Disgusting and Discursive: On the Lyrical LOW
In the face of our own Western self-determination, we write poems desperately seeking something deeper than the surface scum of this plain life. As always, and as we (likely) should, we turn to our communities, values, and beliefs. We go to the root; we go all the way to the body.
But the self is the cheapest show around, so we work to church it up:
We know our lyrical ancestors; we work in lineage, in like.
We align with established aesthetics (often despite our best intentions).
We are trained and tight; we are elegant and eloquent.
And like a self, a poem can exist superficially. Like a self, a poem can pose. This lyrical conduct can be the worst(in the case of the artificial) or the best (in the case of the real deal). A poem’s performance is perhaps my most favorite poem-part, and so I have become obsessed with popular poetry’s enactment of altruism and gratitude.
As though
we are not awful.
As though we are not baaaaaaad.
As though we are not baaaaaaad.
This gilding marks the contemporary lyrical mode:
A Twenty-First Century American poem features the lovely. [1]
There is much too much and much too reductively to be said for why this saturation of loveliness dominates (MFA programs, Modernism, Capitalism, social media, notions of the intellectual, “goodness,” and grace—all things I actively engage and/or admire). But I’m not interested in writing that piece.
This is about what is (largely) missing from (popular) twenty-first century American poetry.
[][][]
“An avoidance of transcendence everywhere, including the idea of the
artist—
—no genius, no god. no prophet, no priest.” [2]
—no genius, no god. no prophet, no priest.” [2]
Get low
Get low
Get low
Get low
To the windooooooow
To the waaaaaaaall
Till the sweat drop down my balls
Till all these bitches crawl
Till all skeet-skeet, motherfucker
Till all skeet-skeet, goddamn [3]
Get low
Get low
Get low
To the windooooooow
To the waaaaaaaall
Till the sweat drop down my balls
Till all these bitches crawl
Till all skeet-skeet, motherfucker
Till all skeet-skeet, goddamn [3]
[][][]
The LOW
is lacking.
The LOW is slack-tongued and drooling.
The LOW is round-about and smiling.
The LOW knows nothing fine, nothing nice.
The LOW is anti-formula.
The LOW is nonhierarchical.
The LOW is holistic but not complete.
The LOW is dirty and direct.
The LOW is soft.
The LOW stains. [4]
The LOW is starving.
The LOW begs, borrows, and steals.
The LOW is boring and blurry.
The LOW abhors homogenization.
The LOW is a moody mode.
The LOW is slack-tongued and drooling.
The LOW is round-about and smiling.
The LOW knows nothing fine, nothing nice.
The LOW is anti-formula.
The LOW is nonhierarchical.
The LOW is holistic but not complete.
The LOW is dirty and direct.
The LOW is soft.
The LOW stains. [4]
The LOW is starving.
The LOW begs, borrows, and steals.
The LOW is boring and blurry.
The LOW abhors homogenization.
The LOW is a moody mode.
Because mode engages intensity and degree whereas form addresses differences of quality or kind:
The LOW
subverts traditional designations of “value,” ultimately upending the entire
qualitative foundation of the LOW—what is the LOW then if not lesser-worse?
And what is the High if not more-better? Moreover, how does the
deformation of these value designations impact our engagement of art (is it
possible to analyze without good and bad?!)?
Because the LOW is characterized by openness, process, suspension, and ambiguity:
The LOW complicates aesthetic categorization, beyond that
of being LOW of course (and hence the abstraction itself). Here, we can begin
to sense the threat of the LOW to all things (institutionally) vetted/categorized
and understand how anything that is not major (High) or mainstream (High-Lite)
may find a home in the permissive world of the LOW.
Because I know the LOW best as a mode of survival:
“there
is / no degree for what is learned in the dark…” [5]
The LOW
is colloquial.
The LOW is incredible.
The LOW is forgettable.
The LOW is suspended.
The LOW has no center or is many-centered.
The LOW is porous.
The LOW shapeshifts.
The LOW is happening but not happening.
In the LOW, everything begins and ends all over.
The LOW is ambiguous.
The LOW is unrefined and untethered.
The LOW is insignificant.
The LOW is unsensational. [6]
The LOW is ordinary as all get out.
The LOW is in every wash of a dog, every clog of a drain.
The LOW quivers.
The LOW shivers.
The LOW remains.
The LOW is incredible.
The LOW is forgettable.
The LOW is suspended.
The LOW has no center or is many-centered.
The LOW is porous.
The LOW shapeshifts.
The LOW is happening but not happening.
In the LOW, everything begins and ends all over.
The LOW is ambiguous.
The LOW is unrefined and untethered.
The LOW is insignificant.
The LOW is unsensational. [6]
The LOW is ordinary as all get out.
The LOW is in every wash of a dog, every clog of a drain.
The LOW quivers.
The LOW shivers.
The LOW remains.
Because the LOW is as multitudinous and unremarkable as the ordinary itself:
Its
quotidian elements are overwhelming in their banality but critical in their
existence because they persist, and in their persistence inform all other
ideologies through contact, trace, echo, stain, residue; The LOW makes meaning
through accumulation. The LOW overwhelms. [7]
Because the LOW is meant for contact, not analysis:
The seemingly negligible aspects of the LOW-ordinary are
in fact where we are most living.
The LOW
knows about power.
The LOW is enticing and hates rules.
The LOW embraces failure and fragmentation.
The LOW rescues animals and the LOW laughs into darkness.
The LOW cares what you think, until it doesn’t.
The LOW has a warm cadence.
The LOW is in the kitchen.
The LOW is eating old meat.
The LOW is self-centered and self-preserving.
The LOW is lyrical.
The LOW is hysterical.
The LOW is performative.
The LOW is kind.
The LOW is foamy.
The LOW is female.
The LOW is enticing and hates rules.
The LOW embraces failure and fragmentation.
The LOW rescues animals and the LOW laughs into darkness.
The LOW cares what you think, until it doesn’t.
The LOW has a warm cadence.
The LOW is in the kitchen.
The LOW is eating old meat.
The LOW is self-centered and self-preserving.
The LOW is lyrical.
The LOW is hysterical.
The LOW is performative.
The LOW is kind.
The LOW is foamy.
The LOW is female.
Because the woman poet “fascinates the male reviewer but at the same time horrifies him a little too”: [8]
Because gender is tethered to specific work functions:
Female is
LOW by the very nature of its unrecognized, unpaid, and abjected bodywork. [13] The LOW can be gendered variously (though all harken the Edenic) but is always
classed LOW. LOWer than LOW is none, and so the LOW can also be nothing
worth noting.
Because “the human race is evolving through women”:
“…we must
never close our eyes to the terror, to the chaos which is Black which is
creative which is female which is dark which is rejected which is messy … which
is sinister, smelly, erotic, confused, upsetting…” [14]
The LOW
is disgusting and discursive.
The LOW is visionary.
The LOW traverses and transcends generic boundaries.
The LOW fits nowhere, everywhere, and always within the LOW.
The LOW is intellectual.
The LOW is gold and green.
The LOW picks bones.
The LOW loves American cheese.
The LOW reads Fred Moten and watches WWF in the same day.
The LOW does not need a High to be LOW.
The LOW is trashy, trash, trashed.
The LOW is rashy, rash, rashed.
The LOW studies aliens and notions of God.
The LOW knows all about chicken wire and crushed velvet.
The LOW is kitsch and commercial and disposable.
The LOW shows their tits at Mardi Gras.
The LOW is soooooo cute. [15]
The LOW is always last.
The LOW is visionary.
The LOW traverses and transcends generic boundaries.
The LOW fits nowhere, everywhere, and always within the LOW.
The LOW is intellectual.
The LOW is gold and green.
The LOW picks bones.
The LOW loves American cheese.
The LOW reads Fred Moten and watches WWF in the same day.
The LOW does not need a High to be LOW.
The LOW is trashy, trash, trashed.
The LOW is rashy, rash, rashed.
The LOW studies aliens and notions of God.
The LOW knows all about chicken wire and crushed velvet.
The LOW is kitsch and commercial and disposable.
The LOW shows their tits at Mardi Gras.
The LOW is soooooo cute. [15]
The LOW is always last.
Because I am low-class, low-brow, and low-rent:
My first
job was as the fry bitch at roadside diner in a strip mall. I was fifteen. The
kitchen was tight and greasy, and we chain-smoked cigarettes while flipping
burgers and pressing patty melts. I was the only chick, but it did not take
long for me to get LOW like the dirty-drunk-diner-dudes who would be my work
company for the next twenty years. This is how I learned the dance of aligning
myself with power (and then exploiting it): The LOW always
takes care of #1.
takes care of #1.
Because class is fluid:
The LOW
finds its bearings (and perhaps its origins) in the LOW-class. Though,
excitingly, the LOW also subverts class designations in various ways. For one,
its allergy to delineation: Once the LOW is cleanly articulated or categorized,
it is likely no longer LOW. Another: Like the LOW, class is unfixed, and its
edges are flimsy; “if we were middle class on the block, and lower class in the
nation, we were upper-class in the world, or in other words, the terms were so
relationally slippery they were hard to define.” [16]
Because tradition emphasizes the poem as truth and the poet as truth-teller:
As a
lover of the flawed subjective, the LOW struggles to find space in the
righteous art of the lyric. [17] This preciousness is silly, really, because all you need to craft a poem is to
be alive: Requiring no materials for its making, poetry is an innately LOW
enterprise.
The LOW
hates.
The LOW obsesses.
The LOW is ewwwwww gross.
The LOW is uncool.
The LOW fakes it until it makes it.
The LOW is emotionally unregulated.
The LOW features the monster-self. [18]
The LOW is vomit.
The LOW is vile and venereous.
The LOW is exo and gyno. [19]
The LOW smokes indo.
The LOW is heretic.
The LOW is ugly. [20]
The LOW ain’t got no alibi.
The LOW depoeticizes. [21]
The LOW is beLOW. [22]
The LOW obsesses.
The LOW is ewwwwww gross.
The LOW is uncool.
The LOW fakes it until it makes it.
The LOW is emotionally unregulated.
The LOW features the monster-self. [18]
The LOW is vomit.
The LOW is vile and venereous.
The LOW is exo and gyno. [19]
The LOW smokes indo.
The LOW is heretic.
The LOW is ugly. [20]
The LOW ain’t got no alibi.
The LOW depoeticizes. [21]
The LOW is beLOW. [22]
Because Wanda Coleman:
“you gottalotta balls
there. cuntteeth. but no cock.” [23]
Because Anne Sexton:
“Fact:
the body is dumb, the body is meat.” [24]
Because Jan Beatty:
“I don’t
need to be right— / I just need to be worth it.” [25]
Because Harryette Mullen:
“Akimbo
bimbos, all a jangle. Tricked out trinkets aloud galore. Gimcracks, a stack.
Bang and a whimper. Two to tangle. It’s a jungle.” [26]
Because Jennifer Tamayo:
“slight
pleasures to playing the aggressor / pretty please stick your white in me” [27]
Because Ariana Reines:
“Their intelligence curls up like a fist in them
and sweetens the shutter on their clits.” [28]
Because Arda Collins:
“At last, terror has
arrived.” [29]
Because
The LOW
is loose.
The LOW is coming for ya.
The LOW is coming for ya.
Notes
[1] And/or engages “the ugly” with loveliness
[2] Rachel Blau DuPlessis on the Feminist Aesthetic, The Pink Guitar
[3] Lil Jon & The East Side Boyz, Kings of Crunk
[4] “…certain [taboo] persons and things are charged with a dangerous power, which can be transferred through contact with them, almost like an infection.” Sigmund Freud, Totem and Taboo
[5] Wanda Coleman, “Things No One Knows”
[6] “Rose is a rose is a rose is a rose.” Gertrude Stein, “Sacred Emily”
[7] “One characteristic of workingclass writing is that we often pile up many events within a small amount of space…” Judy Grahn, The Work of a Common Woman
[8] John Ransom Crowe, “The Poet as Woman”
[9] Judy Grahn, “Helen,” The Common Woman
[10] The Grateful Dead, “He’s Gone”
[11] Judy Grahn, “Ella,” The Common Woman
[12] The Holy Bible (KJV), Genesis 1-3
[13] Silvia Federici, Caliban and the Witch: Women, the Body and Primitive Accumulation
[14] Audre Lorde in Conversation with Adrienne Rich, Sister Outsider
[15] Because cuteness is an aesthetic eroticization of powerlessness (Sianne Ngai, “The Cuteness of the Avant-garde”): The cute poem offers a parody of its own LOW designation: cuteness is marked by the ability to welcome the viewer in, to teach the art piece, to commodify it, but its aesthetic power lies in complicating established structures of style and knowledge as well as its ability to make use of its own powerlessness. I.e., the LOW is savvy, boo.
[16] Juliana Spahr, “The Incinerator”
[17] “[the poet] is a man speaking to men: a man, it is true, endowed with more lively sensibility, more enthusiasm and tenderness, who has a greater knowledge of human nature, and a more comprehensive soul, than are supposed to be common among mankind.” William Wordsworth, “Preface to Lyrical Ballads”
[18] See Wanda Coleman’s “Thiefheart”
[19] See Alicia Ostriker, “Divided Selves: The Quest for Identity”
[20] “Something about the cultural canon itself seems to prefer higher passions and emotions—as if minor or ugly feelings [are not capable] of producing ‘major’ works…” Sianne Ngai, Ugly Feelings
[21] “Depoeticize: reject normal claims of beauty. Smoothness. Finish. Fitness. Decoration. Moving sentiment. Uplift.” Rachel Blau DuPlessis, “Otherhow”
[22] Because when we are propelled into the underworld of the abject, our imaginary borders disintegrate and the abject becomes a tangible threat as our identity system and conception of order has been disrupted (See Julia Kristeva’s Theory of Abjection)
[23] Wanda Coleman, “American Sonnet 71”
[24] Anne Sexton, “The Operation”
[25] Jan Beatty, “When I Was Holy”
[26] Harryette Mullen, Trimmings
[27] Jennifer Tamayo, Ya Da One
[28] Ariana Reines, “After I Died I Tried to Become the Night”
[29] Arda Collins, “The News”
