On Writing

On Writing A while ago I wrote an essay ‘On Poetry’. It was generally well-received; I think there were two objections, one of which will be addressed during the course of the deliberations recorded here. The other was pretty much a challenge. The theme of that latter was basically, ‘How can you say such things?’ about needing correct grammar and at least functional punctuation ‘Poetry is all about experimentation’ or words to that effect. I did as usual; I responded noncommitally and proceeded to ponder. One of my earliest ‘conclusions’ (more on that momentarily) is that in fact (bearing in mind…mind you…the correctness of many of McLuhan’s assertions, at least in direction) the separation between venues is artificial. The form varies markedly; ideally, at least, this isn’t true of content. Two considerations now come to the fore. These ‘conclusions’ are nothing final. I continually deliberate on the most absurd of things: on reality (or, if you prefer, Reality) and predestination (by various means and names); on expression and ‘truth’…on the ways (say) to describe someone’s stride… What I am trying to say if that if I appear to limit, I don’t mean to do so, and that it’s almost certainly a fallacy inspired by my writing rather than my thinking. It is very difficult to consistently make sheerly and obviously relative statements. Regard these as temporary deliberations, to be repeated. Certainly, in any case, these are opinions; I am not an authority and I don’t actually believe in them—authorities, that is. Secondly, at least most writing is inspired by something. (Offhand, I don’t see how it’s possible for it not to be inspired by something, but who’s to say? particularly when reading some writing.)This implies a certain validity to any originating concept. However true this is, it bears no relationship to the ability of the one trying to convey said concept. Here we come to a point. Several, actually. Anyway. A piece of writing can be devised for oneself, a small circle or general consumption. We haven’t yet discussed things like fiction and non-fiction, prose and poetry or any other such matter, mind. That first one seems to be a tricky concept for many people. (Come to think of it, this may apply to a lot of “conversations” but more on that later.) At one and the same time they’ll say “This is private and personal and you probably won’t understand it” and then, after submitting it for general consumption, say “Well, what do you think?” Generally in this sort of case various images are used with specific connotations not contextually apparent and thus indeed indecipherable. Or, in plain English, “You’re right. I don’t know what this is about unless you tell me [necessarily generally in fair detail], and that means it’s a failure. To which the logical, apparent and necessary answer seems to be, “Oh, but it was a private event! you just don’t understand.” Indeed. The point here is that exactly at this point one must make a decision. To wit: “Am I just writing this for myself alone, or am I trying to write something others can understand?” The first requires the ability to write. The second requires considerably more—and is just a start. Have you ever read an unintelligible letter or e-mail? The first case—writing for a private audience, oneself—nearly applies to the second when it’s submitted for general consumption. That is, there are too many ‘private things’—thus things not generally known—for the general audience to comprehend them. At this point we come to fiction and non-fiction. Non-fiction, of course, is factual and completely true—all the trillions of conflicting words of it. So we’ll probably have to go with something lame like “Non-fiction is the stuff presented as if it were true.” And I think this is a good place to pause, because I could have sworn I heard a sound akin to shattering glass. Icons—at least in the older sense—are often quite fragile. I should note here that poetry can be either. -------- Glenn