The Core of the Simple

[indie]

This particular Goethe passage is quite interesting:


It makes a great difference whether the poet seeks the particular for the universal or beholds the universal in the particular. From the first procedure originates allegory, where the particular is considered only as an illustration, as an example of the universal. The latter, however, is properly the nature of poetry: it expresses something particular without thinking of the universal or pointing to it. Whoever grasps this particular in a living way will simultaneously receive the universal, too, without even becoming aware of it -- or realize it until only later.

This seems true on so many levels; not only with poetry, but with art as well. The most simple form becomes heightened it its ability to capture the essence of the universal when it has been eloquently described or portrayed as a unique entity amid or among patterned complexity.

A "simple" poem like The Red Wheelbarow (http://www.writing.upenn.edu/~afilreis/88/wcw-red-wheel.html) (four stanzas: eight lines: sixteen words) can be interpreted in numerous ways simply because. . . the essence of poetry is to capture the greatest magnitude of emotion/portrait in the fewest words possible?

"Modern" art, such as a single blue square on a black canvas is considered "genius" because it points out the nature of the simple when compared with other works of more detail? (Hans Hofmann (http://www.guggenheimcollection.org/site/artist_work_md_64_1.html) and Josef Albers (http://www.allposters.com/-sp/Yellow-Climate-Homage-to-the-Square_i315964_.htm) are some artists that come to mind.)

So I suppose the question is: does seemingly "simple" art/poetry pay homage to the "complex," or vice versa? Perhaps it is neither. Do they thrive off each other in a symbiotic relationship of sort? Or, it could be something entirely different, where art gives one the ability to grasp some part of a complex detail that eventually unravels to the core of the simple?

[Zero Angel]

I think you're correct when you say that art has to do with a relation between the simple and the complex. Details which, when taken together, become overtones, and vice versa.

"Red wheelbarrow" seems to display the essence of simplicity itself, without alluding to any sort of complexity which might lie under its simplicity. To this end, I can't really call it 'art', because it does not allow for much interpretation. Just as tinting a photograph yellow might add an overtone effect to it, or convey a meaning or mood, it cannot be called true art, because it does not summon the mental faculties that art uses (appreciation), to look at the overtones that lie under the details and vice versa.

The best art (especially poetry) seems to contain worlds of ideas within a minutae of words, as if the words themselves were the very essence of something far larger and more complex then they would be if taken literally. If I were to compare visual and word art with music, I would say that "Red wheelbarrow" is a single, clean tone that is struck once and resonates perhaps changing its pitch as it fades away, wheras the most famous art is the much more complex combination of tones which follow a patterned and mathematical harmony, a type of order which lies under the seeming chaos. And when viewd from a larger perspective, the overtones it creates has its own type of simplistic resonation that underlies the individual chords.

[abathur]

I think there's plenty of room to say "to me, good poetry..." but I'm not sure that's anything close to ubiquitous. Hell, there's so much "woe is me" and mushy love poetry around that we have to assume *someone* is interested in this shit, but I know I'm not.

So much does depend on a red wheel barrow, ironically. There is quite obviously so much more to the story than is stated--all of that depends on what few words are there to be told. (none of it is explicit, but what we have tells us we're on a farm, there's most likely a chicken coop by the red wheel barrow, if the wheel barrow is glazed with water, the ground is probably damp but not really muddy, it's probably daylight or we wouldn't see the white chickens and glistening wheel barrow, there's a rooster strutting away somewhere, there's a farmhouse nearby, the wheelbarrow probably isn't used to feed chickens if it's being left in the rain...)

For ME poetry is about what it can make me think. In this case, it leaves me just enough to put together a pretty comprehensive picture of what the poet saw, without explicitly telling me where each chicken is and how often it clucks. Ultimately, however, I think there are problems with any method we attempt to use to reduce poetry (or art indeed) to some scientifically quantifiable process. Perhaps, in one instance, it really IS saying as much as you can with as few words as possible. Other times, a word may be completely un-necessary for saying as much as you can, yet be fully useful for allowing the poem to roll off the tongue in a moment of bliss. ;)

[indie]

I think there's plenty of room to say "to me, good poetry..." but I'm not sure that's anything close to ubiquitous. Hell, there's so much "woe is me" and mushy love poetry around that we have to assume *someone* is interested in this shit, but I know I'm not.

For ME poetry is about what it can make me think. In this case, it leaves me just enough to put together a pretty comprehensive picture of what the poet saw, without explicitly telling me where each chicken is and how often it clucks. Ultimately, however, I think there are problems with any method we attempt to use to reduce poetry (or art indeed) to some scientifically quantifiable process. Perhaps, in one instance, it really IS saying as much as you can with as few words as possible. Other times, a word may be completely un-necessary for saying as much as you can, yet be fully useful for allowing the poem to roll off the tongue in a moment of bliss. ;)

abathur, I was referring to succinctness and simplicity/reductionism in form, not the interpretation of the elements themselves.

[abathur]

indiejade, I was mostly just replying to zero and never intentionally addressing the OP.

However, re: form, I'm sure there's a sense in which simple poems that point to the complex or vice versa are alluring because of the twinge of irony and creativity in making something appear as it is not usually. To that end, though, I only really believe this is one aspect of many, and by no means does the presence or absence assure the amount of success a poem may see. It is perfectly possible to have a complex poem using complex language to tackle a complex issue of society in a crafty and complex manner and ultimately have that poem endure the test of time. Likewise, it is possible to beg forgiveness for eating the plums in someone's icebox and go down in history for it.

So to answer your question: They can pay homage to their inverse, but it is by no means consistent or necessarily so.

[Zero Angel]

You do make some good points abarthur. I looked at the 'so much depends on the wheelbarrow' and asked the question (why does so much depend on the wheelbarrow? It's just a stupid wheelbarrow). Your reply actually got me thinking. The wheelbarrow must have been so valuable in the early farming days that a farmer could look at it glistening from a fresh rainfall and say 'that made my day' as he looked down to appreciate it and the other simple things that he had. That in itself alludes to a kind of atmosphere, which is one of the things that poetry seeks to create. Not needing to align itself with symbolism, it is quite literal and creates its own complexity, because it brings forth in the viewers mind an entire atmosphere and world in 16 words.

I guess it could be said that the simple details pay homage to a more complex set of things and vice versa. Which would validate indiejade's questions.

[ne plus ultra]

I dislike that poem because I made one just like i when I was 12 with the same implications and everything. Unless I have misintepreted the implications somehow.

[Ivy]

I'm glad I read this thread, because I can say without hesitation that The Red Wheelbarrow is my favorite poem of all time. And I think its simplicity DOES allow for more complexities in understanding it. It can be simply a still-life-with-wheelbarrow, a sort of poem-painting. Simultaneously, it could have larger (but still quite literal) implications, as a comment on simple farming life dependant on tools like wheelbarrows, as per Abathur's reading of it and ZA's response. Even beyond that, it can have larger implications regarding the interconnectedness of people; the wheelbarrow can be likened to the people we depend on, but who are not oppressed by this but instead shine as if glazed by rainwater. And if you want to get really abstract, it could be read as a Dadaist elevation of the wheelbarrow to art by virtue of its being featured in an art piece like Duchamp's toilets and wheels and stuff.

The Red Wheelbarrow's brevity really does lend itself to all these (and countless more) interpretations, in a way that more complex poetry does not. There's a finite number of ways to interpret "I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!" (My least favorite line in any poem, ever, by possibly my least favorite poet, Shelley.)

I find myself thinking about how I read to my children. I have a tendency (an S thing?) to want to explain every little thing about a poem, story, or myth that I introduce to my daughter, as if by doing so I can fill her up with knowledge about literature. I realized a few days ago, though, that part of my own joy in reading these things has been discovering their layers and multiple meanings over the years, digging with each reading for a new facet I never saw before. I think maybe I should bite my tongue, not burp out every little nugget of joy I see in them, and let my children reach their own interpretations of them.

[Hypnos]

The problem with minimalism is there that there is little information in the work itself, and it's just whatever the viewer can project. This is the point, of course, and is often motivated by protest against preconceptions and the capitalist patriarchy blah blah. Nevertheless, there is not much "added value" -- it's a shallow challenge that doesn't do much for someone who can think for him or herself in the first place.

This should be distinguished from an economy of words, brush strokes, or what have you. A friend reminded me of the following Whitman stanza:

The earth—that is sufficient;
I do not want the constellations any nearer;
I know they are very well where they are;
I know they suffice for those who belong to them

This spurred a fair discussion between us. Some possible interpretations:

* We should value those things close to us, particularly when they give us life

* We can only long for constellations if they are far away

* Our minds are too addled by arbitrary concerns, and we should embrace experience.

The last one makes the most sense in the context of the entire poem (http://www.bartleby.com/142/82.html).

Perhaps then, art is about posing the question, do you value this? Or in another way, art is violence: it imposes upon you a connection between concepts, and in understanding the work you must abide by its terms. There is room for interpretation, but the artist is still forcing you inside a framework. In the case of the Whitman, there is a narrator you are trying to empathize with, or as in Pale Fire (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pale_Fire) a narrator you can't even trust! In doing so, you might critique yourself or something you hold dear, and gain something from it. The more violent (raw, heart-rending, uplifting, puzzling, etc.), the better.

Any economy is the result of finding the new in the simple and universal -- the violence is greater than in the intricate and particular. But, only if the artist's concept is wrought of iron.

[indie]

This should be distinguished from an economy of words, brush strokes, or what have you. A friend reminded me of the following Whitman stanza:

The earth—that is sufficient;
I do not want the constellations any nearer;
I know they are very well where they are;
I know they suffice for those who belong to them

This spurred a fair discussion between us. Some possible interpretations:

* We should value those things close to us, particularly when they give us life

* We can only long for constellations if they are far away

* Our minds are too addled by arbitrary concerns, and we should embrace experience.

The last one makes the most sense in the context of the entire poem (http://www.bartleby.com/142/82.html).


Whitman uses "earth" and "constellations" to refer to the universal. Or, rather, an interpretation of the "universal." The Goethe passage I referred to in the OP I understood to say that anybody can wax philosophical using those specific words as an attempt to portray something magnanamous in an attempt at poetry. But the true poet does not look to the skies or the constellations for inspiration, but to the simple and seemingly mundane reality around them, to capture the essence of the art of a situation that most people wouldn't think to consider or begin to comprehend as "beautiful" enough to be worthy of a poem. Almost everyone considers the constellations beautiful . . . but who stops to consider the beauty of a red wheelbarrow? Goethe would probably argue only a "true" poet would.

[Hypnos]

I think of constellations as spare and simple, and Whitman alludes to them to express the distant and non-experiential, not to expound on their heavenliness.

I wouldn't call "Red Wheel Barrow" minimalist, and I enjoy it -- the juxtaposition of "So much depends/upon" and the red wheel barrow and chickens definitely poses a challenge. I agree with the general premise that finding the new in the simple and overlooked is the golden path to the profound. However, I don't think Goethe's point is limited to the "mundane reality around" poets -- that's just one variety of the simple and overlooked that one could tie to the universal. For example, the Tagore poem "Butterfly":

The butterfly counts not months but moments,
and has time enough.

Time is a wealth of change,
but the clock in its parody makes it mere change and no wealth.

Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time
like dew on the tip of a leaf.

He dissects time as Williams does with the familiar yard scene; surely, time is more abstract. However, there is a more profound, general statement on the reduction of the abstract.

[Trystorp]

Beautiful poem. I'll remember that one, thank you.

[Hypnos]

Beautiful poem. I'll remember that one, thank you.
If you're referring to the Tagore poem, you should hear it in the original Bengali; this translation is quite good.