The problem of language

Presented my reading package yesterday on 'Language'. It went pretty well. Some key things that came out of it for me was the idea of language as fossils or historical elements, in that you can (not exclusively) think of them as little time capsules of context, indicators of what people (societies? cultures?) have thought in the past. I like that. Opens up ideas on how to use that in my writing.

And also James talked about the problem of language. One essay written by an etymologist pointed out that because of the infinite ways that words can be connected together to mean new/different things that the writer has infinite power to create whatever they choose which is true, but she didn't really go into the area of the problems that causes with communication. How do you know that the brilliant original sentence you just wrote is going to be understood by anybody, maybe your connections are too random, maybe some people will get it and some won't, maybe the cultural context of your language is so different from someone elses they will miss crucial aspects? Should we keep this in mind and play it safe? That is the problem, how to communicate in an original and fresh way? There is no answer of course and I think it comes down to relishing the problem rather than being despaired by it. Like Bill Manhire said [paraphrased] poets like to strive for purity in their language, but the most interesting ones are those that fail.

Been hammering through my Rae Armantrout book and I'm loving some of them, I think my initial impressions from last week were a bit rash. I love this one. The ending is fantastic, Equals:

1

As if, after all,

the thing that comes to mind

squared

times inertia

equaled the "real."

2

One lizard

jammed headfirst

down the throat

of a second.

That last line is brought about so expertly, the syntax, the ridiculousness of the tone compared with the seriousness of the first section...brilliant.

Wrote three things today, one of them stupid and titleless, one has some potential, and the other semi-found poem about etymology I like, because pure chance came in and rescued it.