You can download the complete working paper here:
Abstract, contents, and introduction below.
Abstract: In The Craft of Poetry Attridge and Staten propose a method of minimal interpretation that they illustrate through dialog with one another. In minimal reading one dispenses with theory-driven methods and seeks to come as close to a literal interpretation of the poem as possible. Moreover by dialoguing with one another Attridge and Staten force themselves to justify their interpretations in explicit terms. I offer general methodological commentary and comment on their treatment of five poems: William Blake, The Sick Rose; Langston Hughes, Lennox Avenue: Midnight; Emily Dickinson, I started Early; John Milton, To a Solemn Music; and Wilfred Owen, Futility.
CONTENTS
0. Introduction: The Limits of “Reading” 2
1. What is Minimal Reading? 9
2. Figuration: The Sick Rose 14
3. Formal Features of The Sick Rose 25
4. Langston Hughes Crafts a Ring 28
5. Dickinson started early, turned a figure with the sea 31
6. Some Notes on Milton’s Solemn Music 36
7. Wilfred Owen’s Futility and the issue of historical context 42
8. What (do they think) they are up to? 46
9. Reading, Meaning, Techne 51
Introduction: The Limits of “Reading”
This working paper consists of nine posts from my blog, New Savanna, which I’ve recently written about The Craft of Poetry: Dialogues on Minimal Interpretation (2015), by Derek Attridge and Henry Staten. Three of them, the first one and the last two, are about method and theory – “theory” in the general sense, not in the peculiar sense it assumed in literary studies in recent decades. The other six posts engage Attridge and Staten on five of the poems they examine in the book.
Read it, but…
Just what I think about this book, that is tricky. On the one hand I recommend it to anyone with a serious interest in the analysis of poetry. It exhibits useful analytic skills and delivers fascinating accounts of an interesting range of texts. And it is accessible to those with relatively little experience (such as undergraduates) while also giving the most experienced professionals things to think about. What’s not to like?
And yet, as I ask in my penultimate post: What do they think they’re up to? Yes, they are offering remedial instruction, perhaps even deeply remedial, but they also write as though their method of dialogic poetics, as they call it, offers the profession a new departure, and of that I’m skeptical. I can see some special journal issues being devoted to dialogic poetics. In fact I think it would be a fine idea – can you imagine, say, an issue of ELH in which every article address a text or three, no more, and multiplied authored by critics in conversation with one another? For that is how each chapter of The Craft of Poetry is written; Attridge and Staten address remarks, questions, and responses to one another. I can also imagine some conferences in the same vein, with presentations by two or more critics and perhaps even some “open” sessions where a text is proposed and those present discuss it in real time – I’m thinking of those marvelous sessions that Haj Ross had at his languaging conferences at the University of North Texas back in the 1990s. But I can’t really see much more than that. I can’t see it becoming a way of professional life.
The problem is that Attridge and Staten do not question what is in effect the unstated but foundational assumption of academic literary criticism, the primacy of discursive thinking [1]. This assumption is maintained through the trope of “reading” – the term used to assert continuity between poetry (or any literary text) and the analysis and explication of poetry, as though they are essentially the same mental act. The pull of this trope is so strong that Franco Moretti even adopted it for forms of computational criticism that are obviously discontinuous with reading, as the term is ordinarily understood, by virtue of the fact a critical phase of the analytic procedure is carried out by a digital computer. Distant reading, Moretti’s term, simply is not a form of reading at all [2].
Any form of explication, analysis, or interpretation, by whatever method, even the “minimal” (my scare quotes, not theirs) method Attridge and Staten employ is a secondary, a derivative, activity that is not continuous with poetry itself. Poetry leaves one kind of footprint in the mind and the world, while its analysis does something else. The relationship between these two kinds of work is not at all obvious, hence Archibald’s MacLeish’s assertion that “Poems should not mean/but be.” The trope of reading undermines that assertion through the trope of distance. When we undertake a close reading (a term, by the way, that Attridge and Staten explicitly reject) we are so close to the text and we might as well be reading it. And when we use a computer to crunch over 1000 texts, well, we’re no longer very close to any of them. And so we assert distance, and that enables us to pretend that it is still a kind of reading and so essentially continuous with those texts.
We can see this problematic played out in the title essay of Geoffrey Hartman’s 1975 collection, The Fate of Reading. In that essay Hartman is grappling with the implications of semiotics and linguistics for literary criticism. Complaining that contemporary theorists—mostly French or those under French influence—have come to privilege analytic writing over reading, Hartman asks (p. 272): “To what can we turn now to restore reading, or that conscious and scrupulous form of it we call literary criticism?” That is, how can we make our (necessarily written) critical practice continuous with the experience of reading texts? He then observes: “modern ‘rithmatics’ – semiotics, linguistics, and technical structuralism – are not the solution. They widen, if anything, the rift between reading and writing.” I believe that Hartman is correct but I do not share his nostalgic delusion one can get “closer” to the text through the proper method. Moreover I regard the rejection of the world of linguistics and technical structuralism as a mistake.
Moreover I note that that world is one where discursive thinking is augmented by some other mode – or modes – and that augmentation is essential. It may involve diagrams – think of all the diagrams Lévi-Strauss produced – or mathematical and logical formalism, as in Chomskyian linguistics, or empirical investigation. Whatever it is, it is essential to the enterprise. The investigation must go beyond the bounds of discursive thinking. I suspect, though obviously I cannot prove, that it is the importance of these other modes of thought that bothered Hartman. They intruded on his illusion of closeness.
In search of the “generative system of poetry”
With that in mind let’s take a look at a passage from the introduction to The Craft of Poetry (p. 2):
Our aim in publishing our dialogues on poetry was to make a case for certain skills of poetry reading – including prosody – that we believe constitute basic poem literacy, and which over the past four decades have been shoved aside in many literature departments [...] we wanted to demonstrate how poems can be read based on the assumption that it is not, in the first instance, theories, “interpretive communities,” readerly competence, or historical forces, but poets, and behind poets the techne (art or craft; art considered as craft), or generative system of poetry, that “produces” poems.
That is all well and good, but just what do they mean by “generative system of poetry”?