Arts & Aesthetics
Kindly Whispering Illogical Obscenities
by Tim Lien
A writer friend of mine sent me a poem by Jack Gilbert entitled “Failing and Flying.” This person told me that this was a poem to “savor.” Read on:
Jack Gilbert: Winner of the National Book Critics Award for Refusing Heaven (2005), published in The New Yorker, and winner of the Guggenheim Fellowship. All of these accolades point to critical acclaim and acceptance in the collegial club of Fine Literature. Additionally, this exclusive membership assumes and that good clear thinking has accompanied Gilbert’s creativity, thus, making Gilbert an “intellectual,” as well.
Needless to say, I was bothered by Gilbert’s poem. Yes, it was beautifully written, but it was devoid of coherent thought. Gilbert confused descriptive and romantic prose with good thinking. At first glance, an unwitting reader could sigh and say, “I never thought of it that way; how romantic and tragic!…maybe Icarus had succeeded on some level.” But this ignores some of the cold un-descriptive facts: Icarus did not heed instruction; he aspired to ascend to the gods, and consequently, Icarus descended beneath the waves—dead, failed, and definitely not flying.
Writing is powerful. And one could argue, that creative writing can be even more powerful. However, powerful and creative writing does not guarantee that it makes sense. I can beautifully describe illogical thought, yet, creatively rendered writing:
Regardless of the sensational romantic images that were conjured up by my silly poem, the poem asserts something completely idiotic: It attempts to slip by your normal defense of common sense by announcing that 2 plus 2 is now 5. Stupidity? Of course. And accompanied by lush, descriptive images— it still remains to be stupidity. Unfortunately, the postmodern mind has placed such an emphasis on experienced sensation, that it has literally lost its mind.
There are good reasons why Icarus isn’t among our pantheon of heroes—it’s because he failed and he is dead. Or maybe let me phrase it this way: After his lungs heaved water inward for the last time, Icarus’ limbs jerked in exasperation, finally resting and pointing to the waning light above.
Posted by Tim Lien at May 3, 2007 02:53 PM
I think your poem would be a sensational hit among most postmoderns. I can almost hear someone thinking, “you know, when you put it like that, I can see that 2 + 2 really can be five….and five with courage at that…how cool!
I almost didn’t post after reading Peggy’s great comment on postmoderns. I feel so inadequate! (G) But here goes anyway.
An example of this that came to mind was a movie with Ryan O’Neal and ALi McGraw (it made both of them stars) called “Love Story.” O’Neal (rich boy) and McGraw (poor girl) fell in love after which she found out that she had terminal cancer. All of this played out (very maudlin) and she died.
The movie was wildly popular, maybe the origianal “Chick Flick,” and I truly believe every young woman in America either saw it or wanted someone to take them to see it. The point I wanted to make was that it became famous for the lovers’ credo; “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.” You can’t believe how seriously this was taken and how often it was quoted.
Now we know that this is utter nonsense. Love is the ability to say you’re sorry; to understand that you and even your partner are fallen and that when the inevitable happens and one, or both of you do something hurtful, you or your partner are able to deal with it in repentance, grace and love. What always made it funny to me was that I wondered how many of the girls who were so in love with the movie and its “message” would someday demand an apology and their boyfriends/husbands would calmly say, “love means never having to say you’re sorry!”
So much falls short when you look at it through the lens of our holy religion.
Tim,
I disagree with your take on this poem. Look at this poem as a romantically tragic view of the human condition. Like Adam and Eve living wonderfully in the garden and then falling out of grace for eating the apple. Like Moses leading Israel out of Egypt, only to be condemmed for aspiring to be God-like by striking the rock. Like Peter being a great friend of Jesus, and then denying him 3 times.
Did Icurus fail by not heeding warnings and trying to become like the gods? Of course! He did suceed though, if only for a brief moment. I do not think he is using random romantic illustrations. He is comparing Icurus to everyone. This is the human condition, we aspire to something great, only to fall miserably. It is something romantically tragic, something that happens to every one of us sometime in our lives. It is not 2+2=5, it is the statement that human life is tragic, therefore the small sucess that we can get out of life must be treasured, even if it ultimately leads to pain.
Tman, First off let me say that this exactly what we envisioned with the Riverblog—not necessarily a place where we all agree, but a great venue for interacting with ideas. Disagreement does not mean there is always angst or ill-will. In fact, hopefully, this will engender a great dialogue.
I like your Biblical parallels and examples, but I don’t like the label “romantic” attached to tragic. I agree that those events were gut-wrenchingly tragic, but they were far from “romantic.” Following your reasoning, we have to say that Adam and Eve “achieved great things” at the moment they ate the fruit in the garden. You would have to say that achieving the knowledge of good and evil was a “soaring moment” for our first parents. You would have to say they reached the pinnacle of their function and intended created purpose by chewing softly on the forbidden fruit. And that is patently false.
The intended function of man (Man at his “pinnacle”), looks very different from JUST knowing good and evil or soaring for a few moments. Man succeeding or “man at his pinnacle” can be seen in two places: pre-Fall, or in heaven. It’s difficult for me to find any sort of achievement in failure.
You cannot mix your stories: Either Icarus displays the fall of man, or he displays the condition of man after the fall—The story cannot represent both. If we were to transpose our own postmodern meanings into the story, then we could say that (as believing Christians) Icarus represents the fall of man. If this is the case, then a proper interpretation would be that God must rescue Icarus as he lies dead at the bottom of the sea.
However, if the Icarus story displays the plighted experience of all well-meaning individuals (after the Fall) then there is no hope…no redemption, no rescue, no remedy, or solution. Simply describing failure gives us nothing. It become truly tragic, without a hint of romance.
Using your own words: “we aspire to something great, only to fall miserably.” Aspiration is not equivalent to actual achievement. Just look at ‘aspiring actors.’ We can definitely say that Icarus “aspired,” but he did nothing more.
But, again, it is a very postmodern notion to create our own meanings for stories. If that were to be the case, then we could have no interpretive agreement—every opinion would be just as valid. It is a better method to seek the author’s original intent, without foisting our own ideas. In essence we must let the ideas speak for themselves. And this is why I gave the ‘New Math’ illustration. Gilbert was REINTERPRETING Icarus in the face of generations of proper interpretation. It is precisely this, that is invalid. And no amount of beautiful or ‘tragically romantic’ language can cover that up.
Great thought, keep ‘em coming, Tim
Hello Riverblog. This is my first post, so I will try to be brief. Regarding Miller’s poem, I think it is easy to get swept up in the Icarus metaphor. No comparison of this sort is ever perfect, and Tim, I don’t think that Miller is trying to say that Icarus is a “hero.” Yes, he does ultimately fail and die in the end, but I think the point of the metphor is that even in failure (think mythology and marriage) there is often beauty. Something resembles Hemingway here—that there is beauty in the trying even though the result is failure. My point is that making a complicated and (I think) beautiful comparison of Icarus’ plight to a failed marriage is not the same thing as saying 2 + 2=5.
On that point, I think that we Christians are guilty of the same thing that we accuse the Postmoderns of. Often they are criticized for making every interpretation valid, but isn’t that what we’ve done here? It is a common theme of sermons, spiritual books and the like to interpret secular materials through a lens of Christianity, much like postmodern thought re-interprets works through various other viewpoints (Marxism, Feminism, Queer Theory, et al). Is fair to be critical for the same interpretive technique that is so often employed in Christian circles?
Allen, A couple things: I will offer a dissenting opinion (w/ support) to your first paragraph, and agree with your second point. I think we do find value/beauty in failure and the grotesque—and I think citing Hemingway is a great example. Flannery O’Connor, too, is an excellent example of a so-called “Christian,” who often wrote of the odd, the freakish, and the strange. Her essay, An Introduction to A Memoir of Mary Anne, is a brilliant little piece where she defends the writing of the “plainly grotesque.” She goes on to explain the value of finding God’s work in everything BUT the “falsely cute and pious.” Don’t get me wrong about Gilbert’s poem. I am a realist. I want people to write what is accurately reflected in a broken world. BUT, don’t try to fool me into thinking that broken realism is TRIUMPH, as Gilbert asserted in his last line of his poem. Finding value in a broken marriage, or a failed life experience is very different from equating it to “triumph.” To do so, is to turn the world on its head—calling black, white, and cold, hot. You and I are on the same page with your second point, which I really think is very discerning of you. In my response to Tman, I tried to assert the same thing: it is very postmodern of us to even push Judeo-Christian symbolism onto a story that was not constructed with these values in mind. I, too, agree, that Christians inappropriately “do the same thing.” In my response to Tman, I was not suggesting that we interpret Icarus with of those two “Christian” options—I was only logically playing out Tman’s 2 different suggestions. I have to confess, though, that I am a pre-suppositionalist: there is no one who is interpreting any story without some lens—I will always proudly assert that I am going to make sense of any given story/event in light of biblical knowledge. I think that this is what might aid the post-modern: making an appeal to timeless truth for definitions and standards. My whining has everything to do with pushing new revisionist ideas on myths/stories/literature/history that heretofore have been untouched. The hubris of the modern man/postmodern man is staggering in this regard.
I have never attended your church. But I have been searching for a long, long time for a “home.” I never grew up surrounded by love, but I have heard the church may be a place to find it. I have to admit, I was deeply saddened by this blog. Not because of the disagreement about a poem. That’s not even remotely the issue. But rather, how you treated this friend of yours. I would feel violated if someone I consider to be a friend would go behind my back and write something so hard about something that I “savor.” Clearly, I don’t know all the facts, but I suspect your friend found beauty in this poem. You did not. And that’s perfectly fine. Art, after all, is such a personal experience. That’s what makes it so wonderful. But to have your comments posted for all the world to see just screams out of anger toward this friend. Like you said, I hope your friend doesn’t read your comments because he wouldn’t be a friend after that. And that just doesn’t seem like something that’s kind to do.
I’m sorry. But my journey of searching for a home will continue. You may not want to post my comments and that’s fine. I don’t want to offend.
Lonely on Saratoga Lane
Lonely, My heart breaks for you…and I am hurt that you feel so much pain.
Please know that I am fully confident that this friend of mine has, indeed, probably read my blog. I would never publish something to reveal a person’s identity OR to embarrass. She is a sweet, caring, brilliant, and maturing believer. My point of the blog was to address Gilbert’s thought processes— not the thought of my friend, who, btw, has excellent critical faculties herself.
I do hope your continued journey gives you peace, and I do pray that you find a sweet fellowship of believers.
Many blessings, Tim
read a lot here on the blog, first time post. I love the story of Icarus however he disregarded all warnings. Romantic? Sure. I mean he’s flying. It all boils down to one quote I’ve always enjoyed.
Stupidity should be painful.
I think Tim’s original point cannot be obscured with all the tangential discussions. Postmodern thought places a high value on “experience” and “beauty” at the cost of thought. An entire generation is swallowing the pill of dangerous thought, because it is coated with flavored sugar.
All, After several passionate conversations and some emails outside this thread, I need to make something very clear: I am Icarus. You don’t need to go very far into my history to see failure. My intent was not to belittle the significance of ANYONE’s real failures. My point, lost in my less-than-clear prose, was to critically break-down a poem that reflected a good example of post-modern thought. Many apologies to the sweet, sweet people who share in failures like mine.
I feel compelled to respond to “lonely in Saratoga” for several reasons that I hope to elucidate. Tim’s answer was entirely appropriate, but I am still somewhat concerned because of other issues that were raised.
First of all, Tim’s post to the Riverblog made absolutely no disparging remark to or about his friend. His one remark, about her not seeing it, was almost certainly a joking reference to disagreeing with her. It certainly was no “violation” in any sense of the word. I say this because I know Tim well and know that this is something he simply would not do. I can understand how “lonely” might be ultra sensitive to this sort of issue, given his background, but it simply doesn’t exist in any personal exchange between Tim and his friend. In fact, when Tim was called out for this insensitivity by someone who “clearly doesn’t know all the facts;” it seems to be an example of the very thing he is condemning.
The second thing I felt compelled to speak up about is our Church. Churches are composed of fallen men and women who are redeemed by Christ; and as such, we are to be warm and forgiving, as we have been forgiven.There is no church I’ve ever attended that holds this closer than we do. Whether intended or not, the implication in “lonely’s” reply is that we are far from that standard; that we are hard, unforgiving, and downright mean; thus the search must go on. Again, this is not the case and this cannot be deduced by the blog post in question.
Finally, Tim was discussing the poem and not the relationship. I think his point was valid. Others don’t and that’s okay. Some of our posts agreed with him; others with his friend. As “lonely” said, that’s art, and it’s great to have the Riverblog to talk about it. I will conclude by stating unequivocally that Tim Lien is very aware of his own failures as a fallen man. To verify this, one can go to the home page of the web site and listen to one of his sermons; any one of his sermons, and they will understand how grace works in his life even through his failures.
Now that the discussion is over, I’ll comment! It seems to me that writings like the Icurus poem are a ruse on the part of the writer to escape his own culpability in the failed relationship. (whether purely deceptive or self-deceiving, too.)By gilding it in sweet, romantic imagery one can walk away not only absolved of guilt, but turning the thing upside down and slip-sliding away as the hero. It also seems to me that men are generally the ones who most often take this tack and women who are asked to buy it…but that is not the point. All of us prefer our own definition of love to that of the Definer of all truth. At heart, His definition involves a cross, and most of us are reticent to embrace that. Doug Wilson defines it succinctly as “my life for yours,” the practice of our Lord and the pattern for us to follow in our own relationships. On a lighter note, I have always wanted to fly. I devoted the greater part of a long summer when I was about six to trying. I’d run across the length of our back porch and jump off, furiously flapping my arms …occasionally thinking that maybe…just maybe…there for a second…I stayed in the air just a bit longer than normal. Unfortunately, reality and the ground were always there to meet me. The only times I’ve really soared were in a few dreams. Still, I wouldn’t want to be made into a bird, much less pursue the study of aerodynamics!
Ok Tim, you caught me mixing metaphors here… So let me be a little bit more specific.
About the parallel to Icarus and Biblical Characters:
However, Icurus only succeeded in failure, his brief success was a direct result of doing something he knew was wrong. Therefore the metaphor does not apply to the Biblical Characters.
But lets use this same logic on the poem’s imagery.
Suddenly the Icarus metaphor is not that far away from working. Let’s compare the points:
Ok so the imagery seems to parallel here. But what about the romantic aspect of it? Responding to your statement:
“Simply describing failure gives us nothing. It become truly tragic, without a hint of romance”
This is true; however, the poet does not describe failure in isolation. He also describes success. He describes a couple in love, if only for a short while, even if they knew better and ignored advice. This is Icarus: He ignored advice, but was so in love with his ideals that he flew anyway. Don’t forget that he DID succeed in flight, it was only flying too close to the Sun that melted his wings and he fell. So here there is not simply failure, but failure after the ecstasy of brief success. I do not believe the poet is a Christian, so therefore I would have to believe that he is describing life from his viewpoint. Is this not tragically romantic? The parallel to life could be:
Life is short, whatever success you achieve should be enjoyed because in the end is failure (death). I agree that this is not the most ideal outcome; however I do not believe that everything needs a happy ending to qualify as beautiful.
Just a thought, let me know what you think.
Tyler