eBook
Related collections and offers
Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781912480203 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Hawthorn Press |
| Publication date: | 09/19/2019 |
| Series: | Education |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 256 |
| File size: | 2 MB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
Minding The Hearth
First the making of this book is placed in a personal and historical context. Its path and practice are then enlarged upon, inhibitions recognised and creative permissions granted. Once initial aims have been stated, the writing begins – social exercises to help with group forming. Word play with nouns, verbs and adjectives expands into a consideration of the poetic line, sentences and paragraphs.
Four basic sentence types are introduced in a diagram as seeds for our work together, and the elements of Earth, Water, Air and Fire lend their qualities to both language and movement. This fourfold archetype, introduced here, gives structure and direction to the book.
Discovering Writing as a Path of Transformation
The writing courses that I offer begin with who you are, what your aims are, what the story is that brings you here, so it seems fitting that before I invite you to pick up your pen I should relate more fully the personal circumstance and needs that stirred me to write the book.
Awakenings
I was lucky to have a mother whose milk was laced with nursery rhymes, myths and fairy tales, and a father who thought Winnie-the-Pooh was one of the best poets alive. He also filled me with the love of history that moves through these pages. This was given. Then, aged 17, I was relieved to find the stirrings of my inner life echoed in the writings of William Wordsworth and S.T. Coleridge, two of the great 'Romantic' poets as we call them. John Keats was another. They shocked me into writing my own things, both verse and story. Here, though I blush to share them, are a couple of lines (addressed to the moon) from my first poem:
To me alone you sing your song, For these poor fools prefer to slumber on.
High talk! It's mostly the 'fools' these days that I choose for company. Yet embarrassment and creativity are fast friends, and silliness, as you will see, is a vital strand of the work I do. That poem, despite its adolescent arrogance, reveals an interest in inspirational sources, a trust that the stones, leaves and beasts speak to us if our ears are open. It seemed natural after that awakening to take up the study of English literature. This, at the University of Sussex, is what I did.
Academic studies
Looking back, it is clear that studies there involved a conscious separation between the content of a text studied and the student's personal and creative life. A friend in the theology department, for instance, received back one of her more impassioned essays with the comment, 'You are not here to engage in a personal search'. At the time such attitudes enraged me. Writing for me was a path of inner transformation as well as a potential task in the world. Not that I regret those years. My tutors were honest in the stance they took, testing the romanticism of my youth, and I am thankful to them for showing me the shape of the problem; but I had to turn elsewhere to find the mentors who could help me resolve it.
Poetic mentors
First there was George Dowden, an American poet long resident in Brighton. He represented quite the other pole to what he called the 'word-poetry' of my academic studies. We wrestled a good deal afterwards about whether 'word-poetry' and the 'life-poetry' of the American Beat generation that inspired him are exclusive of each other. If I sat with him now on the park bench he dedicated to himself before he died I would thank him for demonstrating what it is to be a writing teacher. He helped me with my craft and enlarged my vision of what is happening in literature. Through him I began to feel part of a community of young writers, linked by a network of small magazines. These included Eleventh Finger which I edited with Paul Evans who, so young, fell to his death climbing Snowdon. I invoke the continuing presence of these companions as I write this.
That was a time, the mid 1960s, of experimentation in literary forms – the musical and sculptural aspects of language explored, respectively, in Bob Cobbing's 'sound poetry' and Tom Phillips' 'concrete poetry' are just two examples. Figures such as Allen Ginsberg and Jerome Rothenberg from America were rekindling a spirit of romanticism in this land which, in the grim post-war 1950s, had turned against it. Something in the air was different. I managed to get a ticket for Bob Dylan's concert, and another for the 'Wholly Communion' event in the Albert Hall where many of those Beat poets were present – a seminal, if uncomfortable, moment for English poetry. This period culminated in my meetings (in London and then San Francisco) with the poet Robert Duncan, who recognised a potential in my work which took me a while to grow into. He has been a major inspiration for my writing, upholding the 'office' of the poet, teaching me that there is life in language and, conversely, that the seemingly random happenings of our lives speak truly who we are. We need such mentors. I quote him often in these pages.
Finding a work
But how could a moonstruck poet find meaningful work in the world and earn some pennies besides? Many friends were dropping out of the academies. By some good chance I dropped into one. Emerson College, not far from Brighton, was founded by Francis Edmunds, who, when asked was it 'anti-university', said no, it was 'pro-human'. For two years I trained there to teach literature and gymnastics in Waldorf schools until one day, facing my first class, my energies suddenly found the direction they were waiting for. This was the beginning of my research in the art of teaching.
Emerson College is named after the New England philosopher Ralph Waldo Emerson. Why him? Because of his fundamental trust, perhaps, that 'nothing at last is sacred but the integrity of your own mind'. The college (and that bold statement) is grounded, however, in the work of Rudolf Steiner (1861–1925). His vision provides the context for what I have brought together in this book. What attracted me most immediately was that in his work, to use Owen Barfield's words, Romanticism had 'come of age'. Not only did Steiner (like Ralph Waldo) stand by the truth of the Imagination; he explored ways for this faculty to be developed as a mode of exact perception and applied in a holistic approach to practical things such as farming, medicine, art therapy, economics and education. He spoke also about the faculties of Inspiration and Intuition – progressive steps towards rediscovering the soul or in-side of the world which our prevalent consciousness so calamitously shrouds over.
I began to see how my old question about the split between objective study and personal search might be resolved. The modern critical mind, for example, enables us to analyse language into its operative parts – phonemes, syllables, words, sentences. With a little exercise of the imagination, however, we can perceive that the laws of grammar are an outward manifestation of the laws at work in our own being, and that the same intelligent order can be apprehended in the gestures of the natural world. I will enlarge on this later. Sing Me The Creation is built on four archetypal acts of grammar – Stating, Questioning, Exclaiming and Commanding. Language can be regenerated by activating the ideals they carry.
Living thinking
Owen Barfield was a member of the 'Inklings' group in Oxford alongside J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis. I was present at his 90th birthday, where, after some formal speeches, Robert Bly took up his bouzouki and sang the praises of this man who, between shuffling papers in his solicitor's office, re-forged Steiner's words and work for the English language. Barfield's urgent theme was the evolution of human consciousness from 'original participation' (where self and world were one) towards 'final [or conscious] participation'. Viewing the breakdown of culture and community in our time as a consequence of the loss of the one and the lack, as yet, of the other, he fought continuously for a life in thinking beyond the analytical intellect that so often leaves the world in fragments. He held that the creative 'Genius' or Daemon that once inspired from without must now be found within us. His early book Poetic Diction gave me clues as to how the idealism of my student days could be grounded in practical activities and made fruitful.
The Ancient Hearth: A Historical Context for Our Work
At the very beginning of English literature stand the words:
Sing me the Creation
or in the Anglo-Saxon of the original, 'Sing me Frumsceaft'. They appear in the Venerable Bede's seventh-century history of Caedmon, the first English poet whom we know by name. One evening when Caedmon was feasting with his friends he saw the harp being passed around the hearth fire towards him. Feeling shy about his lack of skill in singing, he gave some excuse about having to look after the animals and slipped away. Out there in the barn he fell asleep, and in his dream an angel came to him and said,
'Caedmon, sing me something.' He answered and said, 'I cannot sing so I left the feasting and came here because I could not.' He who spoke to him again said, 'Nevertheless, you can sing to me.' He said, 'What shall I sing'? He said, 'Sing me the Creation.'
It is a marvellous, twofold commission, and central to the work of any poet,
• to praise the glory of the created world
• to care for the sources of creativity and imagination
Caedmon composed in his sleep a hymn to the Creator [see here] and next morning he knocked at the door of the nearby monastery to ask for help in writing it down. Later he joined the monastic community and became a maker of verses on sacred themes.
Like a clean animal he ruminated and converted all into the sweetest music.
I am in two minds about Caedmon. On the one hand, he received this great commission from the angel and passed it on to us. On the other, his act of breaking the tribal circle epitomises a fundamental shift in Western culture, away from a community of language around the hearth towards our image of the lonely poet pouring a personal anguish upon the page, or of the professional writer intent upon fame, originality and commercial success. It was a necessity of the times; the tribal lore was bound to fall apart in the face of a gospel that preached,
I am come to set a man at variance against his father, and the daughter against her mother, and the daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law. And a man's foes shall be they of their own household. He that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me.
Today with equal necessity the urge arises for a renewal of that hearth, no longer through the blood-ties of the immediate 'kin', but in free companionship, whatever our sex, age, race, religion, colour or culture. You noticed, I hope, the 'Welcome' on the doormat as you came into this book [see here]. It arises out of a longing for such renewal. Though clothed in the English tradition of my upbringing, this book is dedicated to these ideals.
Rather than trying to meet everyone on their own ground, I wish to acknowledge both the gifts and the limitations of my resources, and to trust that those with other cultural or religious backgrounds will feel inwardly free to transpose the content of this book into a mode suited to their story. My research into creative sources has led me to take interest in meditative practice, but this does not imply that I have knocked on any door for exclusive access. I have no doctrinal message to impose and it is not my business to tell you what to write about. Respect for human freedom is fundamental to the work. If you have something burning inside you to say, my aim is to serve that. I am part of the circle, engaged as you are in piecing together a meaningful story.
Sounding the Heart
Please look again at the heart-book on the front cover. The Saxon poet Widsith, wandering from hearth to hearth in the practice of his craft, is described as unlocking his 'word-hoard'. His was neither a personal nor an original art in the modern sense, but an art that drew upon the common heart and memory of the folk, speaking their origins, their common story.
With the breakdown of established myth and religion, and with the mixing of cultures in our times, a group or class intent upon writing and creating together must find some other starting point. The poet W.B. Yeats (in 'The Circus Animals' Desertion') expressed this clearly:
Now that my ladder's gone, I must lie down where all the ladders start, In the foul rag-and-bone shop of the heart.
Maybe when we meet there seems to be nothing between us; yet if you give me your word I can reply with the next, collaborative, responding to questions asked, needs recognised, testing each other's immediate joys and fears in the writing. That is how I started my work as a poet-teacher – with nothing almost, with simple human acts of language – until I became aware that through a word or a sentence shared in writing we could move into the presence of a communion greater than anything I had intended. At such moments it was no longer a classroom with me as teacher at the centre. It became a 'circle of truth, poetry and love' in which we are all servants of the Word, the Logos, that is beyond any skill or genius we may have in language.
What a lot of long-gone men I have named as sources of this sourcebook! They need to be there. But so, too, do the women – defenders of 'ancient springs' such as Kathleen Raine and inspirers of new ones such as Hilda Doolittle (H.D.), Denise Levertov and M.C. Richards. Other women very much alive have been among the midwives of this work and close collaborators. Their writings too are included.
A Sourcebook
If this is a 'sourcebook' I do not mean only a textbook to teach competence in the craft of writing. Call it a spelling book, a bundle of 'spells', powers in words to carry you into that place of the heart from which true language comes. The sign X (abbreviation for 'exercise') marks the spot where word and world touch and quicken, a power of multiplication beyond that modern academic tendency which seeks merely to add to our store of knowledge. Any page you turn to could be the crossing point. My trust is that each of us has a unique voice that despite the inhibitions and thwartings that life brings can receive permission to speak. It is the fundamental office of both poet and teacher to serve this aim, and the writing circle – so long as it is free from competitive or commercial interests – can be a means of achieving it.
Inhibitions
From childhood we live with the insistence of parents and teachers that language (and thence our thinking and feeling) should be brought within the civilised bounds of correct pronunciation and spelling, proper sentence structure, essays having a beginning, middle and end, and so on. We are taught to be truthful at all times and, of course, not silly or boastful. Perhaps the greatest inhibition is that language must be a tool for meaning – absolutely necessary, no doubt (and the laws of grammar are fundamental to this book), but taken to an extreme this insistence crushes the life and play out of the language; writing and speaking become a reiterating of what we know and not the result of listening, not a discovery of what moves in the moment. Thus our word-hoard gets locked up inside us, our true voice stifled; and when the burning harp comes near us Caedmon's blush is on our faces. Meaningful crafting can only begin when words are set free from fear and habits.
Permissions
Therefore at the outset of this work the following poetic licence is granted:
1. You may break the rules of any task here, or make 'mistakes'.
2. You may when the need arises use 'bad' English, begin in the middle, leave your work unfinished, etc.
3. You may write in collaboration with your neighbour in the circle.
4. You may copy your neighbour's work.
5. You may be silly or meaningless. 'Absolute rubbish' is permitted.
6. You may tell 'lies', brag and exaggerate.
7. You may speak to things and flowers and animals and strangers and to yourself. You may speak for them.
8. You may be personal and 'subjective' and sentimental – a participator and exclaimer as well as the detached observer and reporter.
9. You may mix your metaphors and enjoy yourself.
The 'spells' I referred to share a root with the German word 'spiel', meaning 'play'. It is in this spirit that I seek to engage you.
Playing
The philosopher, theologian, scientist, butcher and candlestick-maker each have their tasks and truths to be serious about. But what does the poet have to deal with seriously unless it is the realm of play, which of all realms seems the least to warrant it?
Friedrich Schiller says in his Aesthetic Letters that most of the time we are bound – either by the laws of logic or by outer necessity. Only in play, he proposes, are we free from them, or free to balance their one-sided tyrannies.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Sing Me The Creation"
by .
Copyright © 2015 Paul Matthews.
Excerpted by permission of Hawthorn Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
About the Author,
A Welcome,
Foreword by Robert Sardello,
Before We Begin,
Knock, Knock,
The Purpose of this Book,
A Developmental Path,
1. Minding The Hearth,
Discovering Writing as a Path,
The Ancient Hearth (a Historical Context),
Sounding the Heart,
A Sourcebook,
Inhibitions,
Permissions,
Playing,
Writing in Circles,
Beginning to Write,
Parts of Speech,
Spinning a Line,
Sentenced to Life,
The Four Temperaments,
Earth, Water, Air and Fire,
Four Modes of Perception,
Trespassing,
The Creative Power of the Word,
2. Stating,
Statement,
Naming,
Let There be Light,
Two Gestures of Naming,
Definition and Characterisation,
Split Definitions,
Characterisation through Comparison,
Simile,
Synaesthesia,
Blazoning,
'Of' and 'With',
Metaphor,
Uttering the Inner,
Correspondences,
Language as Picture and Sculpture,
Sources of Image,
Opening the Present,
Memory,
Paintings and Photographs,
Fantasy,
Wondrous Sight,
Lying,
Paradox,
Word Play,
Dreaming,
True Imagination,
3. Questioning,
Question,
Wondering,
Conversation,
Jeopardy,
The Path of the Poets,
Personification,
Letters,
Party Games,
Pens and Swords,
Contraries,
Riddles,
Only Joking,
Sacred Dialogue,
Oracles,
4. Holding The Centre,
The Caduceus,
A Useful Diagram,
Healing Our Words,
5. Exclaiming,
Exclamation,
Skipping and Throwing,
A Language for Feeling,
Sounds and Syllables,
Strange Tongues,
Sound Poetry,
Nonsense,
Sound Sense,
Naming Again,
Fictionary,
Alph, the Sacred River,
Vowels,
Assonance and Consonance,
Rhyme,
Consonants,
Alliteration,
Saxon and Latin,
Translation,
Only Emotion Endures,
6. Commanding,
Command,
Abracadabra,
Invoking the Muses,
Language as Movement,
Grammar and Gymnastics,
Squiggles and Signatures,
What is a Sentence?,
Lines Breaks as Punctuation,
Repetition,
Verse,
Alliterative Verse,
Motion and Emotion,
Rhythm,
Meter,
Putting Our Feet in It,
Verse Practice,
Verse and Universe,
Prose,
Personal Style,
Sentenced by Sentences?,
Chance,
The Stream of Consciousness,
Free Verse,
The Healing and Protective Word,
Four Hallows,
7. Mending The Circle,
Storytime,
Fibs,
Fable and Parable,
Dream,
The Truth of Fairy Tales,
The Creation Story,
Before the Beginning,
In the Beginning,
The Four Elements,
The Creative Act,
Where the Ladders Start,
Ending Where We Began,
Appendices,
The Quintessence,
The Human Form Divine,
Postscript,
Some Other Sourcebooks,
Notes,
Sources of Illustrations,
Index,