Before we examine "Bird-Witted," it is important to define "object poetry" more succinctly. This definition is embodied in David Ignatow's statement that "I should be content/to look at a mountain/for what it is/and not as a comment/on my life." The object poem then, is anti-confessional. It serves as an attempt to describe the object empirically, as a thing-in-itself, but in so doing it allows us grasp for the psyche of the object. Thus, natural objects are presented as autonomous. As William Carlos Williams points out in his essay "Marianne Moore," in this poetry there is no need to have the poem "stand in its place beyond "nature." When commenting on Moore's line, "dazzled by the apple," he states that "one is not made to feel that as an apple it has anything particularly to do with poetry or that as such it needs special treatment." Through this technique the object poet is no longer anthropomorphizing the object. This constitutes a respect for the object's capacity to stand on its own and thus grants it an autonomy that is lacking in much of the Western tradition. For the whole, "Bird-Witted" is thematically straight-forward. The title plays on the ordinary perception of the cat as the cunning animal and the bird as the victim. Moore gives us a view of "three/large fledgling mocking birds" standing underneath a pussy-willow tree. Although their eyes are "innocent," and they are "feebly solemn" (both phrases express a degree of value judgement in the image), we get a distinctly visual image of the birds in a row, with their mother bringing them food. We hear the birds "squeak" as the the mother bird feeds them a beetle: ...the still living
beetle has dropped
out, she picks it up and puts
it in again. The young birds then display their wings. The reader is invited to engage in a sensual event, where we see and hear the subject of the poem. Moore does not embellish this action with a "reading" of the event. We encounter an attempt to grasp the psyche of the mother bird: What delightful note
with rapid unexpected flute-
sounds leaping from the throat
of the astute
grown bird, comes back to one from
the remote
unenergetic sun-
lit air before
the brood was here? How harsh
the bird's voice has become. A cat approaches the birds, and creeps slowly toward them. The three birds are not used to this animal, but "make room" for him. The mother momentarily finds the twig which she planned to perch on, then swoops down to protect the birds and "half-kills" the cat. We are, once again, immersed in the clarity of moment. The subject matter becomes nothing less (or more) than the moment and the objects within it. Thus, the focus is throughout the poem on providing greater detail to the thing-in-itself, whether it be the birds or the cat. We leave the poem with the moment. The poem exists externally to the self and has a space of its own, where the event can transpire for itself. A reference that represents a consciousness beyond the object itself is the description of the mother's "feelings" during the imminent attack. She is "nerved by what chills/the blood, and by hope e "object poem" when Moore describes it as "intellectual." So, the poem does not entirely match the ideal type for the object poem. Moore is not taking a "photograph" of the event and presenting it with an empathy for the creatures in the poem by not imposing any of her own human conceptions upon them. But, as one can imagine, this would be nearly impossible. However, the bulk of the poem addresses its subjects independently of a more expansive moral framework. It refrains from value-judgements. In "What Are Years?," we encounter her gravitation towards a direct commentary on the nature of existence. Before we examine the poem, it is necessary to define the terms "direct commentary on the nature of existence" and "value judgements." We are entering the field of the normative in this ideal type. Though the writer is not necessarily passing judgement in the moral sense on the subject, the nature of the subject itself is subjective, replete with both observations on values while possessing valuations. In contrast to empirical observation (though the object poem may be "imaginary," it addresses the object itself), the normative subjectively evaluates its object. This normative ambiguity of observation on human nature and its subjective evaluation is a crucial part of the artistic endeavor. It is not a "mistake" in the realm of artistic creation, but an example of its breadth and humanity. A direct commentary on the nature of existence is an explicitly normative statement on states of being. Value judgements are the normative statements which make up such a commentary. Perhaps the most important aspect of this ideal type is that its rhetoric often relies on statements, rather than image, metaphor, or simile. The importance of this technique as a separate mode of consciousness is discussed following the analysis of "The Fish" and in the conclusion. The title itself invites the reader to reflect on the nature of time. The first three lines elucidate a kind of thinking where the writer wonders about human emotions and expresses her questions directly: What is our innocence,
what is our guilt? All are
naked, none is safe. This direct expression of an imminent sense of danger is part of a "great ethical crystallization" which Richard Howard describes in "Monkey Business of Modernism." It is by no mistake that Ezra Pound read this poem at her memorial service. There is room for debate regarding the extent of value-judgements in "Bird-Witted," but they pale in contrast to this poem. The poet is not entirely "in" the poem, as the reference point remains at "our" rather than "I." But, one senses that the author is in this poem emotionally, even personally. We are not provided with a scene whereby a certain action can take place. This is the realm of reflection. It will be useful to examine the value-judgements that Moore makes and how she communicates them in a closer textual analysis.
The first stanza of the poem delineates the moral dilemmas that one often seeks to answer through religion. The questions of innocence and guilt are, within the Western tradition, at least as old as The Old Testament. In the second sentence, there is an existential doubt reminiscent of the first two sections of Ecclesiastes. Moore then wonders where the courage will come from to face up to the ever-present danger that mankind faces. In the second stanza, Moore values a person who can stand up and accept life on life's terms, including the process of death: ....He
sees deep and is glad, who
accedes to mortality
and in his imprisonment rises
upon himself as
the sea in a chasm, struggling to be
free and unable to be,
in its surrendering
finds its continuing. This powerful portrayal of the human struggle is moving because it is so direct. The first "image" in the poem is "the sea in a chasm." This image functions not as an object in itself, but as a simile for the limitations of human existence. The sea faces its boundaries and goes on, like the person "who sees deep and is glad." In the third stanza, Moore affirms both strength and feeling in six words: "So he who strongly feels,/ behaves." This introduces a new concept to the poem in that Moore is not only affirming acceptance, but also feeling. Thus, we express ourselves and become stronger through our expression. But, this act must be conscious. Thus, the bird "steels/ his form straight up." Webster's New Universal Unabridged Dictionary (second edition) defines the verb "steel" as: "1. to overlay, point, or edge with steel; 2. to make hard, tough, relentless, unfeeling, etc. 3. to cause to resemble steel in qualities." We even have to be "unfeeling" about our expression, our feelings in order to find joy. We "sing" and receive a message: satisfaction is a lowly
thing, how pure a thing is joy.
This is mortality,
this is eternity.
This is undoubtedly, a poem full of direct messages and subsequent value-judgements on what it takes to experience joy. Although it contains these judgements, it refrains from the blatant didacticism which plagues a large portion of "moral" poetry. In contrast to "Bird-Witted," "What Are Years?" is full of copular verbs. States of being must be directly addressed because questions and answers are categorical. "Bird-Witted" rarely utilizes the copular verb, as Moore opts for words of action. Furthermore, as was observed above, we are the subject of the poem. When we are not, the subject is sea or the bird, both of which are similes and metaphors for our condition. Both poems share the stanzaic structure. It is as if Moore has created this artifice to ward off the very danger that plagues the birds in "Bird-Witted" and mankind in "What Are Years." The stanzaic structure is rigid, but completely arbitrary. Moore is like the bird who experiences (and creates) joy within the confines of the poem's "chasm." The stanzaic structure holds her "captive" and in her "surrendering," she finds a strength. Furthermore, this is not a form imposed by others, but self-willed. Through this form, Moore affirms the autonomy of the modern poet. In "What Are Years?" we do get a deep sense of the poet's sense of what she values, with a minimum of imagery. This direct commentary on the nature of existence stands in stark contrast to "Bird-Witted." Yet, it does not entirely fit the ideal type of the direct commentary on the nature of existence. There are two images in the poem, which are used as vehicles for expressing her normative judgements. These images are infused with meaning and represent a gravitation towards our third "ideal type." However, the bulk of the poem remains direct, with the similes operating towards explicit meanings. The person who "accedes to mortality" is just like "the sea in a chasm." Thus, when we do encounter an image, it refrains from obscurity. Although we see shades of an indirect commentary on the nature of existence, the poem remains predominantly direct in its presentation. Before analyzing "The Fish," it is important to note that "Bird-Witted" and "What Are Years?" are not merely two of her poems, but examples of a trend within Moore's writing. They serve as two of the best "distillations" of the "object" poem and the direct value judgement poem. However, Moore's talent and versatility often comes to fruition in the poems where both these qualities are utilized and combined to infuse objects with meaning. In both the following examples, Moore fuses these modes in a seemingly effortless manner that merits attention. There is a dialectic between the object and the direct value judgement, which results in a synthesis. The most obvious example of this synthesis is the metaphor. The image carries a message by virtue of its relationship to the other images, as well as through inference. However, this category is not only about metaphors and indirect value judgements. It is also about metamorphosis. We encounter not only the synthesis, but the actual dialectic taking place within the poem. Thus, we find objects confronting meaning and eventually obtaining meaning beyond the thing-in-itself. The text reveals the process by which things take on meaning. "The Fish" is a classic text of metamorphosis. The poem is full of objects, yet they are not presented as "representational." Fish "wade through black jade" and "submerged shafts of the sun (are) split like spun glass." Whereas the feeding of the young birds by the mother is a thing-in-itself in "Bird-Witted," these images interfuse the sensory and the evaluative. We can imagine the sun, even see it in our mind's ey The first seven lines of the text create a deadly tone. Moore speaks not of mussels, but of mussel-shells, which suggests that they are dead. They are in "ash-heaps," where one filament of life remains: Of the crow-blue mussel-shells, one keeps
adjusting the ash-heaps;
opening and shutting itself like an
injured fan.
Yet, even this remaining mussel is "like an injured fan." Because it is injured among a pile of dead mussels, the reader is unlikely to consider its chances of survival. It can only "adjust" the "ash-heaps" and thus, it can only mildly influence its imminent destiny. We are witnessing the death process. These are not purely empirical images, nor do they solely represent an attempt to grasp the psyche of the object. Although the poem is called "The Fish," there is a sub-text that is absent from poems such as "Bird-Witted." Through her use of associative logic, we are structurally forced to think about what this poem means. Whereas the object-poem is a straightforward depiction of a cat being outwitted (for example), this poem (which only mentions "fish" i.e. jelly-fish, once in the text) is not only about the ocean, but about the entire life-process. It is also obvious that the presentation of the poem is different from the likes of "What Are Years," which directly addresses human-kind's dilemma in the first lines. The next images are of the barnacles' inability to "hide." We once again are facing a situation where the image presented is blatantly vulnerable. The shafts of sun are so powerful and swift that they are unavoidable. By stating that the barnacles cannot hide, Moore indirectly expresses that there is something to hide from. The sun is a powerful image of unavoidable nature. From our temporal perspective, it is eternal light. Furthermore, because Moore uses an image of light, we are forced to see things as they are. From the unconquerable dark ash-heaps to the swift "shafts of the sun," we are presented with a force which is both dark and light, but in both cases, inescapable.
As we see this "turquoise sea of bodies," we are presented with another metaphor for the inescapable power of nature: The water drives a wedge
of iron through the iron edge
of the cliff; whereupon the stars, pink
rice-grains, ink-
bespattered jelly fish, crabs like green
lilies, and submarine
toadstools, slide each on the other.
The multiple images of stars and organisms sliding on each other within the frame of the text reveals that this is a tribute not only to the strength of the water and the cliff, but also to the vibrant interconnectedness of nature. Yet, once again, the recurrent theme of metamorphosis is inherent in the transformation of the cliff by the water. Moore continues to reveal the transformation of the cliff. The "defiant edifice" bears the markings of experience. Its "physical features of accident" reveal that the cliff is also subject to death: lack
of cornice, dynamite grooves, burns, and
hatchet strokes, these things stand
out on it; the chasm side is
dead. Thus, we confront the frightening notion that nature is also subject to death. It is inescapable, even for objects without consciousness. Yet, the cliff is defined by its worldly limitations, which are ultimately, its death. The poem closes with this conclusion: Repeated
evidence has proved that it can live
on what can not revive
its youth. The sea grows old in it. The cliff becomes itself through the "external marks of abuse," which result from its relentless collision with the water. And, as the final line indicates the sea also grows old in this process. Images in "The Fish" are constantly interpenetrated and transformed by other powers. The sun is in shafts, "split like spun glass," the sea is transformed by the sun, the cliff is transformed by the water, and "all things slide each on the other." In this process, death is omnipresent. Contrary to what one may expect from a poem about death, there is little sense of existential angst here. Death, in being part of the life process, is viewed as necessary and perhaps as a contribution. The overarching Meaning of the poem rests within the transformation that results from the interconnectedness of things. One could take the same text and interpret it as a metaphor for the body's relationship to consciousness itself. The "light" of consciousness illuminates the sea of the subconscious. Memory "lives on what can not revive its youth," which is the past. Yet, this ambiguity of the text is its strength. The validity of the text lies not in a specific "moral" or in its faithfulness to objects-in-themselves, but in the abundant life of the imagery. The text is an organism, in a constant state of becoming, and endlessly regenerating itself. This is the result of creating an integral relationship between object and Meaning, whereby the power of life in its limited variations is communicated through the image. The reader has the freedom within boundaries to make up the "details," as the Meaning of the text remains intact. Moore has arrived at many of the same "messages" that are directly stated in "What Are Years?" through a complex invocation of images. Moore celebrates, once again, the confines of existence. Yet, the difference between the two poems is not just a matter of idiom or rhetoric. Both poems represent different ways of thinking, for both the writer and the reader. "The Fish" communicates its message entirely through the visual image. By emphasizing the role of vision in her poem, Moore grounds the meaning of the poem in objects that inhabit our world. Although the objects remain entirely "imaginary," they prevent the philosophical distance that is necessitated by questions like "What is our innocence?" These questions are definitively abstract. Without the grounding of an object, they run the danger of being too large for human comprehension. It is by no mistake that the answers to these questions in "What Are Years?" are grounded in simile, and thus providing us with another way in which we can think about them. Yet, "The Fish" is entirely grounded in image, metaphor, and simile. While reading the poem, we are not allowed to distance ourselves from the reality of life and death, for it is right there in front of us. The merging of the object as a thing-it-itself and a direct "commentary" on the nature of existence is highly complex in Marianne Moore's poetry. "The Mind Is An Enchanting Thing" is exemplary in this regard. The mind becomes an object of study, as the divisions and contradictions of consciousness are clearly elucidated. Moore does attempt to describe the object as a thing-in-itself and in so doing brings forth the nature of the psyche because of the intimate relationship between the object (i.e. the mind) and the psyche. The poem rarely explicitly reveals value judgements without relying on metaphor or simile to elucidate them. Thus, the mind is held out as a thing-in-itself to study, but we cannot understand it without a grounding in reality. Value-judgements do occur, as in "it's not a Herod's oath that cannot change," but they occur within the framework of objects, rather than solely in principles. A close analysis of the text as an indirect commentary on the nature of existence will help reveal the meaning of the poem. We will then conclude the text with a brief summary of the relationship between the chosen poems and their attributed ideal types as well as their relationship to one another. The title in this poem leads directly into the statement that the mind "is an enchanted thing." The variation of the present and past participle adjective delivers a powerful message, for the words do convey separate meanings beyond a mere passage of time. "Enchanting" is that which is fascinating or charming, while "enchanted" means "bewitched, charmed, fascinated" as well as "invested with magical powers." Thus, the mind is interesting because it is under the influence of the extraordinary. Thus, from the first line we encounter the recurrent theme of the importance of external constraints in human consciousness. We know that to be enchanted is to be enriched and influenced by something else and for Moore this is fascinating. Moore then reveals that the mind has multiple states of being or consciousness through simile. like the glaze on a
katydid-wing
subdivided by sun
till the nettings are legion.
The mind shines ("like the glaze") as it is "subdivided by the sun." This contradiction of "glaze" and division (as glaze suggests linearity of sight and absence of i nza by stating, "like Gieseking playing Scarlatti." Patricia Wills makes the astute observation that both Scarlatti and Gieseking bear resemblance to the katydid in their own way. Scarlatti was famous for his staccato leaps, like the grasshopper and Gieseking "assembled the largest entomological collection in private hands." This assertion is reinforced by the rhyming of "wing," "playing," and "Gieseking." By inserting the rhyme, the two are linked musically. Furthermore, there is the staccato sound of the "Gieseking," as every syllable leaps off the tongue. The next stanzas elucidate contradictory images, with a unifying theme. Both the apertyx and the kiwi have underdeveloped wings and long, slender bills. They are similar in this regard. Yet, Moore points to the awl of the apertyx, while looking at the feathers of the kiwi. The awl is a simile for the mind's capacity to penetrate and its need to obtain nourishment that results from penetration. We must dig into things in order to survive. The rain-shawl of the kiwi is a simile for the mind's capacity to shield itself from the environment. We must have shelter in order to survive. With this protection, it is as if we are blind, but the mind "walks along with its eyes on the ground." By bringing the image of the eyes into this stanza, Moore emphasizes the importance of seeing the world. The fact that the eyes are on the ground brings the reader back to the apertyx's awl, which is utilized to obtain nourishment from the ground. We look into things, yet it is as if we are blind. This tension between the notion of freedom to see things as they are and the constraints of our relative blindness is reminiscent of the "freedom within boundaries" that runs through "What Are Years?" and "The Fish." Yet, we are encountering a blending of object and value-judgements that is absent from "Bird-Witted" and "What Are Years." The inconsistencies of the mind are celebrated through the simile. Moore's method succeeds because it unifies the thing-in-itself with her own vision. The end-result is astonishing. It is "as though blind," yet "it has memory's ear that can hear without having to hear." It is "conscientious inconsistency:" the gyroscope is unparalleled because it falls with certainty. This is the "power of strong enchantment." The tremendous power of the mind is its capacity to transform the world around it. It is not "consistent" in the sense that it is not a direct reflection of the world. In this scheme, the crucial aspect of existence is the interaction between the subject and the object. This interaction transcends both empirical and intersubjective reality. This notion is communicated beautifully in the description of the mind as "the dove-neck animated by sun" and later by, "it's fire in the dove-neck's iridescence." These images contrast on what constitutes "the mind." In the first case, it is the dove-neck, whereas in the second case it is the fire (or sunlight) in the dove-neck. In both cases, the text is followed by an explicit statement of "inconsistency." This "conscientious inconsistency" is a celebration of freedom within poetry. But, in both cases, there is a celebration of a unity between consciousness and the things that inhabit the world. Moore reveals the deepest complexity of the mind when writing "unconfusion submits its confusion to proof." The mind is not only inconsistency, but also the thing that "tears off the veil." We can often see things for what they are as we gain a sense of distance from ourselves "the mist the heart wears." Neither unconfusion or confusion are irrevocable oaths that can never be changed, regardless of the circumstances. Herod could have changed his mind, but he remained true to his words. In this oath, there was a terrible death. There is a death of sorts within the denial of the infinite variability of the mind. By accepting and celebrating the inconsistencies of the mind, Moore celebrates what it is to be human. The fundamental profundity of poems such as "The Fish," "The Mind Is An Enchanting Thing," (or "The Octopus") is in the fact that they are both experientially grounded and primarily imaginary. In this sense, they are related to the Symbolist and Surrealist poetry of Rimbaud, Breton, Eluard, and Tzara. As Grace Schulman notes, Moore was deeply indebted to French Symbolism. As simple as this observation may be, it is absolutely essential to critically examining Moore's most difficult poems. They begin where poems like "Bird-Witted," "The Rigorists," "What Are Years" and "Blessed Is The Man" left off. The quality that separates them from the above-mentioned texts is a rich fluidity flowing between object and meaning. The greatest of Moore's poetry is "lit with piercing glances into the life of things," and in so doing we are not only seeing the "things" and their "life," but also Marianne Moore's powerful sense of vision. These "glances" are deeply imbued in her morality, but refuse to stay at that level of thought. They extend beyond it due to their grounding in image, which enables the reader to connect abstractions with things, without damaging the integrity of either. This is one of Marianne Moore's greatest achievements. BIBLIOGRAPHY Bly, Robert, ed. 1980. News of the Universe: Poems of the Twofold Consciousness. San Francisco: Sierra Club Books. Costello, Bonnie. 1981. Marianne Moore: Imaginary Possessions. Parisi, Joseph, ed. 1991. Marianne Moore: The Art of a Modernist.
London: UMI Research Press Rimbaud, Arthur. Translated by Louise Varese. 1957. Illuminations.
New York: New Directions. Schulman, Grace. 1986. Marianne Moore: The Poetry of Engagement.
Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press. Tomlinson, Charles, ed. 1969. Marianne Moore: A Collection of Critical Essays. Weatherhead, A.K. 1967. The Edge of the Image: Marianne Moore, William Carlos Williams, and Some Other Poets. Seattle: University of Washington Press. Weber, Max. Translated by Reinhard Bendix. 1978. Economy and Society. Berkeley: University of California Press. Willis, Patricia C., ed. 1986. The Complete Prose of Marianne Moore. Willis, Patricia C. 1987. Marianne Moore: Vision into Verse. Philadelphia:
The Rosenbach Museum and Library. |
