Counterblog/Blog: The Arrangement of Intro. Poetry

Hey folks! In response to Evan's first blog post on his course design, I'll write a few words about how I've set up my introduction to poetry course. When Evan and I met at a cafe to discuss our syllabi with the introduction to poetry faculty course director, it became apparent that we were taking provocatively divergent paths to organizing our courses on—our introductions to—poetry. The differences in our course designs are particularly compelling in light of recent large-scale changes in Ohio State's undergraduate literature courses: from 40-student historical surveys (for example: American literature, colonial period to Civil War) taught by a graduate student or faculty instructor to 240-student lectures with graduate students assisting a faculty member; from an admittedly bloated, yet generous offering of literature courses to an asceticism brought on by, we were told, an impending drop in enrollment rates. To wit, I feel that Evan and I are working through some urgent questions in light of a sea change in how universities, colleges, and departments think about literary studies. The questions that Evan poses for me at the end of his post are more than sufficient for me to begin with here.

What's the organizing principle of your arrangement?

My course works in two halves separated by a midterm exam. After an initial class meeting meant to challenge students' understandings of what it is to "read" a poem (via Susan Sontag's "Against Interpretation"), the first half of the semester focuses on what I'm calling "craft elements" of poetry. Class meetings focus on topics such as: words/meaning, connotation/denotation, voice/persona, sound/rhythm, figures of speech, closed forms, and open forms. After the midterm, class meetings use students' familiarity with craft elements to focus on thematic approaches to poetry (and these tend to span several class meetings while the craft elements tend to take a single class meeting): mythology/narrative, ekphrasis, personhood/identity, experiment/avant-garde, ars poetica, etc. For a complete look, see my syllabus.

I agree entirely with Evan in that the "key difference" between our course designs is that his "will emphasize narrative history as an organizing principle of comparison and contrast." While I don't mean to jettison history at all (class meetings will often engage focused historical narratives, for example: how the Victorian dramatic monologue responds to the Romantic lyric), I'm avoiding the chronology of literary history as an organizing principle for the chronology of our reading assignments. In my syllabus course description, I define the major goal of the course as a cultivation of "a critical appreciation of poetry," which "leads us to articulate our experience of a poem with an incisive understanding of what that poem attempts to do and how it attempts to do so: a connoisseurship, cleansed of the prejudice and pretension that haunt such a word." Comparison and contrast indeed presents useful ways for students to understand poems as unique artifacts; I assign various poems from various historical situations for a class meeting. For example, one of the class meetings on ekphrasis features readings from Homer, Wordsworth, Keats, the Rossettis, Williams, and Auden.

How does your arrangement direct students to engage with the texts?

Here I'd like to elaborate on what I mean by "unique artifacts." As a sort of sloppy philosophizing, I want students first and foremost to engage the thisness of poems as unique instances of art. The course is an introduction to poetry, and I take "introduction" seriously in the course design (not that Evan doesn't, of course). History, to me, is one of several major ways that we can understand and appreciate how a poem—indeed, how any art object—works. A huge part of my thought here has to do with audience. Scholars of literary history are invested in placing literary artifacts as both forces in and reflections of their historical moments. Historicism is our dominant theoretical perspective and research methodology. My students, though, aren't literary scholars. Only one or two are English majors, and most of them are not in the humanities. They come to the course with diverse wants and needs.

I certainly don't mean to imply that we ought to structure our classes based on what students want them to be. This sort of thinking presents a slippery slope down which we're already tumbling in our increasingly consumer-oriented postsecondary educational system. At the same time, I'm trying to keep in mind that what might be a meaningful way to engage with texts for me as a scholar of literary history might not be a meaningful way to engage with texts for a student in a sophomore-level, general education course called "introduction to poetry." Thus, while historical narratives still play an important role in my course, I don't foreground them as aggressively as I could. As I write in the prompt for the poetry event response assignment, "poetry is a living, breathing thing." I don't want to consign it to the mausoleums of history.

In full disclosure, I've been having a lot of doubt recently as to the usefulness of the undergraduate introductory survey course. I also did my Masters in creative writing (poetry), so I'm predisposed to approach poetry in ways beyond the historical, especially in terms of forms, modes, and themes.

How does your arrangement anticipate students' responses?

I have tried to arrange my readings in ways that establish and then challenge assumptions so that students are faced with conflicting understandings of how poetry works. For example, during the mini-unit on personhood and identity, we spend a class meeting thinking about how poetry and race intersect in the works of Langston Hughes, Audre Lorde, and Terrence Hayes. However, the next class meeting challenges the lyric as an index of race with readings from Angels of the Americlypse, an anthology of Latin@ writing explicitly engaging the experimental and avant-garde traditions and rejecting the pigeonhole of romanticized racial otherness (not that Hughes, Lorde, or Hayes embrace this, of course). Or, after discussing closed form and its affordances, we leap into free verse with Whitman and Ginsberg and eventually land in some prose poetry. In other words, I want each class to say: "here's one way that poetry can be understood, but it certainly isn't the only way, and other ways might even disagree with it." This might not be what Evan means by response, especially considering that he'll be asking students to brainstorm alternate traditions towards the end of the semester, but it is the primary way that I considered reactions to ideas and texts.

Perhaps our next posts might detail our experiences teaching for the first few weeks? Who knows. Stay tuned!

Trey Conatser

Teaching notes, 25 August 2014

I'm starting my Introduction to Poetry with Chistopher Logue's War Music, an adaptation of the Iliad.

I'd like to start my class with the translational context of this adaptation. I believe translation will offer my students an entrypoint for concerns of both legacy and form (two of the main concerns for my class structure).

I plan on presenting this side-by-side comparison and asking such questions as,

• In what ways are these different? What do you notice in the lines, but you don't know how to describe? (Mark up the document in Google Drive.)
• Why are these translations different? Do the differences come from the translator, the audience, the original Greek itself, or something else? (Write a brief response.)
• If the same story takes different poetic forms, is it still the same story? (Write a brief response.)

George Chapman’s translation	Alexander Pope’s translation	Richmond Lattimore’s translation
Achilles’ bane full wrath resound, O Goddesse, that imposd	Achilles' wrath, to Greece the direful spring	Sing, goddess, the anger of Peleus’ son Achilleus
Infinite sorrowes on the Greekes, and many brave soules losd	Of woes unnumber'd, heavenly goddess, sing!	and its devastation, which puts pains thousandfold upon the Achaians,
From breasts Heroique—sent them farre, to that invisible cave	That wrath which hurl'd to Pluto's gloomy reign	hurled in their multitudes to the house of Hades strong souls
That no light comforts; and their lims to dogs and vultures gave.	The souls of mighty chiefs untimely slain;	of heroes, but gave their bodies to be the delicate feasting
To all which Jove’s will gave effect; from whom first strife begunne	Whose limbs unburied on the naked shore,	of dogs, of all birds, and the will of Zeus was accomplished
Betwixt Atrides, king of men, and Thetis’ godlike Sonne.	Devouring dogs and hungry vultures tore	since that time when first there stood in division of conflict
What God gave Eris their command, and op’t that fighting veine?	Since great Achilles and Atrides strove,	Atreus’ son the lord of men and brilliant Achilleus.
Jove’s and Latona’s Sonne, who, fir’d against the king of men	Such was the sovereign doom, and such the will of Jove!	What god was it then set them together in bitter collision?
For contumelie showne his Priest, infectious sickness sent	Declare, O Muse! in what ill-fated hour	Zeus’ son and Leto’s, Apollo, who in anger at the king drove
To plague the armie; and to death, by troopes, the souldiers went.	Sprung the fierce strife, from what offended power	the foul pestilence along the host, and the people perished
Occasiond thus: Chryses, the Priest, came to the fleete to buy,	Latona's son a dire contagion spread,	since Atreus’ son had dishonoured Chryses, priest of Apollo,
For presents of unvalued price, his daughter’s libertie—	And heap'd the camp with mountains of the dead;	when he came beside the fast ships of the Achaians to ransom
The golden scepter and the crowne of Phœbus in his hands	The king of men his reverent priest defied,	back his daughter, carrying gifts beyond count and holding
Proposing—and made suite to all, but most to the Commands	And for the king's offence the people died.	in his hands wound on a staff of gold the ribbons of Apollo
Of both th’ Atrides, who most ruled.  ‘Grat Atreus’ sonnes,’ said he,	For Chryses sought with costly gifts to gain	who strikes from afar, and supplicated all the Achaians,
’And all ye wel-griev’d Greekes, the Gods, whose habitations be	His captive daughter from the victor's chain.	but above all Atreus’ two sons, the marshals of the people:
In heavenly houses, grace your powers with Priam’s razed towne,	Suppliant the venerable father stands;	‘Sons of Atreus and you other strong-greaved Achians,
And grant ye happy conduct home!  To winne which wisht renowne	Apollo's awful ensigns grace his hands	to you may the gods grant who have their homes on Olympos
Of Jove, by honouring his sonne (farre-shooting Phœbus), daine	By these he begs; and lowly bending down,	Priam’s city to be plundered and a fair homecoming thereafter,
For these fit presents to dissolve the ransomeable chaine	Extends the sceptre and the laurel crown	but may you give me back my own daughter and take the ransom,
Of my lov’d daughter’s servitude.’  The Greekes entirely gave	He sued to all, but chief implored for grace	giving honour to Zeus’ son who strikes from afar, Apollo.’

After I give a basic overview of the Iliad in the English tradition, I want to dig into the textual details. Even though Logue's at a greater remove than his predecessors, I want to ask such things as:

• What does Logue lose when he doesn't maintain a consistent meter?
• What does Logue exclude/emphasize, and what does that do?
• What are some poetic devices that are consistent between Logue's account and other translations, and what do they do?

George Chapman’s translation	Alexander Pope’s translation	Richmond Lattimore’s translation	Christopher Logue’s account
			Picture the east Aegean sea by night, And on a beach aslant its shimmering Upwards of 50,000 men Asleep like spoons beside their lethal fleet.
His friend commanded; and brought forth, Briseis from her tent; Gaue her the heralds, and away, to th'Achiue ships they went She sad, and scarce for griefe, could go; her loue, all friends' forsooke, And wept for anger. To the shore, of th'old sea, he betooke Himselfe alone; and casting forth, vpon the purple sea, His wet eyes, and his hands to heauen, aduancing; this sad plea, Made to his mother: ...	Patroclus now the unwilling beauty brought; She, in soft sorrows, and in pensive thought, Pass'd silent, as the heralds held her hand, And of look'd back, slow-moving o'er the strand. Not so his loss the fierce Achilles bore; But sad, retiring to the sounding shore, O'er the wild margin of the deep he hung, That kindred deep from whence his mother sprung:	So he spoke, and Patroklos obeyed his beloved companion. He led forth from the hut Briseis of the fair cheeks and gave her to be taken away; and they walked back beside the ships of the Achaians, and the woman all unwilling went with them still. But Achilleus weeping went and sat in sorrow apart from his companions beside the beach of the grey sea looking out on infinite water. Many times stretching forth his hands he called on his mother:	Now look along that beach, and see Between the keels hatching its western dunes A ten-foot-high reed wall faced with black clay And split by a double-doored gate; Then through the gate a naked man Whose beauty’s silent power stops your heart Fast walk, face wet with tears, out past its guard, And having vanished from their sight Run with what seems to break the speed of light Across the dry, then damp, then sand invisible Beneath inch-high waves that slide Over each others’ luminescent panes; Then kneel among those panes, and say:
… ‘Mother, since, you brought me forth to breath, So short a life: Olympius, had good right to bequeath My short life, honor; yet that right, he doth in no degree: But lets Atrides do me shame, and force that prise from me That all the Greekes gaue: ...	"O parent goddess! since in early bloom Thy son must fall, by too severe a doom; Sure to so short a race of glory born, Great Jove in justice should this span adorn: Honour and fame at least the thunderer owed; And ill he pays the promise of a god, If yon proud monarch thus thy son defies, Obscures my glories, and resumes my prize."	‘Since, my mother, you bore me to be a man with a short life, therefore Zeus of the loud thunder on Olympos should grant me honour at least. But now he has given me not even a little. Now the son of Atreus, powerful Agamemnon, has dishonoured me, since he has taken away my prize and keeps it.’	“Source, hear my voice. God is your friend. You had me to serve him. In turn, He swore: If I, your only child, Chose to die young, by violence, far from home, My standing would be first; be best; The best of bests; here, and in perpetuity. And so I chose. Nor have I changed. But now-- By which I mean today, this instant, now-- That Shepherd of the Clouds has seen me trashed Surely as if he sent a hand to shoo The army into one, and then, before its eyes, Painted my body with fresh Trojan excrement.”
… this with teares, he vtterd, and she heard; Set with her old sire, in his deepes; and instantly appeard, Vp, from the gray sea, like a cloud: sate by his side, and said;	Far from the deep recesses of the main, Where aged Ocean holds his watery reign, The goddess-mother heard. The waves divide; And like a mist she rose above the tide; Beheld him mourning on the naked shores, And thus the sorrows of his soul explores.	So he spoke in tears and the lady his mother heard him as she sat in the depths of the sea at the side of her aged father, and lightly she emerged like a mist from the grey water. She came and sat beside him as he wept, and stroked him with her hand and called him by name and spoke to him: ...	Sometimes Before the gods appear Something is marked: A noise. A note, perhaps. Perhaps A change of temperature. Or else, as now, The scent of oceanic lavender That even as it drew his mind Drew from the seal-coloured sea onto the beach A mist that moved like a weed, then stood, then turned Into his mother, Thetis’, mother lovelost face Her fingers, next, that lift his chin, that push His long, redcurrant-coloured hair Back from his face, her voice, her words:
Why weepes my sonne? what grieues thee? speake; conceale not what hath laid Such hard hand on thee: let both know. ...	"Why grieves my son? Thy anguish let me share; Reveal the cause, and trust a parent's care."	‘Why then, child, do you lament? What sorrow has come to your heart now? Tell me, do not hide it in your mind, and thus we shall both know.’	“Why tears, Achilles? Rest in my arms and answer from your heart.”

Blog/Counterblog: The Arrangement of Intro. Poetry

A word of introduction before I dive into the substance: This next semester I'll be teaching an introduction to poetry class, as will my colleague at OSU, Trey Conatser. Trey and I will both conclude our classes with Scalar projects. But between a common beginning and a common end, our classes will diverge a great deal. Trey has graciously agreed to write a few words on this blog about our different visions for intro. poetry. For our first blog/counterblog, we've agreed to discuss the (historical, thematic, pedagogical)  arrangement of our classes.

~~~

My class is designed to have a two-part structure. In the first part, I introduce my students to one (canonical) tradition of English poetry; in the second, I ask my students to respond critically to that poetic tradition.

1.     The first part covers what I call the "Miltonic" tradition from the classical epics through the Renaissance, into the Romantic period and ending with Eliot. And because my students won't read Latin or Greek, I'm introducing them to the classics through Christopher Logue's War Music (above), which should provide an accessible entry, raises questions of translation, and also connect the beginning (classics) with the end (modernism) of the first part.

2.     The second part covers whatever the students find is lacking or distorted in the Miltonic tradition. Here, I will encourage students to research and present upon poets who have been underrepresented in the first part due to their

• gender, 
• race, 
• sexuality, 
• class, 
• religion, or even their 
• poetic mode. 

Students might research hip-hop, or South African opera, or Maori polemic, and make an argument about why its tradition should be considered alongside the Miltonic tradition.

The key difference that I see between Trey's arrangement and mine is that my class will emphasize narrative history as an organizing principle of comparison and contrast. For starters, there's a bunch of facts to know about poetry; narratives help students organize them. And students don't only approach poetry for knowledge, but also for affect and for ethics. I value those affective and ethical engagements, because I think that's where the important differences lie. I think values undergird the detached analytical claims of literary interpretation. Therefore, I'll present students with an organizing narrative so that they can accept, reject, or amend the Miltonic tradition.

In that spirit, I'd like to pose some topics for Trey to consider in his counter-post on "arrangement." Trey, what's the organizing principle of your arrangement? How does your arrangement direct students to engage with the texts? And how does your arrangement anticipate students' responses?

The Big Picture

I've always been looking at a four-chapter dissertation, but I've alternated between organizing those four chapters around formal binaries (sequential image; image-text) or organizational contrasts on the book history side (printing; engraving). Like Harmon or McLuhan, I'm attracted to tetrads because they emerge from a binary of binaries. In other words, if you have two ways to slice a cake, you have a tetrad. Most of your stakes, then, reflects back to the manner in which you sliced the cake, eg, 'Why organize things around sequential images and image-texts? Are these really essential?' The problem is that nobody else cares about these stakes. Even if the stakes come from theory (eg sequential image; image-text) those stakes only resonate with a specific community organized around that theory.

I think the profession still organizes itself around authors, and so the stakes of a dissertation still have to be communicated to author-specific audiences. In an archive like mine, which has a long horizon, that means I have to snatch up some representative authors from throughout the print industry. It helps to have playwrights and poets from the 16th and 17th C.

Right now, I have plans for chapters on Spenser, Shakespeare, Middleton, and Milton. But this is not ultimately a chronicle of Dead White Men. Each author had major works mediated or re-mediated through image-texts. And each author was immersed in a productive community of publishers, printers, collaborators, etc. So part of the argument of each chapter will dissolve each of the Dead White Men into a set of media and relations.

So far I've described the set of stuff I want to talk about in each chapter. But the real challenge is finding the verb for every thesis, eg, 'This archive shows this' or 'proves that'. I don't think that's something I can find until I start writing.