reading p.inman - part six - the final
The other instalments can be found at the following links:
And you can buy your own copy of Ad Finitum from if p then q
Finally we reach the last part in my reading of P.Inman's Ad Finitum. I should say here that while it might have looked like I was making heavy work of reading the book I have very much enjoyed myself. The book isn't going to disappear onto a shelf and never be seen again, I will return to it, and will continue to find new things. In fact I never intended to write as much as I have, I thought that three or four small parts would be enough. On which subject, this post is around twice the length of previous posts.
Roscoe Mitchell (nonaah)
Both Roscoe Mitchell (nonaah) and 14 panels for Lynne Dreyer do something that has only previously been seen in acoma. That is restricting the words to tight geometric symmetries, or at least confining them within implied limitations. The effect is one common to poetry, that by giving primacy to the physical form, to something external to the language, attention is drawn to the language. Except here the language is unyielding, which throws you back to the form for clues. It's easy to ping-pong back and forth between the two generating a lot of movement and heat but making no progress. Which at times could be a description of these posts I guess. Both Roscoe Mitchell (nonaah) and 14 panels for Lynne Dreyer specifically reference artists with their titles. But the latter also mentions those 14 panels, somehow giving the poem an architecture, a sense of coherence that's less evident in Roscoe Mitchell (nonaah). The sparseness of this poem sends you back to the words again. The appearance of them, the sound of them takes on a lot of importance. Similarities echo through the quarters, through the pages. So amino reflects too which reflects hue which simultaneously throws us back to its appearance in sided and reflects the word into on the opposite page. Or iota echoes utter. The poem remains closed and challenging, while keeping links open to the rest of the collection.
First mention of the idea of a reading
14 panels for Lynne Dreyer
14 panels for Lynne Dreyer by virtue of its comparative density and symmetry has at least the appearance of being more closed. But some of it carries an air of familiarity. Like a lot of great art you feel like you know it already, 'everything / applesauce', 'is it one word or / none of the rest', 'the far put of it', 'tauten into words'. Then you notice permutations, 'is it one word or / none of the rest' returns as, 'is it one word or / none tan of bluff / of the rest by it'. The language is alive. From 'a. / noft. / bluff.', which opens aengus, noft reappears in, 'coaled alp / noft suit.' It's intoxicating, you make ever wilder leaps. In qua there is, 'tan frost owl', both tan and owl appear in the same panel within 14 panels for Lynne Dreyer. That's straightforward. But might n'owl in aengus be an eroded version of the same? Curiously, while both tan and owl appear earlier in the collection, frost doesn't make its first appearance until pluper. But this isn't about qua or pluper.
I haven't remarked on one of the more obvious features of this part of the book. From the beginning where every word had at least one piece of attendant punctuation we've come to Roscoe Mitchell (nonaah), which has none at all, 14 panels for Lynne Dreyer with a few, rare, full points and parentheses, and pluper and qua where full points are used to mark the space between blocks of text.
pluper
As I wrote previously pluper seems to pull in the rest of the book, break it up and subject it to transformations, then throw it back out again. But that isn't all it does. Let's start with the shape. Why is it centered? Is it another form of the symmetry of Roscoe Mitchell (nonaah) and 14 panels for Lynne Dreyer? One that this time puts the words above the shape, and won't subject them to a similar violence. That suggests the line-breaks are important. Lines range from the long,
'writing in the short sense underline furred through'
to the short,
'in'
Often there are single words, again of varying length,
'subkulakization'
or
'owl'
Sometimes there are pairs of words,
'far but
its mouth
of leak
to kelp'
or triples,
'crag church posts'
'slowness caved in'
Sometimes there are obvious auditory and visual echoes that make sense of the line breaks,
'wine minus
peninsula
in'
At other times it's less clear why certain lines should be long,
'would've coke dusk iceland
mind put to squareness
cotton of peninsula stroke'
while others are short,
'cement of cake
too skin
.
but nerve
mattered work
sputter
shone
owl'
Why for instance should this, mentioned earlier, be on two lines,
'writing in the short sense underline furred through
wool vim listen matter'
while this is on seven?,
'the hair
blackest
which beckett
wrote as
waves
of takes of
decimal'
Perhaps the reason is that it's easier to discern similarities of sound in the second when it's written this way. The similarities between blackest and beckett, or waves and takes. Successive lines begin 'which ... / wrote ... / waves', shortening from the three syllable 'which beckett', through the two syllable 'wrote as', to the single syllable of 'waves'. It enable the penultimate line to be the almost symmetrical 'of takes of'. The effect of this second passage would be much more muted if it were spread across just one or two lines. Whereas the first passage would be harder to divide satisfactorily. It's perhaps not much of an answer, but it appears to come down to Inman having a good ear.
There are other ways we can look at the poem. Let's take a single word that recurs. The word edge first appears in pluper in the third block of text on the first line,
'but crop edge made of coffee cup'
where it seems to be part of a sentence giving an instruction. It then doesn't recur until the third page, the first line of the second block of text,
'who thought up "fudged edge"'
What's important here is the rhyme of fudged with edge, and the fact that it's a difficult combination of words to say, 'fudged edge', try it. There's an even longer gap, to halfway down the the eighth page, before it appears again. This time in a form familiar from earlier,
'work but
the crop from
its edges'
We already briefly looked at that recurrence of crop in an earlier post. While we're looking at edges as a recurrence of the prior instances of edge there are other links. That formulation 'its edge' is also repeated in the poem. On this page and the one opposite alone we also have 'its mouth' and 'its gaze. There's another jump, and on the twelfth and penultimate page edge appears for the final time twice more,
'the edge noisy too about
the sea laid to rest'
and,
'some paint has scaled quiet
its lower edges that some foot'
The first time edge may be the edge of the land, the second is less clear. Perhaps the word edge has no great significance to Ad Finitum as a whole, but it is interesting tracing this, or any other word through the book. Thus in acoma ;edges;, and 'edge;but'll;', in sided 'starts with solo of edge', and in 14 panels for Lynne Dreyer 'crink / edges / error'.
I could go on but I'm going to arbitrarily draw the line here to prevent this becoming a discussion of only one poem. I'm well aware that my view of pluper as a central part of the book's scheme could be contested. I also don't want to put off confronting qua any longer.
First notes toward the reading
qua
I don't think it's any secret that this is the poem I've had most trouble with. It follows what is a long and seemingly crucial poem but doesn't appear to add much to the book itself. The arrangement on the page is perhaps slightly different from what we've seen before. The poem is held together by a central, left-justified column. Four longer lines start at the left margin, three reaching the central column, and two extending beyond. Two words start from positions to the right of the central column, one ends in line with the end of the longer line above, the other starts at the same point as three other words which continue lines begun in the central column. There are no large gaps, no ruled lines, no punctuation other than three full points between lines.
After word fragments and non-words disappeared from pluper they re-emerge here, eninsula, persp. Perhaps a function of the poem is a return to the beginning of the book. It's a short poem like ilieu (2) and aengus. Where large parts of pluper hover on the edge of sense, qua for the most part doesn't, 'tint / lava decimal / mohair / exit prose'. But if it's true that qua is return to the beginning of the book why are so few of its words drawn from the first three poems, ilieu (2), aengus and acoma? Is it to demonstrate that while there are recognisable connections between poems throughout the book there is also transformation and change, that this is not a closed system? If that's so shouldn't the poem then look outward more than it appears to?
I'm still struggling. Let's look at the words. There are some broad relationships. Geographic/geological features are one, bank, lava, eninsula [assuming it's a fragment of peninsula], bluff and beach. Although of course both bank and bluff are ambiguous. Less numerous are animals, owl, mice, and weather, snowed, frost. Again, as so often, this isn't much help. There are clusters of sounds, i, n/m and s in, 'tan frost owl / eninsula glimpse / distance' or p and b in, 'bluff / persp / peen stalin / mice beach / doppler'.
There I have to concede defeat. I'm sure there's a good reason, or a number of reasons, for qua being where it is and being the poem it is, but I can't identify them. Don't misunderstand me, I'm not saying it's a poor poem, or has no place in the book, it's just that I find it hard to make sense of at present.
And that's it, the end of this particular journey, apart from some comments to round off. There is more to take from the book than I've been able to cover. Don't forget, I've had my copy for less than a fortnight (twelve days I think), only had the idea for this detailed reading eight days ago on 5 July, and didn't start writing until the next day. So in a lot of ways, although even the least read poems have probably been read through around a dozen times or more, this is a kind of superficial instant snapshot of first thoughts.
Starting to write the last section
in three different places at once
A brief note about some obvious omissions. Since I wanted this to be a personal reading I have avoided even relatively basic research. I already mentioned my decision not to use literary criticism. More consciously I didn't look up information on the various names which appear in the text. Likewise the structure of 14 panels for Lynne Dreyer is described as being based on the floor plan of Mark Rothko's Houston Chapel paintings, but I did not research this any further. Unfamiliar words and place-names have gone uninvestigated, although normally I might search for information on these and on named people. Apart from keeping the reading personal I was also concerned that getting bogged down in extraneous explanation might make my analysis even less clear, and I wanted to assume the most casual of readers.
Other details not pursued were the snippets that crop up in biographical write-ups, Inman's socialism, his work with unions, his link to language poetry etc. These, along with other critical responses to his work, I felt were either not relevant, or the kind of things that would only be in the background of most reader's minds as they pick up Ad Finitum. Besides I had no desire to write a comprehensive or authoritative review of the book, and I wanted to leave readers space to engage in their own reading. I haven't even thought of these posts as constituting a review. They are, as the title has it, a reading. One reader's responses in attempting to get to grips with what I find simultaneously an enjoyable and compelling text, and a challenging and problematic one. If I had an aim in mind it was to try and persuade sceptical readers that there are rewards here, and ways of getting past what at first can look like a meaningless and sterile surface.
I'm also aware that some of you will be thinking,
Am I expected to read like that? I haven't got the time or the energy. It drains all the fun out of it. I just want to pick up a book, read it, enjoy it, then go and do something else.
Which is absolutely fine. It's how I read most of the time. This was never intended as a guide to good reading. If you tried to read every poetry book in this way you'd pretty soon get sick of either poetry or the style of reading. This is not a blueprint, and it's not a recommended reading style. Read the book as casually as you like.
Finally, what do I think of Ad Finitum now I've been through this process? Briefly, I still enjoy the book enormously, but still don't feel that I've come anywhere near understanding it or decoding all the references and associations. If anything I now find the book even richer and more enjoyable. I've become more aware of how the various poems relate to one another. I'm also much more content in my own mind that however opaque it may be there is thought and intention and feeling behind the book. It might seem strange, but although I enjoyed the book and was fascinated by it when I embarked on this I wasn't convinced I'd find much. It's a book I'd recommend for anyone, but with the caution, read it when you're ready. This isn't some mystical injunction. If you want to read the book, if it interests you, then you're ready. If you're not sure but it keeps nagging at you, then you're ready. If it holds no interest, or if what I've written makes no sense, then the chances are you're not ready. And that's not a criticism. Why bother reading a book you have no interest in? If you are ready and you want a copy then go to if p then q, only £8.
Ad Finitum is unlike anything I have ever read before. I'm looking forward to being able to read it for pleasure, without the pressure of writing about it.
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