Out of Egypt:

Baby Steps in Criticism

I wrote the latter part of this journal entry (for Dr. Barker's sometimes-stimulating yet far-too-early Methods of Literary Study class, which I have today at eight) while listening to "Christmas Time is Here." Shades of Royal Tenenbaums.

Neruda and Vince Guaraldi. Lovely. Is he still alive?

Speaker and Audience in the Residencia Poems

Never before have I read so much lyric poetry at a single sitting. I agree with Gerard Manley Hopkins that poetry’s native element is the spoken word, in accordance with its origins. Thus poetry is meant to be performed. I was not able to do that in this case.

Perhaps poetry’s essentially performative character, however, can actually serve as an interpretive key to Neruda’s poetry. Much can be discovered critically by considering the voice of the speaker and the likely character of the individual whom he is addressing. I obviously cannot speak on every poem in this week’s reading, however, so I will simply speak on a few that I found particularly striking. Coincidentally (or perhaps not so coincidentally), these also have quite distinctive voices – and audiences.

Neruda spoke truly when he said that he is not one but many, both in life and art. His poetry reflects this multiplicity of voices.

The first poem in this week’s reading, “Nocturnal Statutes,” seems spoken out of mania and artist’s egotism. I doubt this is the true Neruda speaking – if the rest of his work can be any sure guide. “The night creature, the intelligent being, myself” – is this how a sane man speaks? These words remind me of myself during my own manic break, when I had delusions of grandeur. I cannot imagine any human audience to which these words could appropriately be addressed.

“Lone Gentleman” is similarly spoken by a deranged individual. Here the poet is voyeur, is Freud. The power of these sexually charged lines is unmistakable, yet the title hints, at least, that the speaker does not share in the goings-on. Rather, he derives his pleasure from what he can overhear and see and the interpretations he can construe for other’s acts, as he whiles away his indolent days and nights. He speaks amorously, but it is only himself he pleasures.

The speaker of the following poem, however, has known the romantic entanglement the previous speaker, cynical as he is, has sought to avoid. He dances the “Widower’s Tango” in a poem shaped like a discursive letter, full of emotion and non-physical caresses. This poem, unlike those I have spoken about previously, has an audience, clearly specified: Maligna, the woman the speaker presumably once loved. She is defined, however, largely by her absence – and by the speaker’s regretful desire. I can see her, however, almost like a Renoir painting, lonelily drinking her afternoon tea.

Posted by donovan at 2:13 AM | Category: Literature

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