society constructs reality. The values, beliefs and norms transferred from one generation to another reflect, in the main, that society’s way of life. When creative writers use verbal art forms like novels, short stories or drama, they do so in order to create an allusive and fictitious setting which enable them to comment on contemporary issues without blatantly seeming to do so. In this sense it becomes a prerogative for artists to remark on what is happening in communities without being directly confrontational. In our view, it is also their responsibility to approach literature from an angle that reflects changing times, thus challenging anything that is contrary. In 2013 we involved our final year undergrad literature class in a project whose aim was to sensitize them on gender disparities still affecting our society today. Five of nine groups comprising ten students each – both men and women-chose to study the work of an acclaimed Zulu writer, D.B.Z. Ntuli (1982). Based on the comments of the male students in those groups the discussion was stretched to the entire class. It was perturbing to discover that we are still producing male students who are not sensitive to gender disparities. In this article we argue that indifference displayed by these young men where issues of gender were concerned call for attention. This article presents the callous treatment of women characters in the selected short story and examples of comments made by male students on their reading of the text. We also contend that we are still far from reaping the fruits of our hard -won democracy given that Zulu men in the study still seems to lack an understanding of basic human rights. Their failure to understand obvious gender-based violence as an intolerable social ill.En ons dog ons lewer pragtige jongmanne op. Literatuur word sterk beïnvloed deur die sosiale en kulturele konteks waarin dit ontstaan en gelees word. Die waardes, sienings en norme wat van een geslag na ‘n volgende ‘oorgedra word, reflekteer oor die algemeen die gemeenskap se lewenswyse. Wanneer kreatiewe skrywers literêre vorme soosromans, kortverhale of dramas gebruik, skep hulle dit ‘n betekenisvolle denkbeeldige situasie wat hulle in staat stel om kommentaar op aktuele sake te lewer sonder dat dit blatant so voorkom. Sodoende word dit kunstenaars se prerogatief om kommentaar te lewer op wat in hulle gemeenskappe gebeur sonder om direk konfronterend te wees. Ons siening is dat dit ook hulle verantwoordelikheid is om die letterkunde te benader op wyses wat die veranderende tye weerspieël en wat die teendeel konfronteer. In 2013 het ons ’n projek met ons finalejaars (voorgraads) in die letterkundeklas aangepak wat ten doel gehad het om hulle te sensitiseer vir die bestaan van geslagsverskille in ons huidige samelewing. Vyf van die nege groepe van tien studente elk – mans sowel as vroue – het gekies om die werk van die befaamde Zoeloeskrywer D.B.Z. Ntuli (1982) te bestudeer. Op grond van die kommentaar van die mansstudente in die groepe is die bespreking uitgebrei na die hele klas. Dit was ontstellend om te ontdek dat ons steeds mansstudente oplewer wat nie sensitief is vir geslagsongelykhede nie. In hierdie artikel argumenteer ons dat die onverskilligheid van hierdie mans oor geslagskwessies, drastiese maatreëls vereis. Die artikel beskryf die hardhandige optrede teen vroue in die gekose teks, en ontleed voorbeelde van die kommentaar van mansstudente by die lees van die teks. Ons betoog dat ons nog lank nie die vrugte van die swaar- verworwe demokrasie pluk nie, aangesien die jong Zoelemans in die studie grootliks steeds ‘n gebrek aan begrip van basiese menseregte toon. Hulle gebrek aan begrip vir geslagsgebaseerde geweld is onverskoonbaar.Keywords: Literature; Young men, future fathers and leaders; Zulu society; Gender based violence; D.B.Z. Ntuli

The biblical text introduces Ruth, a Moabite woman, at a time of personal crisis. She faces destitution. Life has handed her multiple blows, amongst them widowhood and childlessness. Her single asset? Naomi, a cranky, elderly but endearing mother-in-law. Naomi, an Israelite and also widowed, is now quite determined to go home to Bethlehem. Ruth joins Naomi’s journey, but for Ruth it is a pilgrimage, for it is at this time that she switches allegiance from the gods of Moab to the God of Israel. As an immigrant facing change on every level – a new culture, a new religion, no friends and no job – Ruth nonetheless triumphs. Within only a couple of months, not only does she marry a prominent and prosperous bachelor, Boaz, but also wins the hearts of her mother-in-law’s friends, the women of Bethlehem. This analysis of her successful pilgrimage offers contemporary guidelines for facing dramatic changes. Using literary method, this article examines one of the Bible’s accounts of how a personal crisis is resolved via a combination of God’s providence and human initiative and courage.Die hantering van ’n krisis deur ’n kombinasie van menslike inisiatief en goddelike bestuur: Insigte uit die boek Rut. Die bybelse teks stel die leser voor aan Rut, ’n Moabitiese vrou, tydens ‘n persoonlike krisis in haar lewe. Sy is ’n weduwee, kinderloos en staar dus armoede in die gesig. Haar enigste pluspunt is Naomi, haar bejaarde, ietwat verbitterde dog innemende skoonmoeder. Naomi, ’n Israeliet en ook ’n weduwee, is vasbeslote om na haar huis in Betlehem terug te keer. Rut vergesel haar en dit word vir Rut ’n pelgrimstog na die God van Israel, weg van die afgode van Moab af. As immigrant wat ’n vreemde kultuur en godsdiens, ’n toekoms sonder vriende en werkloosheid moet verwerk, seëvier Rut uiteindelik. Sy trou binne ‘n paar maande met Boas, ’n prominente en welvarende vrygesel en wen ook die harte van haar skoonmoeder se vriendinne, die vroue van Bethlehem. Die ontleding van Rut se suksesvolle pelgrimstog bied tydgenootlike riglyne aan diegene wat voor groot veranderinge in hulle lewens te staan kom. Met behulp van die literêre metode ondersoek hierdie artikel ’n bybelse mededeling wat aantoonhoedat ’n persoonlike krisis deur middel van God se voorsienigheid en menslike inisiatief en moed opgelos kan word.

Teesid: Tartu Ülikooli maailmakirjanduse professori, luuletaja, kirjandusteadlase ja hispaaniakeelse kirjanduse spetsialisti Jüri Talveti tõlketegevuse viljade hulka kuulub luulet ja proosat nii sajandeid vanast Hispaania klassikast kui ka 20. sajandil või tänapäeval romaani keeltes või inglise keeles loodud teostest. Käesolev artikkel keskendub sellele, kuidas professor Talvet on tõlgendanud luule ja poeetika, kuid ka kirjandusajaloo, iseäranis barokk-kirjanduse alaseid küsimusi oma kirjandusteaduslikes esseedes. Vaadeldakse ka tema tõlketegevuse mahtu ja tõlketöö põhimõtteid. Jüri Talvet (born in 1945) is a poet and a scholar of comparative literature, Chair Professor of World Literature at the University of Tartu. His numerous translations of poetry and poetical fiction from the Romance languages and, to a lesser extent, from English, reflect his views on world poetry. Those views are also expressed in his theoretical writings from the years of 1977 to 2015. Having studied English literature as the main subject at the University of Tartu, he early developed an interest in Spanish, in other Iberian languages, and in the Iberoamerican literatures. His translations from that area include works from medieval and early modern literature as well as notable literary achievements from the 20th century and the contemporary era. Talvet’s interpretations of Federico García Lorca and the “Latin American boom” authors are supported by profound insights into the philosophy, aesthetics, and poetics of the 17th century Spanish Baroque literature, known as the literary Golden Age of Spain. The influence which Talvet’s activities have exerted has widened the horizons of Estonia’s literary culture: while in the early 20th century, the previous German, Russian and Finnish leanings were supplemented by orientations to, and translations from, French and Italian literatures, Talvet has helped to enrich the Estonian literary landscape with the mentality and traditions of even more distant language areas, such as Castilian (Spanish), Catalan, Galician, Portuguese, and the Latin American countries. In the section “Quevedo and Góngora” of this article, Talvet’s interpretation of some of the key issues of dispute in the Baroque literature of Spain are studied, based both on his theoretical essays and on his translations of the poetry of Francisco de Quevedo. Talvet has attempted to use the terms of the Baroque philosopher and writer Baltasar Gracián, agudeza, concepto (definable approximately as “conceit” or “wit”) and conceptismo, for the analysis of the late 20th century Estonian poetry. On that background, defnitions of conceptismo and cultismo (the other main school in Spanish Baroque poetry) are offered in this article, with implications that those definitions may have for understanding different styles and methods of poetry in general, and the characteristics of Talvet’s own poems and poetry translations in particular. To escape diffusion in pure sensuality and verbal indulgence, poetry has to rely on concepts as well as images. Talvet’s interpretations of poetry and poetical thinking are found to be close to conceptismo, or with a considerable amount of conceptuality inherent to them. The juxtaposition of paradoxical ideas from different levels of reality, social and psychic, is seen as the essential poetical method that Talvet refers to as he defines, quoting Yuri Lotman, the structural-semantic code of poetry as being “paradigmatic”. In the final section of the article, Talvet’s 23 book-length published translations are listed, including translations from Spanish, Catalan, English and French. The list does not include numerous translations of single poems or cycles of poetry that have appeared in literary journals, nor his contributions to anthologies of poetry, nor the translations from his native Estonian into a foreign language, such as Spanish or English, in which he has participated. His translations encompass lyrical works as well as fiction and plays. Talvet has translated classical European poetry, such as the sonnets of Petrarch and Quevedo and Provençal poems, as well as the rhymed poems of American poets into Estonian with complete metrical correspondence and full rhymes. However, in the latest decades Talvet has expressed scepticism in the sense and feasibility of attempting to convey the rhyming complexities of the major European literatures into Estonian, a language with a considerably smaller potential for finding full rhymes. Accordingly, his three translations of Spanish Baroque drama (by Calderón and Tirso de Molina) employ a liberal method of versification. In all his versatile activities as a poet, a translator, and a theorist of poetry, Professor Talvet has shown great devotion to developing and cultivating aesthetic values. A lot of his colleagues and students have benefited from his friendly advice. Thinking of his contributions to Estonia’s literary tradition, one may repeat and paraphrase the sentence that he used for the conclusion of his essay on the Catalan poet Salvador Espriu in 1977: “to write (and to translate) poetry is to work for the benefit of the people.”

If you cannot understand my argument, and declare “It’s Greek to me,” you are quoting Shakespeare.Bernard LevinPsoriatic arthritis, in its acute or “generalised” stage, is unbearably painful. Exacerbating the crippling of the joints, the entire surface of the skin is covered with lesions only moderately salved by anti-inflammatory ointment, the application of which is as painful as the ailment it seeks to relieve: NURSE MILLS: I’ll be as gentle as I can.Marlow’s face again fills the screen, intense concentration, comical strain, and a whispered urgency in the voice over—MARLOW: (Voice over) Think of something boring—For Christ’s sake think of something very very boring—Speech a speech by Ted Heath a sentence long sentence from Bernard Levin a quiz by Christopher Booker a—oh think think—! Really boring! A Welsh male-voice choir—Everything in Punch—Oh! Oh! — (Potter 17-18)Marlow’s collation of boring things as a frantic liturgy is an attempt to distract himself from a tumescence that is both unwanted and out of place. Although bed-ridden and in constant pain, he is still sensitive to erogenous stimulation, even when it is incidental. The act of recollection, of garnering lists of things that bore him, distracts him from his immediate situation as he struggles with the mental anguish of the prospect of a humiliating orgasm. Literary lists do many things. They provide richness of detail, assemble and corroborate the materiality of the world of which they are a part and provide insight into the psyche and motivation of the collator. The sheer desperation of Dennis Potter’s Marlow attests to the arbitrariness of the list, the simple requirement that discrete and unrelated items can be assembled in linear order, without any obligation for topical concatenation. In its interrogative form, the list can serve a more urgent and distressing purpose than distraction:GOLDBERG: What do you use for pyjamas?STANLEY: Nothing.GOLDBERG: You verminate the sheet of your birth.MCCANN: What about the Albigensenist heresy?GOLDBERG: Who watered the wicket in Melbourne?MCCANN: What about the blessed Oliver Plunkett?(Pinter 51)The interrogative non sequitur is an established feature of the art of intimidation. It is designed to exert maximum stress in the subject through the use of obscure asides and the endowing of trivial detail with profundity. Harold Pinter’s use of it in The Birthday Party reveals how central it was to his “theatre of menace.” The other tactic, which also draws on the logic of the inventory to be both sequential and discontinuous, is to break the subject’s will through a machine-like barrage of rhetorical questions that leave no time for answers.Pinter learned from Samuel Beckett the pitiless, unforgiving logic of trivial detail pushed to extremes. Think of Molloy’s dilemma of the sucking stones. In order for all sixteen stones that he carries with him to be sucked at least once to assuage his hunger, a reliable system has to be hit upon:Taking a stone from the right pocket of my greatcoat, and putting it in my mouth, I replaced it in the right pocket of my greatcoat by a stone from the right pocket of my trousers, which I replaced with a stone from the left pocket of my trousers, which I replaced by a stone from the left pocket of my greatcoat, which I replaced with the stone that was in my mouth, as soon as I had finished sucking it. Thus there were still four stones in each of my four pockets, but not quite the same stones. And when the desire to suck took hold of me again, I drew again on the right pocket of my greatcoat, certain of not taking the same stone as the last time. And while I sucked it I rearranged the other stones in the way I have just described. And so on. (Beckett, Molloy 69)And so on for six pages. Exhaustive permutation within a finite lexical set is common in Beckett. In the novel Watt the eponymous central character is charged with serving his unseen master’s dinner as well as tidying up afterwards. A simple and bucolic enough task it would seem. But Beckett’s characters are not satisfied with conjecture, the simple assumption that someone must be responsible for Mr. Knott’s dining arrangements. Like Molloy’s solution to the sucking stone problem, all possible scenarios must be considered to explain the conundrum of how and why Watt never saw Knott at mealtime. Twelve possibilities are offered, among them that1. Mr. Knott was responsible for the arrangement, and knew that he was responsible for the arrangement, and knew that such an arrangement existed, and was content.2. Mr. Knott was not responsible for the arrangement, but knew who was responsible for the arrangement, and knew that such an arrangement existed, and was content.(Beckett, Watt 86)This stringent adherence to detail, absurd and exasperating as it is, is the work of fiction, the persistence of a viable, believable thing called Watt who exists as long as his thought is made manifest on a page. All writers face this pernicious prospect of having to confront and satisfy “fiction’s gargantuan appetite for fact, for detail, for documentation” (Kenner 70). A writer’s writer (Philip Marlow) Dennis Potter’s singing detective struggles with the acute consciousness that words eventually will fail him. His struggle to overcome verbal entropy is a spectre that haunts the entire literary imagination, for when the words stop the world stops.Beckett made this struggle the very stuff of his work, declaring famously that all he wanted to do as a writer was to leave “a stain upon the silence” (quoted in Bair 681). His characters deteriorate from recognisable people (Hamm in Endgame, Winnie in Happy Days) to mere ciphers of speech acts (the bodiless head Listener in That Time, Mouth in Not I). During this process they provide us with the vocabulary of entropy, a horror most eloquently expressed at the end of The Unnamable: I can’t go on, you must go on, I’ll go on, you must say words, as long as there are any, until they find me, until they say me, strange pain, strange sin, you must go on, perhaps it’s done already, perhaps they have said me already, perhaps they have carried me to the threshold of my story, before the door that opens on my story, that would surprise me, if it opens, it will be I, it will be the silence, where I am, I don’t know, I’ll never know, in the silence you don’t know, you must go on, I can’t go on, I’ll go on. (Beckett, Molloy 418)The importance Beckett accorded to pauses in his writing, from breaks in dialogue to punctuation, stresses the pacing of utterance that is in sync with the rhythm of human breath. This is acutely underlined in Jack MacGowran’s extraordinary gramophone recording of the above passage from The Unnamable. There is exhaustion in his voice, but it is inflected by an urgent push for the next words to forestall the last gasp. And what might appear to be parsimony is in fact the very commerce of writing itself. It is an economy of necessity, when any words will suffice to sustain presence in the face of imminent silence.Hugh Kenner has written eloquently on the relationship between writing and entropy, drawing on field and number theory to demonstrate how the business of fiction is forever in the process of generating variation within a finite set. The “stoic comedian,” as he figures the writer facing the blank page, self-consciously practices their art in the full cognisance that they select “elements from a closed set, and then (arrange) them inside a closed field” (Kenner 94). The nouveau roman (a genre conceived and practiced in Beckett’s lean shadow) is remembered in literary history as a rather austere, po-faced formalism that foregrounded things at the expense of human psychology or social interaction. But it is emblematic of Kenner’s portrait of stoicism as an attitude to writing that confronts the nature of fiction itself, on its own terms, as a practice “which is endlessly arranging things” (13):The bulge of the bank also begins to take effect starting from the fifth row: this row, as a matter of fact, also possesses only twenty-one trees, whereas it should have twenty-two for a true trapezoid and twenty-three for a rectangle (uneven row). (Robbe-Grillet 21)As a matter of fact. The nouveau roman made a fine if myopic art of isolating detail for detail’s sake. However, it shares with both Beckett’s minimalism and Joyce’s maximalism the obligation of fiction to fill its world with stuff (“maximalism” is a term coined by Michel Delville and Andrew Norris in relation to the musical scores of Frank Zappa that opposes the minimalism of John Cage’s work). Kenner asks, in The Stoic Comedians, where do the “thousands on thousands of things come from, that clutter Ulysses?” His answer is simple, from “a convention” and this prosaic response takes us to the heart of the matter with respect to the impact on writing of Isaac Newton’s unforgiving Second Law of Thermodynamics. In the law’s strictest physical sense of the dissipation of heat, of the loss of energy within any closed system that moves, the stipulation of the Second Law predicts that words will, of necessity, stop in any form governed by convention (be it of horror, comedy, tragedy, the Bildungsroman, etc.). Building upon and at the same time refining the early work on motion and mass theorised by Aristotle, Kepler, and Galileo, inter alia, Newton refined both the laws and language of classical mechanics. It was from Wiener’s literary reading of Newton that Kenner segued from the loss of energy within any closed system (entropy) to the running silent out of words within fiction.In the wake of Norbert Wiener’s cybernetic turn in thinking in the 1940s, which was highly influenced by Newton’s Second Law, fiction would never again be considered in the same way (metafiction was a term coined in part to recognise this shift; the nouveau roman another). Far from delivering a reassured and reassuring present-ness, an integrated and ongoing cosmos, fiction is an isometric exercise in the struggle against entropy, of a world in imminent danger of running out of energy, of not-being:“His hand took his hat from the peg over his initialled heavy overcoat…” Four nouns, and the book’s world is heavier by four things. One, the hat, “Plasto’s high grade,” will remain in play to the end. The hand we shall continue to take for granted: it is Bloom’s; it goes with his body, which we are not to stop imagining. The peg and the overcoat will fade. “On the doorstep he felt in his hip pocket for the latchkey. Not there. In the trousers I left off.” Four more things. (Kenner 87)This passage from The Stoic Comedians is a tour de force of the conjuror’s art, slowing down the subliminal process of the illusion for us to see the fragility of fiction’s precarious grip on the verge of silence, heroically “filling four hundred empty pages with combinations of twenty-six different letters” (xiii). Kenner situates Joyce in a comic tradition, preceded by Gustave Flaubert and followed by Beckett, of exhaustive fictive possibility. The stoic, he tells us, “is one who considers, with neither panic nor indifference, that the field of possibilities available to him is large perhaps, or small perhaps, but closed” (he is prompt in reminding us that among novelists, gamblers and ethical theorists, the stoic is also a proponent of the Second Law of Thermodynamics) (xiii). If Joyce is the comedian of the inventory, then it is Flaubert, comedian of the Enlightenment, who is his immediate ancestor. Bouvard and Pécuchet (1881) is an unfinished novel written in the shadow of the Encyclopaedia, an apparatus of the literate mind that sought complete knowledge. But like the Encyclopaedia particularly and the Enlightenment more generally, it is fragmentation that determines its approach to and categorisation of detail as information about the world. Bouvard and Pécuchet ends, appropriately, in a frayed list of details, pronouncements and ephemera.In the face of an unassailable impasse, all that is left Flaubert is the list. For more than thirty years he constructed the Dictionary of Received Ideas in the shadow of the truncated Bouvard and Pécuchet. And in doing so he created for the nineteenth century mind “a handbook for novelists” (Kenner 19), a breakdown of all we know “into little pieces so arranged that they can be found one at a time” (3): ACADEMY, FRENCH: Run it down but try to belong to it if you can.GREEK: Whatever one cannot understand is Greek.KORAN: Book about Mohammed, which is all about women.MACHIAVELLIAN: Word only to be spoken with a shudder.PHILOSOPHY: Always snigger at it.WAGNER: Snigger when you hear his name and joke about the music of the future. (Flaubert, Dictionary 293-330)This is a sample of the exhaustion that issues from the tireless pursuit of categorisation, classification, and the mania for ordered information. The Dictionary manifests the Enlightenment’s insatiable hunger for received ideas, an unwieldy background noise of popular opinion, general knowledge, expertise, and hearsay. In both Bouvard and Pécuchet and the Dictionary, exhaustion was the foundation of a comic art as it was for both Joyce and Beckett after him, for the simple reason that it includes everything and neglects nothing. It is comedy born of overwhelming competence, a sublime impertinence, though not of manners or social etiquette, but rather, with a nod to Oscar Wilde, the impertinence of being definitive (a droll epithet that, not surprisingly, was the title of Kenner’s 1982 Times Literary Supplement review of Richard Ellmann’s revised and augmented biography of Joyce).The inventory, then, is the underlining physio-semiotics of fictional mechanics, an elegiac resistance to the thread of fiction fraying into nothingness. The motif of thermodynamics is no mere literary conceit here. Consider the opening sentence in Borges:Of the many problems which exercised the reckless discernment of Lönnrot, none was so strange—so rigorously strange, shall we say—as the periodic series of bloody events which culminated at the villa of Triste-le-Roy, amid the ceaseless aroma of the eucalypti. (Borges 76)The subordinate clause, as a means of adjectival and adverbial augmentation, implies a potentially infinite sentence through the sheer force of grammatical convention, a machine-like resistance to running out of puff:Under the notable influence of Chesterton (contriver and embellisher of elegant mysteries) and the palace counsellor Leibniz (inventor of the pre-established harmony), in my idle afternoons I have imagined this story plot which I shall perhaps write someday and which already justifies me somehow. (72)In “Pierre Menard, Author of the Quixote,” a single adjective charmed with emphasis will do to imply an unseen network:The visible work left by this novelist is easily and briefly enumerated. (Borges 36)The annotation of this network is the inexorable issue of the inflection: “I have said that Menard’s work can be easily enumerated. Having examined with care his personal files, I find that they contain the following items.” (37) This is a sample selection from nineteen entries:a) A Symbolist sonnet which appeared twice (with variants) in the review La conque (issues of March and October 1899).o) A transposition into alexandrines of Paul Valéry’s Le cimitière marin (N.R.F., January 1928).p) An invective against Paul Valéry, in the Papers for the Suppression of Reality of Jacques Reboul. (37-38)Lists, when we encounter them in Jorge Luis Borges, are always contextual, supplying necessary detail to expand upon character and situation. And they are always intertextual, anchoring this specific fictional world to others (imaginary, real, fabulatory or yet to come). The collation and annotation of the literary works of an imagined author (Pierre Menard) of an invented author (Edmond Teste) of an actual author (Paul Valéry) creates a recursive, yet generative, feedback loop of reference and literary progeny. As long as one of these authors continues to write, or write of the work of at least one of the others, a persistent fictional present tense is ensured.Consider Hillel Schwartz’s use of the list in his Making Noise (2011). It not only lists what can and is inevitably heard, in this instance the European 1700s, but what it, or local aural colour, is heard over:Earthy: criers of artichokes, asparagus, baskets, beans, beer, bells, biscuits, brooms, buttermilk, candles, six-pence-a-pound fair cherries, chickens, clothesline, cockles, combs, coal, crabs, cucumbers, death lists, door mats, eels, fresh eggs, firewood, flowers, garlic, hake, herring, ink, ivy, jokebooks, lace, lanterns, lemons, lettuce, mackeral, matches […]. (Schwartz 143)The extended list and the catalogue, when encountered as formalist set pieces in fiction or, as in Schwartz’s case, non-fiction, are the expansive equivalent of le mot juste, the self-conscious, painstaking selection of the right word, the specific detail. Of Ulysses, Kenner observes that it was perfectly natural that it “should have attracted the attention of a group of scholars who wanted practice in compiling a word-index to some extensive piece of prose (Miles Hanley, Word Index to Ulysses, 1937). More than any other work of fiction, it suggests by its texture, often by the very look of its pages, that it has been painstakingly assembled out of single words…” (31-32). In a book already crammed with detail, with persistent reference to itself, to other texts, other media, such formalist set pieces as the following from the oneiric “Circe” episode self-consciously perform for our scrutiny fiction’s insatiable hunger for more words, for invention, the Latin root of which also gives us the word inventory:The van of the procession appears headed by John Howard Parnell, city marshal, in a chessboard tabard, the Athlone Poursuivant and Ulster King of Arms. They are followed by the Right Honourable Joseph Hutchinson, lord mayor Dublin, the lord mayor of Cork, their worships the mayors of Limerick, Galway, Sligo and Waterford, twentyeight Irish representative peers, sirdars, grandees and maharajahs bearing the cloth of estate, the Dublin Metropolitan Fire Brigade, the chapter of the saints of finance in their plutocratic order of precedence, the bishop of Down and Connor, His Eminence Michael cardinal Logue archbishop of Armagh, primate of all Ireland, His Grace, the most reverend Dr William Alexander, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all Ireland, the chief rabbi, the Presbyterian moderator, the heads of the Baptist, Anabaptist, Methodist and Moravian chapels and the honorary secretary of the society of friends. (Joyce, Ulysses 602-604)Such examples demonstrate how Joycean inventories break from narrative as architectonic, stand-alone assemblages of information. They are Rabelaisian irruptions, like Philip Marlow’s lesions, that erupt in swollen bas-relief. The exaggerated, at times hysterical, quality of such lists, perform the hallucinatory work of displacement and condensation (the Homeric parallel here is the transformation of Odysseus’s men into swine by the witch Circe). Freudian, not to mention Stindberg-ian dream-work brings together and juxtaposes images and details that only make sense as non-sense (realistic but not real), such as the extraordinary explosive gathering of civic, commercial, political, chivalric representatives of Dublin in this foreshortened excerpt of Bloom’s regal campaign for his “new Bloomusalem” (606).The text’s formidable echolalia, whereby motifs recur and recapitulate into leitmotifs, ensures that the act of reading Ulysses is always cross-referential, suggesting the persistence of a conjured world that is always already still coming into being through reading. And it is of course this forestalling of Newton’s Second Law that Joyce brazenly conducts, in both the textual and physical sense, in Finnegans Wake. The Wake is an impossible book in that it infinitely sustains the circulation of words within a closed system, creating a weird feedback loop of cyclical return. It is a text that can run indefinitely through the force of its own momentum without coming to a conclusion. In a text in which the author’s alter ego is described in terms of the technology of inscription (Shem the Penman) and his craft as being a “punsil shapner,” (Joyce, Finnegans 98) Norbert Wiener’s descriptive example of feedback as the forestalling of entropy in the conscious act of picking up a pencil is apt: One we have determined this, our motion proceeds in such a way that we may say roughly that the amount by which the pencil is not yet picked up is decreased at each stage. (Wiener 7) The Wake overcomes the book’s, and indeed writing’s, struggle with entropy through the constant return of energy into its closed system as a cycle of endless return. Its generative algorithm can be represented thus: “… a long the riverrun …” (628-3). The Wake’s sense of unending confounds and contradicts, in advance, Frank Kermode’s averring to Newton’s Second Law in his insistence that the progression of all narrative fiction is defined in terms of the “sense of an ending,” the expectation of a conclusion, whereby the termination of words makes “possible a satisfying consonance with the origins and with the middle” (Kermode 17). It is the realisation of the novel imagined by Silas Flannery, the fictitious author in Italo Calvino’s If on a winter’s night a traveller, an incipit that “maintains for its whole duration the potentiality of the beginning” (Calvino 140). Finnegans Wake is unique in terms of the history of the novel (if that is indeed what it is) in that it is never read, but (as Joseph Frank observed of Joyce generally) “can only be re-read” (Frank 19). With Wiener’s allegory of feedback no doubt in mind, Jacques Derrida’s cybernetic account of the act of reading Joyce comes, like a form of echolalia, on the heels of Calvino’s incipit, his perpetual sustaining of the beginning: you stay on the edge of reading Joyce—for me this has been going on for twenty-five or thirty years—and the endless plunge throws you back onto the river-bank, on the brink of another possible immersion, ad infinitum … In any case, I have the feeling that I haven’t yet begun to read Joyce, and this “not having begun to read” is sometimes the most singular and active relationship I have with his work. (Derrida 148) Derrida wonders if this process of ongoing immersion in the text is typical of all works of literature and not just the Wake. The question is rhetorical and resonates into silence. And it is silence, ultimately, that hovers as a mute herald of the end when words will simply run out.Post(script)It is in the nature of all writing that it is read in the absence of its author. Perhaps the most typical form of writing, then, is the suicide note. In an extraordinary essay, “Goodbye, Cruel Words,” Mark Dery wonders why it has been “so neglected as a literary genre” and promptly sets about reviewing its decisive characteristics. Curiously, the list features amongst its many forms: I’m done with lifeI’m no goodI’m dead. (Dery 262)And references to lists of types of suicide notes are among Dery’s own notes to the essay. With its implicit generic capacity to intransitively add more detail, the list becomes in the light of the terminal letter a condition of writing itself. The irony of this is not lost on Dery as he ponders the impotent stoicism of the scribbler setting about the mordant task of writing for the last time. Writing at the last gasp, as Dery portrays it, is a form of dogged, radical will. But his concluding remarks are reflective of his melancholy attitude to this most desperate act of writing at degree zero: “The awful truth (unthinkable to a writer) is that eloquent suicide notes are rarer than rare because suicide is the moment when language fails—fails to hoist us out of the pit, fails even to express the unbearable weight” (264) of someone on the precipice of the very last word they will ever think, let alone write. Ihab Hassan (1967) and George Steiner (1967), it would seem, were latecomers as proselytisers of the language of silence. But there is a queer, uncanny optimism at work at the terminal moment of writing when, contra Dery, words prevail on the verge of “endless, silent night.” (264) Perhaps when Newton’s Second Law no longer has carriage over mortal life, words take on a weird half-life of their own. Writing, after Socrates, does indeed circulate indiscriminately among its readers. There is a dark irony associated with last words. When life ceases, words continue to have the final say as long as they are read, and in so doing they sustain an unlikely, and in their own way, stoical sense of unending.ReferencesBair, Deirdre. Samuel Beckett: A Biography. London: Jonathan Cape, 1978.Beckett, Samuel. Molloy Malone Dies. The Unnamable. London: John Calder, 1973.---. Watt. London: John Calder, 1976.Borges, Jorge Luis. Labyrinths. Selected Stories & Other Writings. Ed. Donald A. Yates & James E. Irby. New York: New Directions, 1964.Calvino, Italo. If On A Winter’s Night A Traveller. Trans. William Weaver, London: Picador, 1981.Delville, Michael, and Andrew Norris. “Frank Zappa, Captain Beefheart, and the Secret History of Maximalism.” Ed. Louis Armand. Contemporary Poetics: Redefining the Boundaries of Contemporary Poetics, in Theory & Practice, for the Twenty-First Century. Evanston: Northwestern UP, 2007. 126-49.Derrida, Jacques. “Two Words for Joyce.” Post-Structuralist Joyce. Essays from the French. Ed. Derek Attridge and Daniel Ferrer. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1984. 145-59.Dery, Mark. I Must Not think Bad Thoughts: Drive-by Essays on American Dread, American Dreams. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 2012.Frank, Joseph, “Spatial Form in Modern Literature.” Sewanee Review, 53, 1945: 221-40, 433-56, 643-53.Flaubert, Gustave. Bouvard and Pécuchet. Trans. A. J. KrailSheimer. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1976.Flaubert, Gustave. Dictionary of Received Ideas. Trans. A. J. KrailSheimer. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1976.Hassan, Ihab. The Literature of Silence: Henry Miller and Samuel Beckett. New York: Knopf, 1967.Joyce, James. Finnegans Wake. London: Faber and Faber, 1975.---. Ulysses. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1992.Kenner, Hugh. The Stoic Comedians. Berkeley: U of California P, 1974.Kermode, Frank. The Sense of an Ending: Studies in the Theory of Narrative Fiction. New York: Oxford U P, 1966.‪Levin, Bernard. Enthusiasms. London: Jonathan Cape, 1983.MacGowran, Jack. MacGowran Speaking Beckett. Claddagh Records, 1966.Pinter, Harold. The Birthday Party. London: Methuen, 1968.Potter, Dennis. The Singing Detective. London, Faber and Faber, 1987.Robbe-Grillet, Alain. Jealousy. Trans. Richard Howard. London: John Calder, 1965.Schwartz, Hillel. Making Noise. From Babel to the Big Bang and Beyond. New York: Zone Books, 2011.Steiner, George. Language and Silence: New York: Atheneum, 1967.Wiener, Norbert. Cybernetics, Or Control and Communication in the Animal and the Machine. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1965.

Elizabeth Wilmot, Countess of Rochester, is best known to most modern readers as the woman John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester, abducted and later wed. As Samuel Pepys memorably records in his diary entry for 28 May 1665:Thence to my Lady Sandwich’s, where, to my shame, I had not been a great while before. Here, upon my telling her a story of my Lord Rochester’s running away on Friday night last with Mrs Mallet, the great beauty and fortune of the North, who had supped at Whitehall with Mrs Stewart, and was going home to her lodgings with her grandfather, my Lord Haly, by coach; and was at Charing Cross seized on by both horse and footmen, and forcibly taken from him, and put into a coach with six horses, and two women provided to receive her, and carried away. Upon immediate pursuit, my Lord of Rochester (for whom the King had spoke to the lady often, but with no success) was taken at Uxbridge; but the lady is not yet heard of, and the King mighty angry and the Lord sent to the Tower. (http://www.pepysdiary.com/)Here Pepys provides an anecdote that offers what Helen Deutsch has described in another context as “the elusive possibility of truth embodied by ‘things in themselves,’ by the things, that is, preserved in anecdotal form” (28). Pepys’s diary entry yields up an “elusive possibility” of embodied truth; his version of Wilmot’s abduction solidifies what he perceives to be the most notable features of her identity: her beauty, her wealth, and her sexual trajectory.Pepys’s conclusion that “the lady is not yet heard of” complicates this idea of anecdotal preservation, for he neatly ties up his story of Wilmot’s body by erasing her from it: she is removed, voiceless and disembodied, from even this anecdote of her own abduction. Pepys’s double maneuver demonstrates the complex set of interactions surrounding the preservation of early modern women’s sexual and textual selves. Written into Pepys’s diary and writing in conversation with her husband, Wilmot has generally been treated as a subordinate historical and literary figure—a character rather than an agent or an author. The richness of Wilmot’s own writing has been largely ignored; her manuscript poetry has been treated as an artefact and a source of autobiographical material, whereas Rochester’s poetry—itself teeming with autobiographical details, references to material culture, and ephemera—is recognised and esteemed as literary. Rochester’s work provides a tremendous resource, a window through which we can read and re-read his wife’s work in ways that enlighten and open up readings rather than closing them down, and her works similarly complicate his writings.By looking at Wilmot as a case study, I would like to draw attention to some of the continued dilemmas that scholars face when we attempt to recover early modern women’s writing. With this study, I will focus on distinct features of Wilmot’s sexual and textual identity. I will consider assumptions about female docility; the politics and poetics of erotic espionage; and Wilmot’s construction of fugitive desires in her poetry. Like the writings of many early modern women, Wilmot’s manuscript poetry challenges assumptions about the intersections of gender, sexuality, and authorship. Early Modern Women’s Docile Bodies?As the entry from Pepys’s diary suggests, Wilmot has been constructed as a docile female body—she is rendered “ideal” according to a set of gendered practices by which “inferior status has been inscribed” on her body (Bartky 139). Contrasting Pepys’s references to Wilmot’s beauty and marriageability with Wilmot’s own vivid descriptions of sexual desire highlights Wilmot’s tactical awareness and deployment of her inscribed form. In one of her manuscript poems, she writes:Nothing ades to Loves fond fireMore than scorn and cold disdainI to cherish your desirekindness used but twas in vainyou insulted on your SlaveTo be mine you soon refusedHope hope not then the power to haveWhich ingloriously you used. (230)This poem yields up a wealth of autobiographical information and provides glimpses into Wilmot’s psychology. Rochester spent much of his married life having affairs with women and men, and Wilmot represents herself as embodying her devotion to her husband even as he rejects her. In a recent blog entry about Wilmot’s poetry, Ellen Moody suggests that Wilmot “must maintain her invulnerable guard or will be hurt; the mores damn her whatever she does.” Interpretations of Wilmot’s verse typically overlay such sentiments on her words: she is damned by social mores, forced to configure her body and desire according to rigorous social codes that expect women to be pure and inviolable yet also accessible to their lovers and “invulnerable” to the pain produced by infidelity. Such interpretations, however, deny Wilmot the textual and sexual agency accorded to Rochester, begging the question of whether or not we have moved beyond reading women’s writing as essential, natural, and embodied. Thus while these lines might in fact yield up insights into Wilmot’s psychosocial and sexual identities, we continue to marginalise her writing and by extension her author-self if we insist on taking her words at face value. Compare, for example, Wilmot’s verse to the following song by her contemporary Aphra Behn:Love in Fantastique Triumph satt,Whilst Bleeding Hearts a round him flow’d,For whom Fresh paines he did Create,And strange Tyranick power he show’d;From thy Bright Eyes he took his fire,Which round about, in sports he hurl’d;But ’twas from mine, he took desire,Enough to undo the Amorous World. (53) This poem, which first appeared in Behn’s tragedy Abdelazer (1677) and was later printed in Poems upon Several Occasions (1684), was one of Behn’s most popular lyric verses. In the 1920s and 1930s Ernest Bernbaum, Montague Summers, Edmund Gosse, and others mined Behn’s works for autobiographical details and suggested that such historical details were all that her works offered—a trend that continued, disturbingly, into the later half of the twentieth century. Since the 1980s, Paula R. Backscheider, Ros Ballaster, Catherine Gallagher, Robert Markley, Paul Salzman, Jane Spencer, and Janet Todd have shown that Behn’s works are not simple autobiographical documents; they are the carefully crafted productions of a literary professional. Even though Behn’s song evokes a masochistic relationship between lover and beloved much like Wilmot’s song, critics treat “Love Arm’d” as a literary work rather than a literal transcription of female desire. Of course there are material differences between Wilmot’s song and Behn’s “Love Arm’d,” the most notable of which involves Behn’s self-conscious professionalism and her poem’s entrenchment in the structures of performance and print culture. But as scholars including Kathryn King and Margaret J. M. Ezell have begun to suggest, print publication was not the only way for writers to produce and circulate literary texts. King has demonstrated the ways in which female authors of manuscripts were producing social texts (563), and Ezell has shown that “collapsing ‘public’ into ‘publication’” leads modern readers to “overlook the importance of the social function of literature for women as well as men” (39). Wilmot’s poems did not go through the same material, ideological, and commercial processes as Behn’s poems did, but they participated in a social and cultural network of exchange that operated according to its own rules and that, significantly, was the same network that Rochester himself used for the circulation of his verses. Wilmot’s writings constitute about half of the manuscript Portland PwV 31, held by Hallward Library, University of Nottingham—a manuscript catalogued in the Perdita Project but lacking a description and biographical note. Teresa D. Kemp has discussed the impact of the Perdita Project on the study of early modern women’s writing in Feminist Teacher, and Jill Seal Millman and Elizabeth Clarke (both of whom are involved with the project) have also written articles about the usability of the database. Like many of the women writers catalogued by the Perdita Project, Wilmot lacks her own entry in the Dictionary of National Biography and is instead relegated to the periphery in Rochester’s entry.The nineteen-page folio includes poems by both Rochester and Wilmot. The first eight poems are autograph manuscript poems by Rochester, and a scene from a manuscript play ‘Scaene 1st, Mr. Daynty’s chamber’ is also included. The remaining poems, excluding one without attribution, are by Wilmot and are identified on the finding aid as follows:Autograph MS poem, entitled ‘Song’, by Elizabeth WilmotAutograph MS poem, entitled ‘Song’, by Elizabeth WilmotAutograph MS poem, entitled ‘Song’, by Elizabeth WilmotMS poem, untitled, not ascribed Autograph MS poem, entitled ‘Song’, by Elizabeth WilmotAutograph MS poem, untitled, by Elizabeth WilmotAutograph MS poem, untitled, by Elizabeth WilmotAutograph MS poem, untitled, by Elizabeth Wilmot Autograph MS poem, untitled, by Elizabeth WilmotTwo of the songs (including the lyric quoted above) have been published in Kissing the Rod with the disclaimer that marks of revision reveal that “Lady Rochester was not serving as an amanuensis for her husband” yet the editors maintain that “some sort of literary collaboration cannot be ruled out” (230), implying that Rochester helped his wife write her poetry. Establishing a non-hierarchical strategy for reading women’s collaborative manuscript writing here seems necessary. Unlike Behn, who produced works in manuscript and in print and whose maximization of the slippages between these modes has recently been analyzed by Anne Russell, Wilmot and Rochester both wrote primarily in manuscript. Yet only Rochester’s writings have been accorded literary status by historians of the book and of manuscript theory such as Harold Love and Arthur Marotti. Even though John Wilders notes that Rochester’s earliest poems were dialogues written with his wife, the literariness of her contributions is often undercut. Wilders offers a helpful suggestion that the dialogues set up by these poems helps “hint … at further complexities in the other” (51), but the complexities are identified as sexual rather than textual. Further, the poems are treated as responses to Rochester rather than conversations with him. Readers like Moody, moreover, draw reflections of marital psychology from Wilmot’s poems instead of considering their polysemic qualities and other literary traits. Instead of approaching the lines quoted above from Wilmot’s song as indications of her erotic and conjugal desire for her husband, we can consider her confident deployment of metaphysical conceits, her careful rhymes, and her visceral imagery. Furthermore, we can locate ways in which Wilmot and Rochester use the device of the answer poem to build a complex dialogue rather than a hierarchical relationship in which one voice dominates the other. The poems comprising Portland PwV 31 are written in two hands and two voices; they complement one another, but neither contains or controls the other. Despite the fact that David Farley-Hills dismissively calls this an “‘answer’ to this poem written in Lady Rochester’s handwriting” (29), the verses coexist in playful exchange textually as well as sexually. Erotic Exchange, Erotic EspionageBut does a reorientation of literary criticism away from Wilmot’s body and towards her body of verse necessarily entail a loss of her sexual and artefactual identity? Along with the account from Pepys’s diary mentioned at the outset of this study, letters from Rochester to his wife survive that provide a prosaic account of the couple’s married life. For instance, Rochester writes to her: “I love not myself as much as you do” (quoted in Green 159). Letters from Rochester to his wife typically showcase his playfulness, wit, and ribaldry (in one letter, he berates the artist responsible for two miniatures of Wilmot in strokes that are humorous yet also charged with a satire that borders on invective). The couple’s relationship was beleaguered by the doubts, infidelities, and sexual double standards that an autobiographical reading of Wilmot’s songs yields up, therefore it seems as counterproductive for feminist literary theory, criticism, and recovery work to entirely dispense with the autobiographical readings as it seems reductive to entirely rely on them. When approaching works like these manuscript poems, then, I propose using a model of erotic exchange and erotic espionage in tandem with more text-bound modes of literary criticism. To make this maneuver, we might begin by considering Gayle Rubin’s proposition that “If women are the gifts, then it is men who are the exchange partners. And it is the partners, not the presents, upon whom reciprocal exchange confers its quasi-mystical power of social linkage” (398). Wilmot’s poetry relentlessly unsettles the binary set up between partner and present, thereby demanding a more pluralistic identification of sexual and textual economies. Wilmot constructs Rochester as absent (“Thats caused by absence norished by despaire”), which is an explicit inversion of the gendered terms stereotypically deployed in poetry (the absent woman in works by Rochester as well as later satirists like Jonathan Swift and Alexander Pope often catalyzes sexual desire) that also registers Wilmot’s autobiographical contexts. She was, during most of her married life, living with his mother, her own mother, and Rochester’s nieces in his house at Adderbury while he stayed in London. The desire in Wilmot’s poetry is textualised as much as it is sexualised; weaving this doublebraid of desires and designs together ultimately provides the most complete interpretation of the verses. I read the verses as offering a literary form of erotic espionage in which Wilmot serves simultaneously as erotic object and author. That is, she both is and is not the Cloris of her (and Rochester’s) poetry, capable of looking on and authorizing her desired and desiring body. The lyric in which Wilmot writes “He would return the fugitive with Shame” provides the clearest example of the interpretive tactic that I am proposing. The line, from Wilmot’s song “Cloris misfortunes that can be exprest,” refers to the deity of Love in its complete context:Such conquering charmes contribute to my chainAnd ade fresh torments to my lingering painThat could blind Love juge of my faithful flameHe would return the fugitive with ShameFor having bin insenceable to loveThat does by constancy it merritt prove. (232)The speaker of the poem invokes Cupid and calls on “blind Love” to judge “my faithful flame.” The beloved would then be returned “fugitive with Shame” because “blind Love” would have weighed the lover’s passion and the beloved’s insensibility. Interestingly, the gender of the beloved and the lover are not marked in this poem. Only Cupid is marked as male. Although the lover is hypothetically associated with femaleness in the final stanza (“She that calls not reason to her aid / Deserves the punishmentt”), the ascription could as easily be gendering the trait of irrationality as gendering the subject/author of the poem. Desire, complaint, and power circulate in the song in a manner that lacks clear reference; the reader receives glimpses into an erotic world that is far more ornately literary than it is material. That is, reading the poem makes one aware of tropes of power and desire, whereas actual bodies recede into the margins of the text—identifiable because of the author’s handwriting, not a uniquely female perspective on sexuality or (contrary to Moody’s interpretation) a specifically feminine acquiescence to gender norms. Strategies for Reading a Body of VerseWilmot’s poetry participates in what might be described as two distinct poetic and political modes. On one hand, her writing reproduces textual expectations about Restoration answer poems, songs and lyrics, and romantic verses. She crafts poetry that corresponds to the same textual conventions that men like Rochester, John Dryden, Abraham Cowley, and William Cavendish utilised when they wrote in manuscript. For Wilmot, as for her male contemporaries, such manuscript writing would have been socially circulated; at the same time, the manuscript documents had a fluidity that was less common in print texts. Dryden and Behn’s published writings, for instance, often had a more literary context (“Love Arm’d” refers to Abdelazer, not to Behn’s sexual identity), whereas manuscript writing often referred to coteries of readers and writers, friends and lovers.As part of the volatile world of manuscript writing, Wilmot’s poetry also highlights her embodied erotic relationships. But over-reading—or only reading—the poetry as depicting a conjugal erotics limits our ability to recover Wilmot as an author and an agent. Feminist recovery work has opened many new tactics for incorporating women’s writing into existing literary canons; it has also helped us imagine ways of including female domestic work, sexuality, and other embodied forms into our understanding of early modern culture. By drawing together literary recovery work with a more material interest in recuperating women’s sexual bodies, we should begin to recuperate women like Wilmot not simply as authors or bodies but as both. The oscillations between the sexual and textual body in Wilmot’s poetry, and in our assessments of her life and writings, should help us approach her works (like the works of Rochester) as possessing a three-dimensionality that they have long been denied. ReferencesBartky, Sandra Lee. “Foucault, Femininity, and the Modernization of Patriarchal Power.” In Writing on the Body: Female Embodiment and Feminist Theory. Ed. Katie Conboy, Nadia Medina, and Sarah Stanbury. New York: Columbia University Press, 1997. 129-54.Behn, Aphra. “Song. Love Arm’d.” The Works of Aphra Behn. Volume 1: Poetry. Ed. Janet Todd. London: William Pickering, 1992. 53.Clarke, Elizabeth. “Introducing Hester Pulter and the Perdita Project.” Literature Compass 2.1 (2005). ‹http://www.blackwell-compass.com/subject/literature/article_view?article_id=lico_articles_bsl159›. Deutsch, Helen. Loving Doctor Johnson. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005.Diamond, Irene, Ed. Feminism and Foucault: Reflections on Resistance. Boston: Northeastern University Press, 1988.Ezell, Margaret J. M. Social Authorship and the Advent of Print. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1999.Farley-Hill, David. Rochester’s Poetry. Totowa: Rowman and Littlefield, 1978. Greene, Graham. Lord Rochester’s Monkey. New York: Penguin, 1974. Greer, Germaine, Susan Hastings, Jeslyn Medoff, and Melinda Sansone, Ed. Kissing the Rod: An Anthology of Seventeenth-Century Women’s Verse. New York: Noonday Press, 1988. Kemp, Theresa D. “Early Women Writers.” Feminist Teacher 18.3 (2008): 234-39.King, Kathryn. “Jane Barker, Poetical Recreations, and the Sociable Text.” ELH 61 (1994): 551-70.Love, Harold, and Arthur F. Marotti. "Manuscript Transmission and Circulation." The Cambridge History of Early Modern English Literature. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 2002. 55-80. Love, Harold. "Systemizing Sigla." English Manuscript Studies 1100-1700. 11 (2002): 217-230. Marotti, Arthur F. "Shakespeare's Sonnets and the Manuscript Circulation of Texts in Early Modern England." A Companion to Shakespeare's Sonnets. Oxford: Blackwell, 2007. 185-203.McNay, Lois. Foucault And Feminism: Power, Gender, and the Self. Boston: Northeastern, 1992.Moody, Ellen. “Elizabeth Wilmot (neé Mallet), Countess of Rochester, Another Woman Poet.” Blog entry 16 March 2006. 11 Nov. 2008 ‹http://server4.moody.cx/index.php?id=400›. Pepys, Samuel. The Diary of Samuel Pepys. 23 Aug. 2008 ‹http://www.pepysdiary.com/archive/1665/05/28/index.php›. Rubin, Gayle. “The Traffic in Women: Notes on the ‘Political Economy’ of Sex.” Feminist Literary Theory and Criticism: A Norton Reader, ed. Sandra M. Gilbert and Susan Gubar, 392-413. New York: Norton, 2007.Russell, Anne. “Aphra Behn, Textual Communities, and Pastoral Sobriquets.” English Language Notes 40.4 (June 2003): 41-50.———. “'Public' and 'Private' in Aphra Behn's Miscellanies: Women Writers, Print, and Manuscript.” Write or Be Written: Early Modern Women Poets and Cultural Constraints. Ed. Barbara Smith and Ursula Appelt. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2001. 29-48. Sawicki, Jana. Disciplining Foucault: Feminism, Power and the Body. New York: Routledge, 1991.Seal, Jill. "The Perdita Project—A Winter's Report." Early Modern Literary Studies 6.3 (January, 2001): 10.1-14. ‹http://purl.oclc.org/emls/06-3/perdita.htm›.Wilders, John. “Rochester and the Metaphysicals.” In Spirit of Wit: Reconsiderations of Rochester. Ed. Jeremy Treglown. Hamden: Archon, 1982. 42-57.Wilmot, Elizabeth, Countess of Rochester. “Song” (“Nothing Ades to Love's Fond Fire”) and “Song” (“Cloris Misfortunes That Can Be Exprest”) in Kissing the Rod. 230-32.

La culture, mot ancien, a une longue histoire et pour les anthropologues, qui n’ont pas envie de l’abandonner, elle garde tout son potentiel heuristique. Du verbe latin colere (cultiver, habiter, coloniser), la culture a immédiatement montré une remarquable versatilité sémantique. Comme Cicéron (106-43 av. J.-C.) l’avait dit, il n’y a pas seulement la culture des champs, il y a aussi la cultura animi : c’est-à-dire la philosophie. Cultura animi est une expression que l’on retrouve également au début de la modernité, chez le philosophe anglais Francis Bacon (1561-1626). Elle devient ensuite « culture de la raison » chez René Descartes (1596-1650) et chez Emmanuel Kant (1724-1804). Mais au XVIIIe siècle, nous assistons à un autre passage, lorsque la culture, en plus des champs, de l’âme et de la raison humaine, commence à s’appliquer également aux coutumes, aux mœurs, aux usages sociaux, comme cela est parfaitement clair chez des auteurs tels que François-Marie Arouet, dit Voltaire (1694-1778), et Johann Gottfried Herder (1744-1803). Nous pourrions nous demander pourquoi ces auteurs ne se sont pas contentés de continuer à utiliser les termes désormais testés de coutumes et de mœurs. Pourquoi ont-ils voulu ajouter la notion de culture? Qu’est-ce que cette notion offrait de plus? Autrement dit, quelle est la différence entre culture et coutume? Dans l’usage de Voltaire et de Herder, la culture est presque toujours singulière, alors que les coutumes sont très souvent plurielles. La culture a donc pour effet d’unifier les coutumes dans un concept unique, en surmontant leur pluralité désordonnée et désorientante : les coutumes sont nombreuses, variables, souvent divergentes et contradictoires (les coutumes d’une population ou d’une période historique s’opposent aux coutumes d’autres sociétés et d’autres périodes), alors que la culture désigne une capacité, une dimension, un niveau unificateur. Dans son Essai sur les mœurs (1756), Voltaire a clairement distingué le plan de la « nature », dont dépend l’unité du genre humain, de celui de la « culture », où les coutumes sont produites avec toute leur variété : « ainsi le fonds est partout le même », tandis que « la culture produit des fruits divers », et les fruits sont précisément les coutumes. Comme on peut le constater, il ne s’agit pas uniquement d’opposer l’uniformité d’une part (la nature) et l’hétérogénéité d’autre part (les coutumes). En regroupant les coutumes, Voltaire suggère également une relation selon laquelle le « fonds » est le terrain biologique, celui de la nature humaine, tandis que la culture indique le traitement de ce terrain et, en même temps, les fruits qui en découlent. Tant qu’on ne parle que de coutumes, on se contente de constater la pluralité et l’hétérogénéité des « fruits ». En introduisant le terme culture, ces fruits sont rassemblés dans une catégorie qui les inclut tous et qui contribue à leur donner un sens, bien au-delà de leur apparente étrangeté et bizarrerie : bien qu’étranges et bizarres, ils sont en réalité le produit d’une activité appliquée au terrain commun à toutes les sociétés humaines. Partout, les êtres humains travaillent et transforment l’environnement dans lequel ils vivent, mais ils travaillent, transforment et cultivent aussi la nature dont ils sont faits. Appliquée aux coutumes, la culture est donc à la fois ce travail continu et les produits qui en découlent. En d’autres termes, nous ne pouvons plus nous contenter d’être frappés par l’étrangeté des coutumes et les attribuer à une condition d’ignorance et aux superstitions : si les coutumes sont une culture, elles doivent être rapportées à un travail effectué partout, mais dont les résultats sont sans aucun doute étranges et hétérogènes. Il s’agit en tout cas d’un travail auquel chaque société est dédiée dans n’importe quel coin du monde. Nous ne voulons pas proposer ici une histoire du concept de culture. Mais après avoir mentionné l’innovation du concept de culture datant du XVIIIe siècle – c’est-à-dire le passage du sens philosophique (cultura animi ou culture de la raison) à un sens anthropologique (coutumes en tant que culture) –, on ne peut oublier que quelques décennies après l’Essai sur les mœurs (1756) de Voltaire, Johann Gottfried Herder, dans son Ideen zur Philosophie der Geschichte der Menschheit (1784-1791), fournit une définition de la culture digne d’être valorisée et soutenue par l’anthropologie deux siècles plus tard. Herder ne se limite pas à étendre la culture (Kultur) bien au-delà de l’Europe des Lumières, au-delà des sociétés de l’écriture (même les habitants de la Terre de Feu « ont des langages et des concepts, des techniques et des arts qu’ils ont appris, comme nous les avons appris nous-mêmes et, par conséquent, eux aussi sont vraiment inculturés »), mais il cherche le sens profond du travail incessant de la Kultur (1991). Pourquoi, partout, aux quatre coins du monde, les humains se consacrent-ils constamment à la formation de leur corps et de leur esprit (Bildung)? La réponse de Herder est dans le concept de l’homme en tant qu’être biologiquement défectueux (Mängelwesen), en tant qu’être qui a besoin de la culture pour se compléter : le but de la culture est précisément de fournir, selon différentes conditions historiques, géographiques et sociales, une quelque forme d’humanité. Selon Herder, la culture est « cette seconde genèse de l’homme qui dure toute sa vie » (1991). La culture est la somme des tentatives, des efforts et des moyens par lesquels les êtres humains « de toutes les conditions et de toutes les sociétés », s’efforcent d’imaginer et de construire leur propre humanité, de quelque manière qu’elle soit comprise (1991). La culture est l’activité anthropo-poïétique continue à laquelle les êtres humains ne peuvent échapper. Tel est, par exemple, le propre du rituel qui réalise la deuxième naissance, la véritable, celle de l’acteur/actrice social/e, comme dans les rites d’initiation ou la construction des rapports sociaux de sexe. La culture correspond aux formes d’humanité que les acteurs sociaux ne cessent de produire. Le but que Herder pensait poursuivre était de rassembler les différentes formes d’humanité en une seule connaissance généralisante, une « chaîne de cultures » qui, du coin du monde qu’est l’Europe des Lumières « s’étend jusqu’au bout de la terre » (1991). On peut soutenir que dans les quelques décennies de la seconde moitié du XVIIIe siècle, on avait déjà posé les bases d’un type de connaissance auquel on allait donner plus tard le nom d’anthropologie culturelle. Parmi ces prémisses, il y avait le nouveau sens du terme culture. Cependant, il faut attendre plus d’un siècle pour que ceux qui allaient être appelés anthropologues reprennent ce concept et en fassent le fondement d’une nouvelle science. La « science de la culture » est en fait le titre du chapitre I de Primitive Culture (1871) d’Edward Burnett Tylor, chapitre qui commence par la définition de la culture connue de tous les anthropologues : « Le mot culture ou civilisation, pris dans son sens ethnographique le plus étendu, désigne ce tout complexe comprenant à la fois les sciences, les croyances, les arts, la morale, les lois, les coutumes et les autres facultés et habitudes acquises par l’homme dans l’état social (Tylor1920). » Dans cette définition, les points suivants peuvent être soulignés : premièrement, la culture est un instrument qui s’applique de manière ethnographique à toute société humaine; deuxièmement, elle intègre une pluralité d’aspects, y compris les coutumes, de manière à former un « ensemble complexe »; troisièmement, les contenus de cet ensemble sont acquis non par des moyens naturels, mais par des relations sociales. Dans cette définition, la distinction – déjà présente chez Voltaire – entre le plan de la nature et le plan de la culture est implicite; mais à présent, le regard se porte avant tout sur la structure interne de la culture, sur les éléments qui la composent et sur la nécessité d’ancrer la culture, détachée de la nature, au niveau de la société. Il initie un processus de formation et de définition d’un savoir qui, grâce au nouveau concept de culture, revendique sa propre autonomie. La première fonction de la culture est en fait de faire voir le territoire réservé à la nouvelle science : un vaste espace qui coïncide avec tous les groupes humains, des communautés les plus restreintes et les plus secrètes aux sociétés qui ont dominé le monde au cours des derniers siècles. Mais jusqu’à quel point ce concept est-il fiable, solide et permanent, de sorte qu’il puisse servir de fondement au nouveau savoir anthropologique? On pourrait dire que les anthropologues se distinguent les uns des autres sur la base des stratégies qu’ils adoptent pour rendre le concept de culture plus fiable, pour le renforcer en le couplant avec d’autres concepts, ou, au contraire, pour s’en éloigner en se réfugiant derrière d’autres notions ou d’autres points de vue considérés plus sûrs. La culture a été un concept novateur et prometteur, mais elle s’est aussi révélée perfide et dérangeante. On doit réfléchir aux deux dimensions de la culture auxquelles nous avons déjà fait allusion: le travail continu et les produits qui en découlent. Les anthropologues ont longtemps privilégié les produits, à commencer par les objets matériels, artistiques ou artisanaux : les vitrines des musées, avec leur signification en matière de description et de classification, ont suggéré un moyen de représenter les cultures, et cela même lorsque les anthropologues se sont détachés des musées pour étudier les groupes humains en « plein air », directement sur le terrain. Quelles étaient, dans ce contexte, les coutumes, sinon les « produits » de la culture sur le plan comportemental et mental? Et lorsque la notion de coutume a commencé à décliner, entraînant avec elle le sens d’un savoir dépassé, la notion de modèle – les modèles de culture – a dominé la scène. Saisir des modèles dans n’importe quel domaine de la vie sociale – de la parenté à la politique, de la religion au droit, de l’économie à l’art, etc. – ne correspondait-il pas à une stratégie visant à construire, dans un but descriptif et analytique, quelque chose de solide, de répétitif et de socialement répandu, bref, un système capable de se reproduire dans le temps? Ce faisant, on continuait à privilégier les produits avec leur continuité et leur lisibilité au détriment du travail continu et obscur de la culture, de son flux presque insaisissable et imprévisible. Nous pensons par exemple à la quantité incroyable et chaotique de gestes, mots, idées, émotions qui se succèdent, se chevauchent, se croisent et se mélangent dans chaque moment de la vie individuelle et collective. Le sentiment que les produits toujours statiques et achevés de la culture priment sur sa partie la plus significative et la plus dynamique (une sorte de matière ou d’énergie obscure), devient un facteur de frustration et de perturbation pour l’entreprise anthropologique. À cet égard, les anthropologues ont adopté plusieurs voies de sortie, notamment : la tendance à réifier la culture, ce qui lui confère une solidité presque ontologique (c’est le cas d’Alfred L. Kroeber 1952); l’intention de réduire sa portée et de l’ancrer ainsi dans une réalité plus cohérente et permanente, telle que pourrait être la structure sociale dans ses diverses articulations (Alfred Radcliffe-Brown 1968 et plus largement l’anthropologie sociale); la tentative de capturer dans les manifestations apparemment plus libres et arbitraires de la culture, que peuvent être les mythes, l’action de structures mentales d’un ordre psycho-biologique (Claude Lévi-Strauss 1958 et 1973 et plus largement le structuralisme). Plus récemment, la méfiance envers la culture a pris la forme même de son refus, souvent motivé par une clef politique. Comment continuer à s’appuyer sur la culture, si elle assume désormais le rôle de discrimination autrefois confié à la race? Plus la culture devient un terme d’usage social et politique, identifié ou mélangé à celui d’identité et se substituant à celui de race, plus des anthropologues ont décrété son caractère fallacieux et ont pensé à libérer la pensée anthropologique de cet instrument devenu trop dangereux et encombrant. Lila Abu-Lughod écrit en 1991 un essai intitulé Against Culture et les critiques du concept de culture refont surface dans le texte d’Adam Kuper, Culture, 1998 et 1999. Mais si l’anthropologie doit se priver de ce concept, par quoi le remplacera-t-elle? Est-il suffisant de se contenter de « pratiques » et de « discours » qu’Abu-Lughod a puisés chez Michel Foucault (1966)? C’est une chose de critiquer certains usages de la notion de culture, tels que ceux qui tendent à la confondre avec l’identité, c’en est une autre d’accepter le défi que ce concept présente à la fois par son caractère fluide et manipulable, et par les expansions fertiles dont il est capable. Par « pratique » et « discours », réussirons-nous, par exemple, à suivre l’expansion de la culture vers l’étude du comportement animal et à réaliser que nous ne pouvons plus restreindre la « science de la culture » dans les limites de l’humanité (Lestel 2003)? Presque dans le sens opposé, la culture jette également les bases de la recherche ethnographique au sein des communautés scientifiques, une enquête absolument décisive pour une anthropologie qui veut se présenter comme une étude du monde contemporain (Latour et Woolgar 1979). Et quel autre concept que celui de culture pourrait indiquer de manière appropriée le « tout complexe » (complex whole) de la culture globale (Hamilton 2016)? Qu’est-ce que l’Anthropocène, sinon une vaste et immense culture qui, au lieu d’être circonscrite aux limites de l’humanité, est devenue une nouvelle ère géologique (Zalasiewicz et al. 2017)? Bref, la « science de la culture », formulée en 1871 par Edward Tylor, se développe énormément aujourd’hui : la culture est l’utilisation de la brindille comme outil de capture des termites par le chimpanzé, de même qu’elle correspond aux robots qui assistent les malades, aux satellites artificiels qui tournent autour de la Terre ou aux sondes envoyées dans le plus profond des espaces cosmiques. Ces expansions de la culture sont sans aucun doute des sources de désorientation. Au lieu de se retirer et de renoncer à la culture, les anthropologues culturels devraient accepter ce grand défi épistémologique, en poursuivant les ramifications de cette notion ancienne, mais encore vitale, dynamique et troublante.

[Editors’ note: this lyric essay was presented as the keynote address at Edith Cowan University’s CREATEC symposium on the theme Catastrophe and Creativity in November 2012, and represents excerpts from the author’s publication Threading Light: Explorations in Loss and Poetry. Regina, SK: Hagios Press, 2011. Reproduced with the author’s permission].Essay and verse and anecdote are the ways I have chosen to apprentice myself to loss, grief, faith, memory, and the stories we use to tie and untie them. Cat’s cradle, Celtic lines, bends and hitches are familiar: however, when I write about loss, I find there are knots I cannot tie or release, challenging both my imagination and my craft. Over the last decade, I have been learning that writing poetry is also the art of tying together light and dark, grief and joy, of grasping and releasing. Language is a hinge that connects us with the flesh of our experience; it is also residue, the ash of memory and imagination. (Threading Light 7) ———Greek katastrophé overturning, sudden turn, from kata down + strophe ‘turning” from strephein to turn.Loss and catastrophe catapult us into the liminal, into a threshold space. We walk between land we have known and the open sea. ———Mnemosyne, the mother of the nine Muses, the personification of memory, makes anthropologists of us all. When Hermes picked up the lyre, it was to her—to Remembrance —that he sang the first song. Without remembrance, oral or written, we have no place to begin. Stone, amulet, photograph, charm bracelet, cufflink, fish story, house, facial expression, tape recorder, verse, or the same old traveling salesman joke—we have places and means to try to store memories. Memories ground us, even as we know they are fleeting and flawed constructions that slip through our consciousness; ghosts of ghosts. One cold winter, I stayed in a guest room in my mother’s apartment complex for three days. Because she had lost her sight, I sat at the table in her overheated and stuffy kitchen with the frozen slider window and tried to describe photographs as she tried to recall names and events. I emptied out the dusty closet she’d ignored since my father left, and we talked about knitting patterns, the cost of her mother’s milk glass bowl, the old clothes she could only know by rubbing the fabric through her fingers. I climbed on a chair to reach a serving dish she wanted me to have, and we laughed hysterically when I read aloud the handwritten note inside: save for Annette, in a script not hers. It’s okay, she said; I want all this gone. To all you kids. Take everything you can. When I pop off, I don’t want any belongings. Our family had moved frequently, and my belongings always fit in a single box; as a student, in the back of a car or inside a backpack. Now, in her ninth decade, my mother wanted to return to the simplicity she, too, recalled from her days on a small farm outside a small town. On her deathbed, she insisted on having her head shaved, and frequently the nursing staff came into the room to find she had stripped off her johnny shirt and her covers. The philosopher Simone Weil said that all we possess in the world is the power to say “I” (Gravity 119).Memory is a cracked bowl, and it fills endlessly as it empties. Memory is what we create out of what we have at hand—other people’s accounts, objects, flawed stories of our own creation, second-hand tales handed down like an old watch. Annie Dillard says as a life’s work, she’d remember everything–everything against loss, and go through life like a plankton net. I prefer the image of the bowl—its capacity to feed us, the humility it suggests, its enduring shape, its rich symbolism. Its hope. To write is to fashion a bowl, perhaps, but we know, finally, the bowl cannot hold everything. (Threading Light 78–80) ———Man is the sire of sorrow, sang Joni Mitchell. Like joy, sorrow begins at birth: we are born into both. The desert fathers believed—in fact, many of certain faiths continue to believe—that penthos is mourning for lost salvation. Penthus was the last god to be given his assignment from Zeus: he was to be responsible for grieving and loss. Eros, the son of Aphrodite, was the god of love and desire. The two can be seen in concert with one another, each mirroring the other’s extreme, each demanding of us the farthest reach of our being. Nietzsche, through Zarathustra, phrased it another way: “Did you ever say Yes to one joy? O my friends, then you have also said Yes to all Woe as well. All things are chained, entwined together, all things are in love.” (Threading Light 92) ———We are that brief crack of light, that cradle rocking. We can aspire to a heaven, or a state of forgiveness; we can ask for redemption and hope for freedom from suffering for ourselves and our loved ones; we may create children or works of art in the vague hope that we will leave something behind when we go. But regardless, we know that there is a wall or a dark curtain or a void against which we direct or redirect our lives. We hide from it, we embrace it; we taunt it; we flout it. We write macabre jokes, we play hide and seek, we walk with bated breath, scream in movies, or howl in the wilderness. We despair when we learn of premature or sudden death; we are reminded daily—an avalanche, an aneurysm, a shocking diagnosis, a child’s bicycle in the intersection—that our illusions of control, that youthful sense of invincibility we have clung to, our last-ditch religious conversions, our versions of Pascal’s bargain, nothing stops the carriage from stopping for us.We are fortunate if our awareness calls forth our humanity. We learn, as Aristotle reminded us, about our capacity for fear and pity. Seeing others as vulnerable in their pain or weakness, we see our own frailties. As I read the poetry of Donne or Rumi, or verse created by the translator of Holocaust stories, Lois Olena, or the work of poet Sharon Olds as she recounts the daily horror of her youth, I can become open to pity, or—to use the more contemporary word—compassion. The philosopher Martha Nussbaum argues that works of art are not only a primary means for an individual to express her humanity through catharsis, as Aristotle claimed, but, because of the attunement to others and to the world that creation invites, the process can sow the seeds of social justice. Art grounds our grief in form; it connects us to one another and to the world. And the more we acquaint ourselves with works of art—in music, painting, theatre, literature—the more we open ourselves to complex and nuanced understandings of our human capacities for grief. Why else do we turn to a stirring poem when we are mourning? Why else do we sing? When my parents died, I came home from the library with stacks of poetry and memoirs about loss. How does your story dovetail with mine? I wanted to know. How large is this room—this country—of grief and how might I see it, feel the texture on its walls, the ice of its waters? I was in a foreign land, knew so little of its language, and wanted to be present and raw and vulnerable in its climate and geography. Writing and reading were my way not to squander my hours of pain. While it was difficult to live inside that country, it was more difficult not to. In learning to know graveyards as places of comfort and perspective, Mnemosyne’s territory with her markers of memory guarded by crow, leaf, and human footfall, with storehouses of vast and deep tapestries of stories whispered, sung, or silent, I am cultivating the practice of walking on common ground. Our losses are really our winter-enduring foliage, Rilke writes. They are place and settlement, foundation and soil, and home. (Threading Light 86–88) ———The loseability of our small and larger worlds allows us to see their gifts, their preciousness.Loseability allows us to pay attention. ———“A faith-based life, a Trappistine nun said to me, aims for transformation of the soul through compunction—not only a state of regret and remorse for our inadequacies before God, but also living inside a deeper sorrow, a yearning for a union with the divine. Compunction, according to a Christian encyclopaedia, is constructive only if it leads to repentance, reconciliation, and sanctification. Would you consider this work you are doing, the Trappistine wrote, to be a spiritual journey?Initially, I ducked her question; it was a good one. Like Neruda, I don’t know where the poetry comes from, a winter or a river. But like many poets, I feel the inadequacy of language to translate pain and beauty, the yearning for an embodied understanding of phenomena that is assensitive and soul-jolting as the contacts of eye-to-eye and skin-to-skin. While I do not worship a god, I do long for an impossible union with the world—a way to acknowledge the gift that is my life. Resonance: a search for the divine in the everyday. And more so. Writing is a full-bodied, sensory, immersive activity that asks me to give myself over to phenomena, that calls forth deep joy and deep sorrow sometimes so profound that I am gutted by my inadequacy. I am pierced, dumbstruck. Lyric language is the crayon I use, and poetry is my secular compunction...Poets—indeed, all writers—are often humbled by what we cannot do, pierced as we are by—what? I suggest mystery, impossibility, wonder, reverence, grief, desire, joy, our simple gratitude and despair. I speak of the soul and seven people rise from their chairs and leave the room, writes Mary Oliver (4). Eros and penthos working in concert. We have to sign on for the whole package, and that’s what both empties us out, and fills us up. The practice of poetry is our inadequate means of seeking the gift of tears. We cultivate awe, wonder, the exquisite pain of seeing and knowing deeply the abundant and the fleeting in our lives. Yes, it is a spiritual path. It has to do with the soul, and the sacred—our venerating the world given to us. Whether we are inside a belief system that has or does not have a god makes no difference. Seven others lean forward to listen. (Threading Light 98–100)———The capacity to give one’s attention to a sufferer is a rare thing; it is almost a miracle; it is a miracle. – Simone Weil (169)I can look at the lines and shades on the page clipped to the easel, deer tracks in the snow, or flecks of light on a summer sidewalk. Or at the moon as it moves from new to full. Or I can read the poetry of Paul Celan.Celan’s poem “Tenebrae” takes its title from high Christian services in which lighting, usually from candles, is gradually extinguished so that by the end of the service, the church is in total darkness. Considering Celan’s—Antschel’s—history as a Romanian Jew whose parents were killed in the Nazi death camps, and his subsequent years tortured by the agony of his grief, we are not surprised to learn he chose German, his mother’s language, to create his poetry: it might have been his act of defiance, his way of using shadow and light against the other. The poet’s deep grief, his profound awareness of loss, looks unflinchingly at the past, at the piles of bodies. The language has become a prism, reflecting penetrating shafts of shadow: in the shine of blood, the darkest of the dark. Enlinked, enlaced, and enamoured. We don’t always have names for the shades of sorrows and joys we live inside, but we know that each defines and depends upon the other. Inside the core shadow of grief we recognise our shared mortality, and only in that recognition—we are not alone—can hope be engendered. In the exquisite pure spot of light we associate with love and joy, we may be temporarily blinded, but if we look beyond, and we draw on what we know, we feel the presence of the shadows that have intensified what appears to us as light. Light and dark—even in what we may think are their purest state—are transitory pauses in the shape of being. Decades ago my well-meaning mother, a nurse, gave me pills to dull the pain of losing my fiancé who had shot himself; now, years later, knowing so many deaths, and more imminent, I would choose the bittersweet tenderness of being fully inside grief—awake, raw, open—feeling its walls, its every rough surface, its every degree of light and dark. It is love/loss, light/dark, a fusion that brings me home to the world. (Threading Light 100–101) ———Loss can trigger and inspire creativity, not only at the individual level but at the public level, whether we are marching in Idle No More demonstrations, re-building a shelter, or re-building a life. We use art to weep, to howl, to reach for something that matters, something that means. And sometimes it may mean that all we learn from it is that nothing lasts. And then, what? What do we do then? ———The wisdom of Epictetus, the Stoic, can offer solace, but I know it will take time to catch up with him. Nothing can be taken from us, he claims, because there is nothing to lose: what we lose—lover, friend, hope, father, dream, keys, faith, mother—has merely been returned to where it (or they) came from. We live in samsara, Zen masters remind us, inside a cycle of suffering that results from a belief in the permanence of self and of others. Our perception of reality is narrow; we must broaden it to include all phenomena, to recognise the interdependence of lives, the planet, and beyond, into galaxies. A lot for a mortal to get her head around. And yet, as so many poets have wondered, is that not where imagination is born—in the struggle and practice of listening, attending, and putting ourselves inside the now that all phenomena share? Can I imagine the rush of air under the loon that passes over my house toward the ocean every morning at dawn? The hot dust under the cracked feet of that child on the outskirts of Darwin? The gut-hauling terror of an Afghan woman whose family’s blood is being spilled? Thich Nhat Hanh says that we are only alive when we live the sufferings and the joys of others. He writes: Having seen the reality of interdependence and entered deeply into its reality, nothing can oppress you any longer. You are liberated. Sit in the lotus position, observe your breath, and ask one who has died for others. (66)Our breath is a delicate thread, and it contains multitudes. I hear an echo, yes. The practice of poetry—my own spiritual and philosophical practice, my own sackcloth and candle—has allowed me a glimpse not only into the lives of others, sentient or not, here, afar, or long dead, but it has deepened and broadened my capacity for breath. Attention to breath grounds me and forces me to attend, pulls me into my body as flesh. When I see my flesh as part of the earth, as part of all flesh, as Morris Berman claims, I come to see myself as part of something larger. (Threading Light 134–135) ———We think of loss as a dark time, and yet it opens us, deepens us.Close attention to loss—our own and others’—cultivates compassion.As artists we’re already predisposed to look and listen closely. We taste things, we touch things, we smell them. We lie on the ground like Mary Oliver looking at that grasshopper. We fill our ears with music that not everyone slows down to hear. We fall in love with ideas, with people, with places, with beauty, with tragedy, and I think we desire some kind of fusion, a deeper connection than everyday allows us. We want to BE that grasshopper, enter that devastation, to honour it. We long, I think, to be present.When we are present, even in catastrophe, we are fully alive. It seems counter-intuitive, but the more fully we engage with our losses—the harder we look, the more we soften into compassion—the more we cultivate resilience. ———Resilience consists of three features—persistence, adaptability transformability—each interacting from local to global scales. – Carl FolkeResilent people and resilient systems find meaning and purpose in loss. We set aside our own egos and we try to learn to listen and to see, to open up. Resilience is fundamentally an act of optimism. This is not the same, however, as being naïve. Optimism is the difference between “why me?” and “why not me?” Optimism is present when we are learning to think larger than ourselves. Resilience asks us to keep moving. Sometimes with loss there is a moment or two—or a month, a year, who knows?—where we, as humans, believe that we are standing still, we’re stuck, we’re in stasis. But we aren’t. Everything is always moving and everything is always in relation. What we mistake for stasis in a system is the system taking stock, transforming, doing things underneath the surface, preparing to rebuild, create, recreate. Leonard Cohen reminded us there’s a crack in everything, and that’s how the light gets in. But what we often don’t realize is that it’s we—the human race, our own possibilities, our own creativity—who are that light. We are resilient when we have agency, support, community we can draw on. When we have hope. ———FortuneFeet to carry you past acres of grapevines, awnings that opento a hall of paperbarks. A dog to circle you, look behind, point ahead. A hip that bends, allows you to slidebetween wire and wooden bars of the fence. A twinge rides with that hip, and sometimes the remnant of a fall bloomsin your right foot. Hands to grip a stick for climbing, to rest your weight when you turn to look below. On your left hand,a story: others see it as a scar. On the other, a newer tale; a bone-white lump. Below, mist disappears; a nichein the world opens to its long green history. Hills furrow into their dark harbours. Horses, snatches of inhale and whiffle.Mutterings of men, a cow’s long bellow, soft thud of feet along the hill. You turn at the sound.The dog swallows a cry. Stays; shakes until the noise recedes. After a time, she walks on three legs,tests the paw of the fourth in the dust. You may never know how she was wounded. She remembers your bodyby scent, voice, perhaps the taste of contraband food at the door of the house. Story of human and dog, you begin—but the wordyour fingers make is god. What last year was her silken newborn fur is now sunbleached, basket dry. Feet, hips, hands, paws, lapwings,mockingbirds, quickening, longing: how eucalypts reach to give shade, and tiny tight grapes cling to vines that align on a slope as smoothlyas the moon follows you, as intention always leans toward good. To know bones of the earth are as true as a point of light: tendernesswhere you bend and press can whisper grace, sorrow’s last line, into all that might have been,so much that is. (Threading Light 115–116) Acknowledgments The author would like to thank Dr. Lekkie Hopkins and Dr. John Ryan for the opportunity to speak (via video) to the 2012 CREATEC Symposium Catastrophe and Creativity, to Dr. Hopkins for her eloquent and memorable paper in response to my work on creativity and research, and to Dr. Ryan for his support. The presentation was recorded and edited by Paul Poirier at Mount Saint Vincent University in Halifax, Nova Scotia. My thanks go to Edith Cowan and Mount Saint Vincent Universities. ReferencesBerman, Morris. Coming to Our Senses. New York: Bantam, 1990.Dillard, Annie. For the Time Being. New York: Vintage Books, 2000.Felstiner, John. Paul Celan: Poet, Survivor, Jew. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2001.Folke, Carl. "On Resilience." Seed Magazine. 13 Dec. 2010. 22 Mar. 2013 ‹http://seedmagazine.com/content/article/on_resilience›.Franck, Frederick. Zen Seeing, Zen Drawing. New York: Bantam Books, 1993.Hanh, Thich Nhat. The Miracle of Mindfulness. Boston: Beacon Press, 1976.Hausherr, Irenee. Penthos: The Doctrine of Compunction in the Christian East. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 1982.Neilsen Glenn, Lorri. Threading Light: Explorations in Loss and Poetry. Regina, SK: Hagios Press, 2011. Nietzsche, Frederick. Thus Spake Zarathustra. New York: Penguin, 1978. Nussbaum, Martha. Upheavals of Thought: The Intelligence of Emotions. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2001. Oliver, Mary. “The Word.” What Do We Know. Boston: DaCapo Press, 2002.Rilke, Rainer Maria. Duino Elegies and the Sonnets to Orpheus. (Tenth Elegy). Ed. Stephen Mitchell. New York: Random House/Vintage Editions, 2009.Weil, Simone. The Need for Roots. London: Taylor & Francis, 2005 (1952).Weil, Simone. Gravity and Grace. London: Routledge, 2004.Further ReadingChodron, Pema. Practicing Peace in Times of War. Boston: Shambhala, 2006.Cleary, Thomas (trans.) The Essential Tao: An Initiation into the Heart of Taoism through Tao de Ching and the Teachings of Chuang Tzu. Edison, NJ: Castle Books, 1993.Dalai Lama (H H the 14th) and Venerable Chan Master Sheng-yen. Meeting of Minds: A Dialogue on Tibetan and Chinese Buddhism. New York: Dharma Drum Publications, 1999. Hirshfield, Jane. "Language Wakes Up in the Morning: A Meander toward Writing." Alaska Quarterly Review. 21.1 (2003).Hirshfield, Jane. Nine Gates: Entering the Mind of Poetry. New York: HarperCollins, 1997. Lao Tzu. Tao Te Ching. Trans. Arthur Waley. Chatham: Wordsworth Editions, 1997. Neilsen, Lorri. "Lyric Inquiry." Handbook of the Arts in Qualitative Research. Eds. J. Gary Knowles and Ardra Cole. Thousand Oaks: Sage, 2008. 88–98. Ross, Maggie. The Fire and the Furnace: The Way of Tears and Fire. York: Paulist Press, 1987.