Firstly, a big congratulations to Jeremy of Alico Dreams, who has not only revived his blog, but has revived it as a rather good repository of poetic analysis, including quite a bit by my favorite poet, Robert Frost. An aside: the only poem I have committed to memory is Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening, and one can hear me reciting it often during these twilit months.
Jeremy's analysis, however, seems to be an exception in the field of literary analysis. During English class today, my teacher handed out copies of an analysis of Richard Wright's astonishing autobiography Black Boy (which may be one of the best books I've ever read), warning us that it was a "little dense", but that we could probably get through it. He also warned us that the writing was pretty foggy, but that the author had some good ideas, and, if anything, this should be an example of how not to write (my English teacher is pretty awesome).
He was totally correct. The entire article, while containing some interesting insights, was obscured by a thick, repulsive film of unnecessary wording and pointlessly complex phrasing. While I should probably not be the one to criticize people for being eloquent (my propensity for polysyllabic verbage was actually the subject of a prayer by my youth minister once), I came away, not just with some ideas about Wright's feelings when he wrote his seminal book, but with a disdain for the incredibly pretentious bent of literary criticism.
For example, the author of the article used the world "dysconscious" four times, despite the fact that the only dictionary entries I can find for it redirect me to "subconscious". As well, the phrase "psychic modes" clearly stood out to me as a bit of pandering to those who can read the phrases as opposed to those who can understand the ideas. I can't see why else somebody would use this confusing phrase to say "mental states" besides to deliberately make somebody think that their article was "intellectual". It seemed like the author of the article, which used eight pages to barely prove a single point, was just trying to make others believe that his ideas were correct because he was able to use long words.
I've never been a big fan of people who try to use writing as a tool for distortion and cloudiness instead of truth and clarity, but the work this was written about brings the irony to a whole new level. Richard Wright had an exceptional gift for being both eloquent and understandable in his writing. Some of those who analyze his work are neither.
Post script: As usual, somebody else has said the same thing as I have, but much more precisely and beautifully.
2 comments:
My 2¢: What is the point of talking if people can't understand you? Unless, of course, you have a beautiful voice, but then you're communicating something else.
I like the circle we have going here: I mention Wright's snowy haiku, you talk about snowy woods and Wright's autobiography, now I suppose I should mention that the saw did in fact mean, in its dysconscious-inflected psychic mode, to prove that saws know what supper means.
I like "Snowy Woods," but I can't wrap my mind around the repetition of the last line. It can't be as easy as the slow realization that he has too much to do to stop and watch the snow fall.
Ooh. Maybe that's exactly what he's saying: that we should never be too busy to stop and watch the snow fall. Frost is so tricky. His verse is so . . . Rockwellian . . . until you've read it 800 times. Then the rewards of his poetry leap out at you, and you share a chuckle with America's (perhaps) greatest poet.
And his work syncs up surprisingly well with Jay-Z (starting at 2:24)
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