I must admit that the structure set forth in the essays by T.S. Eliot, Ezra Pound, and T.E. Hulme is intimidating for one that is just learning the “Modernism” basics. I also confess that criticism, in general, has puzzled me in the past. Understanding Eliot’s confines for stricture is not an easy task, but it may allow one to better understand writings and/or criticism stemming from him, in addition to his/her counterparts. Also, in reading “The Cultural Economy of Modernism,” I had to wonder if the “…threat of encroaching formlessness…” was an inspiration to both Eliot and Pound (34). Marinetti, the Futurist that made fun of English tradition, gained publicity over Pound with his “outspoken derision” (37). The public and its economy seemingly adored a Futurist for perspective that veered away from traditional notions or art and literature and welcomed an influx of technology, abstract art, and formless literature. This is not to say that Eliot, Pound, and Hulme were purists when it came to maintaining a traditional perspective. If this were the case, we would not be able to see Modernism as an era; instead, we would see Classicism or Romanticism repeated (maybe mimicked would be the better word choice). Consequently, we see Eliot, Pound, and Hulme (but more explicitly Eliot) create a new definition for Modernism’s “tradition” in literature and criticism.
Eliot establishes that tradition “…in the historical sense involves a perception, not only of the pastness of the past, but of its presence” (38). A poet should look to the past (and present) to set precedents for his/her future. A specific foundation from literature and philosophy’s past should be amalgamated into a poet’s good works. It is what is experienced, learned, and toiled over that should be maintained concretely in a poet’s craft. “The emotion of art should be in the poem rather than the poet” (Materer 5). There is a process and precision that must go into a poet’s creative process. This poet’s creative method is compared with a scientific procedure. Then, a reactionary outcome occurs, and the catalyst remains the same. This very unemotional catalyst is the same “dry hardness” that Hulme referred to when speaking of classic poets and the works that transpired as a result. Pound also uses science to explain the importance of classic poets and philosophers as a foundation for poetry in order to clarify what should and should not be done when attempting to create poetry. Just as a scientist should research the works of scientists before him to make new discoveries, a poet should research the works of poets and philosophers to form new pieces. Pound professes that “[e]ach age has its own abounding gifts yet only some ages transmute them into a matter of duration” (65). As clear as he is in acknowledging this to be true, he is confusing in other truths and/or directives.
Pound prescribes a “LIST OF DON’TS,” for writing poetry, but five paragraphs before this statement he explains that “Criticism is not a circumscription or a set of prohibitions” (59). Clearly for Pound, as well as Eliot and Hulme, there are several conventions that a poet should or should not adhere to, but this is because the critic has stipulated “a set of prohibitions” which make for good or bad poetry, respectively. I believe Hulme loses ground in his assertions of what is considered finite and infinite when proportioning “wonder” to either finite or infinite. When “…wonder must cease to be wonder,” wonder becomes finite and thus classical. However, when “[w]onder can only be the attitude of a man passing from one stage to another, it can never be a permanently fixed thing” (104). This would mean that this “attitude” could pass with the man “from one stage to another,” and wonder is seen as infinite or romantic. I could very well be misinterpreting this and am open to explanation/interpretation on this.
What I think I have come to terms with is this: Eliot’s formula for poetry and criticism formed because of Futurist formlessness. He, Pound, and Hulme affirmed that a poet must understand the history that came before him/her in order to create. Also, the poet serves as a catalyst for creation as opposed to being the creator. Furthermore, it is the words, phrases, and/or images that are chosen and placed within these works that culminate from past and present that would come to establish a new era in criticism and literature.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Monday, January 21, 2008
Forster’s Modernism: Modes and Methods
I am able to form connections based on personal or educational experience, so I continue to attempt a connection with the ideas of modernism and its notions as they are portrayed through literature. That said, I was driving home the other day and I could not stop thinking about Henrik Ibsen’s two plays, Brand (and Hedda Gabler) because of some of the descriptive passages I had been reading in Howard’s End. The contrast of colors, as both writers conveyed vivid scenery descriptions, helped lead to a nature of truth through modern tragedy. Brand, for example, used images (specific to settings) of black and white and images of shadows throughout this piece that grappled tragically with love, morality, and religion motifs. In the play’s final act and scene, “A storm is gathering …[b]lack peaks are visible here and there; then they are veiled again in mist” (Meyer 149). These images and lack of color were devices that would better construe the author’s intent. This play, published in 1865, was premature to really establish a true connection to modernism, unfortunately. Yet, I believe it is still allowing me a better insight to Forster as a whole—as he, too, dealt with the similar central themes (although differing outcomes transpire because of the time and writers’ perspectives) and used similar device to establish meaning for his reader. Forster’s lower class Londoner paints a dim picture as his, “…flat is dull as well as stuffy” (38). The exterior setting of this “flat” is not portrayed any brighter: “A block of flats, constructed with extreme cheapness, towered on either hand. Farther down the road…an old house was being demolished to accommodate another pair” (36). Later, we see London, “as a tract of quivering grey” (79). Ibsen and Forster allow me to witness their seemingly tragic truths through setting. Further, Forster permits me to observe connection through disconnection.
“Only connect” is wallpapered behind our blogging list directory for this class. I think this excerpt, taken from E.M. Forster’s 1910 novel, is a central theme for this course as we are to make connections with the works as they correlate to modernism and possibly to our larger graduate scope. Howard’s End, then, is an appropriate place to begin. Although harshly criticized by his contemporaries, the novel serves as a beginning (most certainly my beginning, anyway) to understanding and visualizing high modernism’s start from Forster’s disconcerted perspective of his ever-altering England. Between Forster’s heavily descriptive narrative and the essay, “Through Modernity: Forster’s Flux,” I came to see themes, and possibly a central theme, more clearly. I also gleaned ideas of Forster’s literary stance and form through the essays.
“He has recorded too much too literally,” asserted his modernist companion, Virginia Woolf (392). Yet, had it not been for his keen and literal observations, his readers of today would have been less aware of Forster’s personal interpretation of his changing society. “Mr. Forster is extremely susceptible to the influence of his time” (392) Had he not been vulnerable, we may not have gotten such a clear picture of the class structures and their divisions of people, places, and moral positions. It is Forster’s stark realism that brings his reader of any era and any location to better understand his. Albeit the author seems literal and descriptive in some places and symbolic and brief in others and may seem to “…lack force,” but his realistic description of place and careful use of symbolism, it seems, could be Forster’s largest literary device (394). It is with these descriptions of Howard’s End and its wych elm, for example, that we establish a sense of “home” for England. For Forster, it seems that modernism’s mechanics disconnected social classes even more than in the past. It changed morality and ethics as technology and medicine advanced. The author’s attitude adopted a form that was seen as “lack[ing] fusion” (394). It may be true that the disjointing form separates him from his literary counterparts, such as James Joyce because he does not write in stream of consciousness, but it is disputed that the novel’s form “…‘seeks to catalogue and question the chief ideological assumptions that govern modernist speech’ and that it is a meditation on modernism at large” (Thacker 48). It is this very form that makes him an artist of his time even though it may not have been received as such in 1910.
Through Forster’s personal journey of disconnection with his society, we are transported into three different places, three different homes, three different classes, and three different families. Through Modernity: Forster’s Flux explains that the description of places and people allows the reader to see that there is a clear division of these people and places, but it is not simply the disconnection that allows us to connect literally and figuratively. The essay “…explores the diverse geographies depicted in the novel and interprets the key theme of connection in a manner that differs from the orthodox by stressing the idea of spatial connections” (Thacker 46). It is the movement through the novel that establishes disconnection between people and places at first and forms an unconventional connection at its conclusion. We begin and end with Howard’s End and the wych-elm tree establishing a connection with Forster’s notion of home and idea of identity and what England’s identity should be—rural, clean, and untouched by urban/suburban sprawl. It is here we meet the wealthy English Wilcox family. We travel to the German Schlegel family’s home, Wickham Place, in suburban London and eventually to the underprivileged English Bast’s “Block B” flat. Through modern transport the three families intertwine and encroach upon each place throughout the novel. The German Schlegels and underprivileged Basts all visit Howard’s End more so then any other place in the novel. It is also interesting to note that the Schlegels and (indirectly) the Basts end up calling Howard’s End home more so then the original Wilcox inhabitants. Henry Wilcox, at the end, seems to be more of a fixture then a figure in his home. He is heard as “weary” when attempting to please everyone (241). For Margaret, Henry “fade[s] away as reality emerge[s]” (235). This establishes the sense of convergence of places and classes, which corrupts Forster’s vision of England as the age of modernization seeps forth.
“Only connect” is wallpapered behind our blogging list directory for this class. I think this excerpt, taken from E.M. Forster’s 1910 novel, is a central theme for this course as we are to make connections with the works as they correlate to modernism and possibly to our larger graduate scope. Howard’s End, then, is an appropriate place to begin. Although harshly criticized by his contemporaries, the novel serves as a beginning (most certainly my beginning, anyway) to understanding and visualizing high modernism’s start from Forster’s disconcerted perspective of his ever-altering England. Between Forster’s heavily descriptive narrative and the essay, “Through Modernity: Forster’s Flux,” I came to see themes, and possibly a central theme, more clearly. I also gleaned ideas of Forster’s literary stance and form through the essays.
“He has recorded too much too literally,” asserted his modernist companion, Virginia Woolf (392). Yet, had it not been for his keen and literal observations, his readers of today would have been less aware of Forster’s personal interpretation of his changing society. “Mr. Forster is extremely susceptible to the influence of his time” (392) Had he not been vulnerable, we may not have gotten such a clear picture of the class structures and their divisions of people, places, and moral positions. It is Forster’s stark realism that brings his reader of any era and any location to better understand his. Albeit the author seems literal and descriptive in some places and symbolic and brief in others and may seem to “…lack force,” but his realistic description of place and careful use of symbolism, it seems, could be Forster’s largest literary device (394). It is with these descriptions of Howard’s End and its wych elm, for example, that we establish a sense of “home” for England. For Forster, it seems that modernism’s mechanics disconnected social classes even more than in the past. It changed morality and ethics as technology and medicine advanced. The author’s attitude adopted a form that was seen as “lack[ing] fusion” (394). It may be true that the disjointing form separates him from his literary counterparts, such as James Joyce because he does not write in stream of consciousness, but it is disputed that the novel’s form “…‘seeks to catalogue and question the chief ideological assumptions that govern modernist speech’ and that it is a meditation on modernism at large” (Thacker 48). It is this very form that makes him an artist of his time even though it may not have been received as such in 1910.
Through Forster’s personal journey of disconnection with his society, we are transported into three different places, three different homes, three different classes, and three different families. Through Modernity: Forster’s Flux explains that the description of places and people allows the reader to see that there is a clear division of these people and places, but it is not simply the disconnection that allows us to connect literally and figuratively. The essay “…explores the diverse geographies depicted in the novel and interprets the key theme of connection in a manner that differs from the orthodox by stressing the idea of spatial connections” (Thacker 46). It is the movement through the novel that establishes disconnection between people and places at first and forms an unconventional connection at its conclusion. We begin and end with Howard’s End and the wych-elm tree establishing a connection with Forster’s notion of home and idea of identity and what England’s identity should be—rural, clean, and untouched by urban/suburban sprawl. It is here we meet the wealthy English Wilcox family. We travel to the German Schlegel family’s home, Wickham Place, in suburban London and eventually to the underprivileged English Bast’s “Block B” flat. Through modern transport the three families intertwine and encroach upon each place throughout the novel. The German Schlegels and underprivileged Basts all visit Howard’s End more so then any other place in the novel. It is also interesting to note that the Schlegels and (indirectly) the Basts end up calling Howard’s End home more so then the original Wilcox inhabitants. Henry Wilcox, at the end, seems to be more of a fixture then a figure in his home. He is heard as “weary” when attempting to please everyone (241). For Margaret, Henry “fade[s] away as reality emerge[s]” (235). This establishes the sense of convergence of places and classes, which corrupts Forster’s vision of England as the age of modernization seeps forth.
Monday, January 14, 2008
What's in a Word?
It is futile to attempt a single definition for modernism as it pertains to one era. However, if modernism is placed in the same sentence with a person or a group of people, a time, and a place, a concrete concept is carved into the word itself. As such, one must look into modernism’s origin to truly construct a concrete meaning. In order to do this, an understanding of the movement’s history and the people involved with its history must be understood.
Modernism is said to have begun in 1890 and have ended in 1940. Three tiers of this progressive movement were established within these fifty years. However, the defining textiles of modernism were clearly woven between 1910 through 1940. During this time, there were several contributing artists from various parts of the world that infused meaning into this movement as we know it today. However, the works of Virginia and Leonard Woolf, Katherine Mansfield, T.S. Eliot, Roger Fry, Duncan Grant, and Clive and Vanessa Bell brought modernism to its pinnacle, not simply in artistic form, but as a way of political and social life. “For these figures the aim could never be simply to set the imagination free; it was rather first of all to challenge an unfreedom, the oppressions of journalism, of genteel audiences, of timid readers, of political and religious orthodoxy” (Levenson 2). Along with other women noted above, Virginia Woolf also contributed critical writings on the topic of gender, which responded to a man-driven society.
“Women writers were often deemed old-fashioned or of merely anecdotal interest” (Scott 2). Yet, Woolf questioned her society’s ideas of why women were still considered a lesser sex. She did not see any reason why a woman’s craft should be looked at with any less esteem than a man’s but knew that it would not be an issue easily resolved. Woolf responded to her society in Professions for Women and asserted, “Indeed it will be a long time still, I think, before a woman can sit down to write a book without finding a phantom to be slain, a rock to be dashed against” (Norton 1348). Although Woolf was keenly aware of her changing environment, she also knew her environment was steeped in the intellectual thoughts and theories of men.
Woolf and her counterparts in Bloomsbury shared their lives through their works, as many artists tend to do. I found myself asking as I read, “What made them so different from other artists in other centuries?” They were intellectuals, yes; but, they were still considered outsiders when compared to the rest of their society because of their radical thought. It was when I began to read “Moving Through Modernity: Space and Geography that I loosely grasped what might be obvious to others. Geography and social space influenced who they were and how they conveyed themselves though their crafts. Admittedly, I have a long way to go in better understanding this and modernism as a whole, but it is a theory that I would like to investigate further.
I have, however, established that to define modernism in a neatly confined sentence or two would be too easy and would take away from the notions that created this terminology. Bloomsbury’s modernism flourished from its artistic notions because it was not created for art’s sake alone. It was as much of a social and political movement as it was an artistic one.
Modernism is said to have begun in 1890 and have ended in 1940. Three tiers of this progressive movement were established within these fifty years. However, the defining textiles of modernism were clearly woven between 1910 through 1940. During this time, there were several contributing artists from various parts of the world that infused meaning into this movement as we know it today. However, the works of Virginia and Leonard Woolf, Katherine Mansfield, T.S. Eliot, Roger Fry, Duncan Grant, and Clive and Vanessa Bell brought modernism to its pinnacle, not simply in artistic form, but as a way of political and social life. “For these figures the aim could never be simply to set the imagination free; it was rather first of all to challenge an unfreedom, the oppressions of journalism, of genteel audiences, of timid readers, of political and religious orthodoxy” (Levenson 2). Along with other women noted above, Virginia Woolf also contributed critical writings on the topic of gender, which responded to a man-driven society.
“Women writers were often deemed old-fashioned or of merely anecdotal interest” (Scott 2). Yet, Woolf questioned her society’s ideas of why women were still considered a lesser sex. She did not see any reason why a woman’s craft should be looked at with any less esteem than a man’s but knew that it would not be an issue easily resolved. Woolf responded to her society in Professions for Women and asserted, “Indeed it will be a long time still, I think, before a woman can sit down to write a book without finding a phantom to be slain, a rock to be dashed against” (Norton 1348). Although Woolf was keenly aware of her changing environment, she also knew her environment was steeped in the intellectual thoughts and theories of men.
Woolf and her counterparts in Bloomsbury shared their lives through their works, as many artists tend to do. I found myself asking as I read, “What made them so different from other artists in other centuries?” They were intellectuals, yes; but, they were still considered outsiders when compared to the rest of their society because of their radical thought. It was when I began to read “Moving Through Modernity: Space and Geography that I loosely grasped what might be obvious to others. Geography and social space influenced who they were and how they conveyed themselves though their crafts. Admittedly, I have a long way to go in better understanding this and modernism as a whole, but it is a theory that I would like to investigate further.
I have, however, established that to define modernism in a neatly confined sentence or two would be too easy and would take away from the notions that created this terminology. Bloomsbury’s modernism flourished from its artistic notions because it was not created for art’s sake alone. It was as much of a social and political movement as it was an artistic one.
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