Welcome to The Valve

Valve Links

The Front Page
Statement of Purpose

John Holbo - Editor
Scott Eric Kaufman - Editor
Aaron Bady
Adam Roberts
Amardeep Singh
Andrew Seal
Bill Benzon
Daniel Green
Jonathan Goodwin
Joseph Kugelmass
Lawrence LaRiviere White
Marc Bousquet
Matt Greenfield
Miriam Burstein
Ray Davis
Rohan Maitzen
Sean McCann
Guest Authors

Laura Carroll
Mark Bauerlein
Miriam Jones

Past Valve Book Events

cover of the book Theory's Empire

Event Archive

cover of the book The Literary Wittgenstein

Event Archive

cover of the book Graphs, Maps, Trees

Event Archive

cover of the book How Novels Think

Event Archive

cover of the book The Trouble With Diversity

Event Archive

cover of the book What's Liberal About the Liberal Arts?

Event Archive

cover of the book The Novel of Purpose

Event Archive

The Valve - Closed For Renovation

Happy Trails to You

What’s an Encyclopedia These Days?

Encyclopedia Britannica to Shut Down Print Operations

Intimate Enemies: What’s Opera, Doc?

Alphonso Lingis talks of various things, cameras and photos among them

Feynmann, John von Neumann, and Mental Models

Support Michael Sporn’s Film about Edgar Allen Poe

Philosophy, Ontics or Toothpaste for the Mind

Nazi Rules for Regulating Funk ‘n Freedom

The Early History of Modern Computing: A Brief Chronology

Computing Encounters Being, an Addendum

On the Origin of Objects (towards a philosophy of computation)

Symposium on Graeber’s Debt

The Nightmare of Digital Film Preservation

Richard Petti on Occupy Wall Street: America HAS a Ruling Class

Bill Benzon on Whatwhatwhatwhatwhatwhatwhat?

Nick J. on The Valve - Closed For Renovation

Bill Benzon on Encyclopedia Britannica to Shut Down Print Operations

Norma on Encyclopedia Britannica to Shut Down Print Operations

Bill Benzon on What’s an Object, Metaphysically Speaking?

john balwit on What’s an Object, Metaphysically Speaking?

William Ray on That Shakespeare Thing

Bill Benzon on That Shakespeare Thing

William Ray on That Shakespeare Thing

JoseAngel on That Shakespeare Thing

Bill Benzon on Objects and Graeber's Debt

Bill Benzon on A Dirty Dozen Sneaking up on the Apocalypse

JoseAngel on A Dirty Dozen Sneaking up on the Apocalypse

JoseAngel on Objects and Graeber's Debt

Advanced Search

RSS 1.0 | RSS 2.0 | Atom

RSS 1.0 | RSS 2.0 | Atom


Powered by Expression Engine
Logo by John Holbo

Creative Commons Licence
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.



About Last Night
Academic Splat
Amardeep Singh
Bemsha Swing
Bitch. Ph.D.
Blogging the Renaissance
Butterflies & Wheels
Cahiers de Corey
Category D
Charlotte Street
Cheeky Prof
Chekhov’s Mistress
Chrononautic Log
Cogito, ergo Zoom
Collected Miscellany
Completely Futile
Confessions of an Idiosyncratic Mind
Conversational Reading
Critical Mass
Crooked Timber
Culture Cat
Culture Industry
Early Modern Notes
Easily Distracted
fait accompi
Ferule & Fescue
Ghost in the Wire
Giornale Nuovo
God of the Machine
Golden Rule Jones
Grumpy Old Bookman
Ideas of Imperfection
In Favor of Thinking
In Medias Res
Inside Higher Ed
jane dark’s sugarhigh!
John & Belle Have A Blog
John Crowley
Jonathan Goodwin
Kathryn Cramer
Languor Management
Light Reading
Like Anna Karina’s Sweater
Lime Tree
Limited Inc.
Long Pauses
Long Story, Short Pier
Long Sunday
Making Light
Maud Newton
Michael Berube
Motime Like the Present
Narrow Shore
Neil Gaiman
Old Hag
Open University
Pas au-delà
Planned Obsolescence
Quick Study
Rake’s Progress
Reader of depressing books
Reading Room
Reassigned Time
Reeling and Writhing
Return of the Reluctant
Say Something Wonderful
Shaken & Stirred
Silliman’s Blog
Slaves of Academe
Sorrow at Sills Bend
Sounds & Fury
Stochastic Bookmark
Tenured Radical
the Diaries of Franz Kafka
The Elegant Variation
The Home and the World
The Intersection
The Litblog Co-Op
The Literary Saloon
The Literary Thug
The Little Professor
The Midnight Bell
The Mumpsimus
The Pinocchio Theory
The Reading Experience
The Salt-Box
The Weblog
This Public Address
This Space: The Fire’s Blog
Thoughts, Arguments & Rants
Tingle Alley
University Diaries
Unqualified Offerings
What Now?
William Gibson

Sunday, February 08, 2009

The rubble of a prolonged catharsis.

Posted by Scott Eric Kaufman on 02/08/09 at 09:55 PM

Checking up that “proud cock” is two words, not one, so that I might strut it out, I came across the entry for “beast language“ in the Dictionary of Poetic Terms.  The diction of the entry is either unconscionably vague or deliciously derisive:

Theoretically, it seems the language of the poem moves backward from conceptual words to an intelligence of pure sound utterance that calls attention to the form, meaning, and derivation of the word.  The form is probably meant to be experienced more than intellectually understood, an experience that presumably links the reader with his own senses and the animal origins of language.

Since my knowledge of post-1940 American literature amounts to what I’ve read for pleasure and the Lord set Sunday aside for whimsical researches, I decided to find out whether the entry ought to be applauded or condemned.  First up, according to Google Book Search, was a work I inadvertantly committed to the memory hole: William Gass’s The World Within the Word.  In “Food and Beast Language,” Gass talks about something else entirely; namely, the forced materiality of Henry Miller’s prose.  Of its effect on Miller’s signature subject, Gass concludes:

Alas, the penis is such a ridiculous petitioner.  It is so unreliable, though everything depends on it—the world is balanced on it like a ball on a seal’s nose.  It is so easily teased, insulted, betrayed, abandoned; yet it must pretend to be invulnerable, a weapon which confers magical powers upon its possessor; consequently this muscleless inchworm must try to swagger through temples and pull apart thighs like the hairiest Samson, the mightiest ram.

Because of this, Gass argues, Miller’s works traffic in compensation:

They are not written, and do not belong on a page like Pynchon’s; nor are they spoken as Gaddis’s are; nor do they employ the formal oral eloquence of Sir Thomas Browne; they are talked, yarned like a sailor, endlessly gabbed; and his male readers at last must be reminded of the bluff good-fellow voice of the locker-room brag . . . well let me tell you when I saw her huge X, my! it was so Y that I nearly Z’d.

The formulaic nature of Gass’s final clause typifies Miller’s mode of repetition without recursion.  Miller endlessly repeats himself because he has reduced the world to things and the human body to meat.  For Gass, embracing this reduction signals the lamentable end of a great talent gone stale—though it renders Miller quite easy to anthologize, as one can find the most suitable iteration of a thought without worrying that it might have been developed more carefully elsewhere. 

Michael McClure, the poet who schooled American literature in the niceties of “beast language,” thought differently.  In The San Francisco Renaissance, Michael Davidson quotes McClure as saying:

Every man has his treasure.  It’s inside him.  It’s called meat.

I’m tempted to quibble with his formulation: if “it” equals “meat,” then “it” isn’t “inside him,” it is him.  That aside, it’s not entirely clear how meat pertains to “beast language,” which Davidson defines as “a language somewhere between human speech and animal sounds.” He then reprints the same excerpt from “Ghost Tantras” that the Dictionary of Poetic Terms did:


Lest this strike you as a less rigorous version of Finnegans Wake—one in which the multilingual puns have been replaced by noises approximating speech—Davidson assures readers that McClure has a theory here, that his “beast language oscillates back and forth between modern and archaic speech, between recognizable words and expressive utterances.”

Lest this strike you as a less rigorous version of “The Oxen of the Sun” chapter of Ulysses—one in which the development of the English language in nine stages approximates that of the fetus in utero—Davidson assures reader that McClure’s poem is meatier because “it obeys a center margin, its lines [are] built around a central axis.” Because of this center alignment, McClure says, his poems “have the bilateral symmetry, of an organism.” Davidson explains:

Not only does the poem imitate beast sounds (or hypothesize the beast sounds that humans might make) but it replicates on the page the skeletal structure of vertebrates.  The center “spine” emphasizes, as well, the line as a physical entity on the page.  Instead of returning to the left margin, the line asserts itself boldly as a free image, connected to the other lines like the ribs to the spinal column.  Instead of the line as a score for the voice, it becomes a separate object among other objects.

Quite meaty, that is.  But not meaty enough:

McClure’s formulation of poetry as beast language and as biographological grid represents the most radical example of a physiological or “embodied” poetics[.  He] carries poetry further back to the cellular and genetic basis of human life.  He wants a poetry that lives at the borders of articulate speech, a poetry that minfests in its structure the nature of all organisms.  For McClure, humans are meat, and one’s expressions—in its ideal state—in an indication of one’s mammal nature.

I think we all know where this is headed:

Its star is a winged phallus named Gorf, whose function is to alert the world to the great bump—a kind of Atlantean shift into mythical time—and who helps to reunite the realm of the of the sacred to a scattered world.

Not quite what I meant.  Try again:

The Giant Penguin represents McClure’s own tendencies—

Still not right.  One more time:

The most complex realization of McClure’s biopolitical theater—

There we go.  And what does a complex realization of a biopolitical theater look like?



I think we can now safely say what all the hedging in the Dictionary of Poetic Terms means.


Haven’t we been here before?

. . . well let me tell you when I saw her huge X, my! it was so Y that I nearly Z’d.
default for {X,Y,Z} in Yiddish please.

By nnyhav on 02/08/09 at 10:16 PM | Permanent link to this comment

1.  Do you realize how worried I was you’d linked to something I’d written?  Do you!?!

2.  Presumably, shmekl, shmaltsik, and brekhn.  Just a guess.

By Scott Eric Kaufman on 02/08/09 at 11:25 PM | Permanent link to this comment

Every man has his treasure.  It’s inside him.  It’s called meat. I’m tempted to quibble with his formulation: if “it” equals “meat,” then “it” isn’t “inside him,” it is him.’

Makes me think of an inverse Terminator: a meat core, wrapped about with a titanium shell.  Could be deadly.  Might really annoy Christian Bale.

By Adam Roberts on 02/09/09 at 01:23 PM | Permanent link to this comment

Just like Shadowrun, or maybe some other cyberpunk RPG that I’m mixing it up with.  In that one, the game mechanic was that you started out with a certain amount of empathy, or whatever—a sociopath would have very little; a sensitive poet a lot—which could compensate for the deadening effect of having parts of yourself replaced by efficient artificial battle devices: arms with guns built in, powered metal legs etc.  If you had more of yourself replaced than you could bear, you’d just go crazy and start killing everyone, which was of no use to anybody.  So if you wanted to become the ultimate killing machine, you had to be a saintly humanitarian to start with.

By on 02/09/09 at 01:47 PM | Permanent link to this comment

I had a friend once who about a brother was was professor of Meat Science at Oregon State.

That said, in the old days physiological reductionism plus relativism seemed liberating to many. One of the sexual-liberation motifs was relieving pressure, from Freud’s hydraulic theory (hence, presumably, “The Valve"). This was fairly diametrically opposed to DH Lawrence’s sacramental theory, though many switched between the two; and of course, the transgressive theory is in opposition both of the others, and often requires escalation to cannibalism, etc. By diverse paths we reach the same end.

Some of the same people pushing the physiological-hydraulic theory also believe that good bowel movements were underrated compared to sex (various sources). Bertrand Russell believed that sexual liberation would put an end to war, as would aan end to constipations.

By John Emerson on 02/09/09 at 10:24 PM | Permanent link to this comment

Add a comment:



Remember my personal information

Notify me of follow-up comments?

Please enter the word you see in the image below: