My literary mentor was June Jordan, the most dynamic
reader of poetry I’ve ever heard. June was a poet, essayist, opera librettist, and
political activist. Listening to June recite her work was a physical
experience—I laughed, I fought back tears, I literally got goose bumps of
excitement.
 |
| June Jordan (1936–2002) |
I think the Greek philosopher Aristotle was
referring to a similar feeling in his Poetics when he talked about catharsis,
the sensation that the audience experiences in watching a tragedy in the
theater. The word catharsis comes
from the ancient Greek verb kathairein,
meaning to purge or to purify or to cleanse. When we experience deep tragedy on
stage or in a movie, our entire body feels wrung out, cleansed—but in an
uplifting way.
Interestingly, the word catarrh
in English, meaning a cold with phlegm, derives from exactly the same Greek verb.
I still remember when I read the tragic ending of Ernest Hemingway’s
antiwar novel A Farewell to
Arms as a teenager, I spontaneously burst into tears, and I had
to blow my nose many times. It was a direct physical sensation.
Great literature can also evoke laughter, which is very much
a physical sensation. There is certainly something cathartic about humor, the
way it releases what’s bottled up in us. Maybe laughter is the way that we let
go of grief. I remember as a young man attending my grandfather’s funeral.
After the ceremony at the gravesite, the family drove in several cars to my
uncle and aunt’s house for a reception. This
is going to be the saddest event of my life, I thought. What actually
happened is that family members told one funny story after another about my
grandfather—in between the tears. The humor helped us all to feel close again
to my grandfather and to recover from the loss. The same is true in literature—laughter
is a way for the body to release the grief locked in our bones and tissues.
You could say that the reader also feels erotic literature
in the body. That’s certainly another type of physical response to writing.
Reading Pablo
Neruda’s poem “Barcarole,” is an erotic experience for me, for
example. But just because a poem is arousing doesn’t necessarily make it great
writing.
This points up an interesting aspect of all writing that
affects the body—feeling literature in the body is a necessary but not a
sufficient condition for great writing. It also has to be well crafted and use
language in a way that artfully transfers meaning. But there’s no mistaking the
best literature, because we feel it in our whole body.
_________________________________
Zack’s new book of poetry, The Kama Sutra for Senior Citizens and Other Poems on Aging.
Order in the USA Order in the UK
Zack’s most recent translation:
The Water Drinkers and Other Sketches of Paris in the Romantic Era by Henry Murger
Other posts of interest:
Getting the Most from Your Writing Workshop
How Not to Become a Literary Dropout
Putting Together a Book Manuscript
Does the Muse Have a Cell Phone?
Poetic Forms: Introduction, the Sonnet, the Sestina, the Ghazal, the Tanka, the Villanelle
No comments:
Post a Comment