Listening to language and the experience of poetry - 1
 For the past fifty years or so, modern Sinhala poetry has been a site
of intense, at times acrimonious, debate. Two themes that have figured
prominently in these debates are the validity of free verse as opposed
to metrical verse and the need for poetry to be a vehicle of social
analysis as opposed to highly individualistic imaginings. These are, no
doubt, interesting issues and demand discussion. However, the critical
explorations into Sinhala poetry did not rise to higher levels of
exegetical advances because they were inhibited by a narrow frame of
reference. Gunadasa Amarasekera is one writer and critic who sought to
widen the discursive boundaries of critical discussions of modern
poetry. In books such as "Sinhala Kavya Sampradaya", which should have
been the focus of sustained discussion, he raised a number of
significant issues. One of them is the uniqueness of language, the
identity of semantic fields, in this case that of Sinhala, and how it
relates to poetic creativity. This is indeed a theme well worth
exploring.
In the next few columns, I wish to present an extended and somewhat
complex argument regarding the uniqueness of languages, the centrality
of sound and the experience of poetry with particular reference to
Sinhala literature. This theme, it seems to me, invites a fuller
discussion the kind of which it has not received, by and large, from
Sinhala literary commentators. The focus on the uniqueness of a given
language is the logical starting point for such a project. If we can
come up with the genetic structure, a genome map if you like, of a
language, our task will be that much clearer.
Graham Hough, in "An Essay on Criticism", which was recently
translated into Sinhala, makes the point that each language, whether it
be English or German or Chinese, has its own distinctive phonetic and
semantic features which demand close attention. These features could
constitute the basis for a productive exploration into the complexities
of the poetic experience and the nature of poetry. Similarly, George
Steiner, in many of his critical essays, has drawn attention to the
lexical, syntactic, phonetic features of different languages and what
these mean for the understanding of poetry. This linguistic uniqueness,
in my judgment, can become a useful point of departure in investigating
the defining and constitutive features of poetry. Perceptive poets are
sustained by the conviction that recognition of the uniqueness of his or
her linguistic terrain is a prelude to poetic achievement.
In order to understand the distinctiveness of Sinhala poetry, we need
to understand the distinctiveness of Sinhala as a language. This is not
a call for a naive form of linguistic essentialism; rather, it is an
invitation to confront one of the central pillars of the poetic
experience. There is a vital and intimate relationship between the
texture of a given language, its sound patterns, their capacity to evoke
cultural memory and poetic meaning. Very often, we are led to think that
metres, rhythms, sound patterns are external embellishments rather than
constitutive features that have an intimate bearing on the experience of
reading poetry.
Let us, for example, consider the meter which is very often regarded
as a formal and outward trait. However, in good poetry, in the hands of
talented writers, metre becomes an essential part of the meaning of the
poem. The function of meter is to provide an understructure against
which various deviations and variations can be usefully effected. It is
clear that if we are not aware of the operation of that metrical
understructure, we will not be in a position to appreciate the
variations introduced, thereby robbing the poetic experience of much of
its vibrancy. A passage of poetry, such as the following, will allow us
to understand this better. In the following passage, taken from Andrew
Marvell's "The Garden", the interesting ways in which variations
function can be seen vividly.
How vainly men themselves amaze
To win the palm, the oak, or bays,
And their incessant labors see
Crowned from some single herb or tree,
Whose short and narrow-verged shade
Does prudently their toils upbraid;
While all flowers and all trees do close
To weave the garland of repose.
In this passage, the first two lines are clearly regular and the
informed reader would arrive at the conclusion, without much effort,
that it is iambic tetrametre. In the third line, we observe that the
first foot is weak, and which has the effect of stressing the word
"crowned" in the fourth line. Line seven carries a certain metaphorical
and rhythmic richness and we note that the first two feet are inverted;
this has the effect generating a sense of unexpected strangeness. These
variations are not only important as vehicles of communication of the
meaning of the poem but are actually constitutive of that very act.
Therefore, meter is not to be dismissed as an external ornamentation,
but rather an integral element of the structure and meaning of the poem.
Derek Attridge who has done important work on the topic English metre
and rhyme made the following apposite remark. "Rhythm participates in
the greater semantic density of poetic language not only by establishing
its own connections between the poem and the physical and mental world,
but also by functioning within the poem as a formal network that acts
directly upon the semantic level." One obvious mode of rhythmic emphasis
is the use of variations to create local tension."
Here I was focusing in English poetry. The same point could be made
in relation to Sinhala poetry. Clearly, in terms of phonetics, syntax,
sound patterns there is a world of difference between English and
Sinhala language. However, the functionality and constitutive nature of
metre can be illustrated by a poem like the "Selalihini Sandeshaya."
Here, the preferred movement is orchestrated by the "Samudra Ghosha"
metre. However, the poet, through the deft deployment of sound patterns,
and syntactical innovations, introduces variations that are intimately
linked to the intended meaning of the poems. Rev. Sri Rahula was a
master at playing off the metrical movement against the syntactical
movement.
This fact is closely related to the function of rhythm in poetry.
Most discerning literary critics believe that rhythm is one of the
defining features of poetry, and the way the metre and rhythm interact
is central to the production of meaning. As commentators like Eliot have
acutely observed, even in the best free verse there is a ghost of metre
present, and against which the work of rhythm gains energy; experiencing
poetry is listening to language; it is only when we are able to listen
intently to the music of language that the full force of the given
rhythm is registered in the reader's imagination. The French poet
Stephane Mallarme was of the opinion that what we experience when we
experience poetry is the distinctive word patterns and rhythms. Hence he
was moved to remark that a poem is not made out of ideas but words. It
is indeed true that metrical study can prove to be tedious and
technical. However, if we learn to listen to language, we could develop
a sensitive ear to it.
The rhythm is not only a part of the auditory imagination; it is also
vitally connected to the linguistic meaning. It is this desire for
linguistic meaning that powers the rhythm.
One can legitimately assert that poetry privileges the materiality of
language; it foregrounds it. This materiality consists of the sound
patterns, aural movements, shape of words as they interact within the
linguistic universe of the poem. A poet like Rev. Sri Rahula was able to
exploit these resources to the full to infuse his poetics compositions
with an exquisite lyricism and a fund of reverberative meaning.
So far, what I have sought to underline is the fact that metre,
rhythm, sound patterns are inextricably linked with the construction of
the linguistic universe that is the poem. The distinctiveness of this
linguistic universe and the functionalities of the elements that I
alluded to in the earlier sentence are dependent on the uniqueness of
the given language, its distinctive resources. What this means is that
no simple division is available between internal and external features;
they are inseparably linked. Let us consider the question of syntax,
which is conceptualized large as a linguistic issue. This is true so far
as it goes. But it is important to bear in mind that syntax is also an
integral part of poetic form.
The investigation into poetic syntax has largely belongs to the
province of stylistics. However, it is equally related to formal
elements, the architecture of the poem. Syntax deals with the
arrangement of words in a certain order. There are certain conventions
associated with it. In the English the basic structure is
subject/verb/object. In Sinhala, it is subject/object/verb. However,
innovative poets change this syntax in order to achieve certain
preferred poetic effects. This has a direct bearing on the form and
structure of the poem as well. Let us consider this passage from W.B.
Yeats' poem "Leda and the Swan".
A sudden blow; the get wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed.
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast
Here the passage begins with a fragment of a sentence, "a sudden
blow", which has the effect of jolting the reader into a new linguistic
awareness. This unannounced act of startling is intimately related to
the formal structure of the poem. The way grammatical effects, formal
innovations and linguistic memory are combined serves to underline the
importance of the complex interactions between the uniqueness of a
language, the acoustical texture of a poem and its meaning.
Similarly, verse forms are more than formal indicators; there a vital
part of the constructed linguistic universe of the poem. For example,
Emily Dickinson very often used the form of religious humans in her
poetry. However, she deployed this form not in order to buttress the
inherited religious sentiments, but to challenge them, gloss them
afresh, and re-possess that representational space in order to
articulate newer structures of feeling. Similarly when Gunadasa
Amarasekera makes use of diverse forms of folk poetry in his volume of
poems, "Amal Biso", he is undertaking an analogous project of creative
re-interpretation.
The theme that I have been pursuing so far in relation to the
uniqueness of languages, acoustical textures, aural memories is
significantly related to the nature and significance of auditory
imagination in poetry. For example, the complex ways in which auditory
imaginations activates cultural memory and energizes flows of meaning in
Sinhala poetry is an area that invites close and sustained study. The
eminent German philosopher Martin Heidegger put into circulation the
phrase "listening to language." Clearly, he has certain metaphysical
imperatives in mind. However, in order to reach those metaphysical
heights, we should start with the physical act of listening to language.
This is what I have sought to stress. The experience of poetry involves,
for the most part, listening to language intently. I propose to develop
this line of thinking in the next few columns.
(To be continued)
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