Looks pretty enough, doesn't it? This is where I'll be going to school next year.
http://www.colby.edu/
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Off to the Maine Wilderness
Looks pretty enough, doesn't it? This is where I'll be going to school next year.
http://www.colby.edu/
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Variations to "Flight of the Quetzalcoatl"
Variations to "Flight of the Quetzalcoatl"
His body coiled burning on the water
His arms annoyed and prodded
He who they wasted with their drink
*
And he remembered the celibate priestess
This face and his reflected in the water
*
In the morning
This beating memory
---
This poem fragment was a little bit inspired by the work of Armand Schwerner. He wrote made up "reconstructions" of Sumero-Akkadian inscriptions that he called tablets. Now my technique is hardly similar but the idea behind this poem is. I took inspiration from an ethnopoetic translation and created something new out of it. The result is something that is inspired and informed by indigenous culture but new, filtered through the influence of our own culture. I believe that the original poem was based on a myth in which Quetzalcoatal sleeps with a celibate priestess after becoming drunk and then burns himself in remorse at which point his heart becomes the morning star, Tlahuizcalpantecuhtli. The original translator of this poem actually happens to be Ángel María Garibay Kintana as well but the version I read was by Jerome Rothenberg.
Source poem: http://www.ubu.com/ethno/poems/quetzal.pdf
His body coiled burning on the water
whose remorse cut a sort of drunk “s” a highway in the dirt from Tula
whose wisdom became ash leeched out among the young roots
whose old silver greyed and crusted over and his papers coiled and turned in on themselves
His arms annoyed and prodded
by the greasy fingers of old shamans
He who they wasted with their drink
*
And he remembered the celibate priestess
her eyes cloudy turned away and bored and unresponsive
This face and his reflected in the water
in a long cursive “s” of vapor as he boiled
*
In the morning
his heart suspended in the clouds the horizon dull black with the loss of his human body and human thoughts and wisdom
his body into vapor
This beating memory
flicker
morning star
---
This poem fragment was a little bit inspired by the work of Armand Schwerner. He wrote made up "reconstructions" of Sumero-Akkadian inscriptions that he called tablets. Now my technique is hardly similar but the idea behind this poem is. I took inspiration from an ethnopoetic translation and created something new out of it. The result is something that is inspired and informed by indigenous culture but new, filtered through the influence of our own culture. I believe that the original poem was based on a myth in which Quetzalcoatal sleeps with a celibate priestess after becoming drunk and then burns himself in remorse at which point his heart becomes the morning star, Tlahuizcalpantecuhtli. The original translator of this poem actually happens to be Ángel María Garibay Kintana as well but the version I read was by Jerome Rothenberg.
Source poem: http://www.ubu.com/ethno/poems/quetzal.pdf
A Translation
Poema de la Conquista
Con suerte lamentosa nos vimos angustiados.
En los caminos yacen dardos rotos:
los cabellos están esparcidos.
Destechadas están las casas,
enrojecidos tienen sus muros.
Gusanos pululan por calles y plazas,
y están las paredes manchadas de sesos.
Rojas están las aguas, cual si las hubieran teñido,
y si las bebíamos, eran agua de salitre.
Golpeábamos los muros de adobe en nuestra ansiedad
y nos quedaba por herencia una red de agujeros.
En los escudos estuvo nuestro resguardo,
pero los escudos no detienen la desolación.
Hemos comido panes de colorín
hemos masticado grama salitrosa,
pedazos de adobe, lagartijas, ratones
y tierra hecha polvo y aun los gusanos...
Poem of the Conquest
With sad luck we saw ourselves tormented.
Broken arrows lie in the streets,
the hair is scattered.
The houses are unroofed,
their walls are reddened.
Worms writhe in the streets and plazas,
the walls are painted with brains.
The waters are dyed red and if we drank them,
they were waters of niter.
We punched the adobe walls in our anxiety,
we left a network of holes as an inheritance.
We defended ourselves with shields,
but the shields couldn't stop our desolation.
We have eaten brightly colored breads,
we have chewed salty grass,
---
This is a translation of a translation. And this seems to be a common theme in ethnopoetics. The original version was translated from a 1528 Nahuatl manuscript by Ángel María Garibay Kintana. Ethnopoetics is all about finding connections and taking from other cultures to broaden our own perspective. And so that is what I tried to do here. I brought this obscure record of indigenous art into our culture and have made it accessible to you. I tried to preserve the meaning more completely by altering the language where it was necessary into modern terms that would be more comprehensible. I broke up the lines to highlight meaning and changed language to maintain the parallelism that I can tell through the translation was a feature of the original. I hope that my translation is enlightening to you, that it communicates the brutality of the Spanish conquests as told by the people who experienced them.
BTW I can't really be sure of the credibility of the website I took this Spanish version from.
Source: http://www.toltecayotl.org/tolteca/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=604:poesia-nahuatl-angel-maria-garibay-kintana&catid=26:general&Itemid=74
Con suerte lamentosa nos vimos angustiados.
En los caminos yacen dardos rotos:
los cabellos están esparcidos.
Destechadas están las casas,
enrojecidos tienen sus muros.
Gusanos pululan por calles y plazas,
y están las paredes manchadas de sesos.
Rojas están las aguas, cual si las hubieran teñido,
y si las bebíamos, eran agua de salitre.
Golpeábamos los muros de adobe en nuestra ansiedad
y nos quedaba por herencia una red de agujeros.
En los escudos estuvo nuestro resguardo,
pero los escudos no detienen la desolación.
Hemos comido panes de colorín
hemos masticado grama salitrosa,
pedazos de adobe, lagartijas, ratones
y tierra hecha polvo y aun los gusanos...
Poem of the Conquest
With sad luck we saw ourselves tormented.
Broken arrows lie in the streets,
the hair is scattered.
The houses are unroofed,
their walls are reddened.
Worms writhe in the streets and plazas,
the walls are painted with brains.
The waters are dyed red and if we drank them,
they were waters of niter.
We punched the adobe walls in our anxiety,
we left a network of holes as an inheritance.
We defended ourselves with shields,
but the shields couldn't stop our desolation.
We have eaten brightly colored breads,
we have chewed salty grass,
pieces of adobe,
little lizards, mice,
dirt turned into dust, worms...
---
This is a translation of a translation. And this seems to be a common theme in ethnopoetics. The original version was translated from a 1528 Nahuatl manuscript by Ángel María Garibay Kintana. Ethnopoetics is all about finding connections and taking from other cultures to broaden our own perspective. And so that is what I tried to do here. I brought this obscure record of indigenous art into our culture and have made it accessible to you. I tried to preserve the meaning more completely by altering the language where it was necessary into modern terms that would be more comprehensible. I broke up the lines to highlight meaning and changed language to maintain the parallelism that I can tell through the translation was a feature of the original. I hope that my translation is enlightening to you, that it communicates the brutality of the Spanish conquests as told by the people who experienced them.
BTW I can't really be sure of the credibility of the website I took this Spanish version from.
Source: http://www.toltecayotl.org/tolteca/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=604:poesia-nahuatl-angel-maria-garibay-kintana&catid=26:general&Itemid=74
Monday, June 1, 2009
Tuvan Throat Singing
How does one go about explicating a song in another language from a part of the world most people in the United States wouldn’t even know exists? I wouldn’t know Tuva existed either had it not been for these YouTube videos. And as one watches this video it is immediately apparent that one is dealing with something that is millions of years and miles from our culture. But then again, ethnopoetics is about finding connections between distant social groups. It kind of necessitates going beyond our cultural comfort zone. We know that we can never wholly understand these foreign works of art but must be confident that we are not simply exploiting the cultures that created them.
Wikipedia tells me that Tuvan throat singing is related to the indigenous animism of the region. That is, their indigenous religion is centered around the belief that non-human objects, organisms, and forces have souls. In this belief system, humans are on a more-or-less equal footing with their natural surroundings and desire some form of unity with them. This is reflected in their throat singing. Wikipedia also tells me that the sounds in this style of music are made to mimic natural sounds. There is a long list of specific styles of throat singing and the natural sounds they correspond to but I won’t rely on it.
Let me start with the instrumentation. On this banjo-like little instrument the singer to the right repeats one “riff” throughout the song. The sound is clunky and choppy. It relies mostly on a straight thumping rhythm. However, the instrumentalist also plays trilled triplets that remind me of walking. The melody is melancholy in an obvious minor key. All of this, I think, suggests either a mood of tireless journeying or working.
Moving on. At first the singer on the right sings in a harsh sort of strained voice. This agrees with the mood of tireless journeying/working I mentioned earlier. Or it might possibly reflect the harshness of their surroundings during the winter. The singer on the left comes in with a deep, buzzing drone. It is almost overpowering. This kind of drone is ubiquitous in spiritual music – it is the same kind of drone one might hear in the playing of the Scottish bagpipe, Indian sitar, or Australian didgeridoo. It is representative of the overwhelming power of nature as well as a sort of unity between man and nature. In this particular instance the singer’s drone reminds me of fierce winter winds or thunderous crashing water (another possible link to the theme of the harshness of winter). But then the singer on the right comes in with a sung melody that sounds like a whistle. It is sometimes faint but manages to sing through the other singer’s roaring drone. And it immediately reminds one of bird singing. Furthermore, in contrast to the rest of the song it is happy sounding, in a major key. Imagine hearing a bird singing through the roaring sound of a waterfall in winter. This juxtaposition suggests the capability of humble living things to persevere and succeed through the overpowering forces that surround them.
One must also keep in mind that, as this is a video, the filmmaker is trying to make a point in the video as well. Look at the icy water flowing just behind the singers. And then the people ice fishing in front of an industrial background of power lines and buildings. This reinforces my theme as well as providing an extension of it: the will of indigenous peoples to survive in a suddenly new modern world.
This video is clearly ethnographic. The filmmaker brings an obscure cultural phenomenon to the attention of a wider audience. He allows the culture to represent itself and stays faithful to the style of music in its most authentic form. However, he also injects his own, foreign perspective in the staging of the video as well as providing context for the music by identifying the place and culture that created it.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Reflection 2
Ethnopoetics seems an essential manifestation of the postmodernism that is so prevalent in literature today. Whereas poetic movements before about fifty years ago were fundamentally concerned with advancing a specific ideology, representing a specific culture, or reacting to older ideologies, ethnopoetics is a purposely "decentered poetics" (Dennis Tedlock). Alcheringa acknowledges its provisional nature ("a ground for experiments in the translation of tribal/oral poetry") a means rather than an end. But most importantly it, in a subtle way, works to dissolve the notions of time and place that inform literature. That is, it seeks to incorporate and be informed by diverse and distant cultures (both temporally and spacially). While it doesn't deny the influence that a person's culture may have on his own work and interpretations of foreign work, it also acknowledges the fact that culture is becoming less and less cohesive. IE, due to advancements in communication and the stock of general knowledge, our "culture" is as much a collaging of elements from other times and places as anything. Likewise, ethnopoetics is a collaging of fragments of cultural information from diverse cultures as well as the work of translators from many different backgrounds ("poets with an interest in anthropology and linguistics and ... anthropologists and linguists with an interest in poetry" as Dennis Tedlock puts it, as well as poets from many different disciplines).
Rothenberg recognizes a specific awkwardness in ethnopoetics. In a postcolonial world it seems that there is only a fine line between learning from other cultures and exploiting them, finding beauty in these cultures and voyeuristically deconstructing them as primitive and weird, and bringing their work to a wider audience and distorting it with our western perspectives. Ethnopoetics acknowledges the value of exploring primitive cultures that may be closer to nature and untainted by our modern society ("to master the archaic & the primitive as models of basic nature-related cultures...") but doesn't make any assumptions that would alienate these cultures or preemptively mark them off from our own.
And as much as ethnopoetics is a product of our modern society it is also a reaction to it. It is an effort to preserve the immense diversity of cultures that is being destroyed in the very postmodern collaging of cultures that we are experiencing. Gary Snyder warns of the potential for a worldwide "monoculture." And the last, and seemingly most important, of Alcheringa's goals as written in its statement of intentions is "to combat cultural genocide in all its manifestations."
It seems to me that there are several perspectives on what the role of ethnopoetics is exactly. Gary Snyder's may be more radical - a primitivist effort to directly combat the encroachment of modern culture. While Dennis Tedlock's is, by comparison, humble and conciliatory - just an effort to expand the scope of modern poetry. One can clearly observe that ethnopoetics remains as a vague idea open for individidual interpretation than a concentrated group effort.
And as I mentioned in my first post, there is clearly an immense diversity in the form of ethnopoetic writing. All ethnopoetic poets share the desire to explore the immense diversity of cultures and to bring the ideas of these cultures to a modern audience. Most desire to convey the meaning of the original works as faithfully as possible. But the most faithful mode of translation is up for debate. Poems may be translated into standard, grammatically typical English or concrete poetry filled with untranslatable sounds. Just as the best way to convey meaning is a matter constantly being debated in poetry, the best way to translate a poem is a matter constantly being debated in ethnopoetics.
Sources:
Rothenberg, Jerome. Shaking the Poem: Traditional Poetry of the Indian North Americas. New York: University of New Mexico Press, 1991.
"Selections from Alcheringa." Duration Press. 2009. 14 May 2009 http://www.durationpress.com/archives/ethnopoetics/alcheringa/alcheringa.pdf.
Snyder, Gary. "The Politics of Ethnopoetics." Ubu Web. 2009. 1 June 2009 http://www.ubu.com/ethno/discourses/snyder_politics.pdf.
Tedlock, Dennis. "Ethnopoetics." Ubu Web. 2009. 1 June 2009 http://www.ubu.com/ethno/discourses/tedlock_ethno.html.
"...it has become fashionable today to deny the possibility of crossing the boundaries that separate people of different races & cultures... Yet the idea of translation has always been that such a boundary is not only possible but desirable. By its very nature, translation asserts or at least implies a concept of psychic & biological unity... Each poem, being made present & translated, flies in the face of divisive ideology."
- Jerome Rothenberg
Rothenberg recognizes a specific awkwardness in ethnopoetics. In a postcolonial world it seems that there is only a fine line between learning from other cultures and exploiting them, finding beauty in these cultures and voyeuristically deconstructing them as primitive and weird, and bringing their work to a wider audience and distorting it with our western perspectives. Ethnopoetics acknowledges the value of exploring primitive cultures that may be closer to nature and untainted by our modern society ("to master the archaic & the primitive as models of basic nature-related cultures...") but doesn't make any assumptions that would alienate these cultures or preemptively mark them off from our own.
"The earth... is 57 million square miles, 3.7 billion human beings, evolved over the last 4 million years; plus, 2 million species of insects, 1 million species of plants, 20 thousand species of sh, and 8,700 species of birds; constructed out of 97 naturally occurring surface elements with the power of the annual solar income of the sun. That is a lot of diversity."
-Gary Snyder
And as much as ethnopoetics is a product of our modern society it is also a reaction to it. It is an effort to preserve the immense diversity of cultures that is being destroyed in the very postmodern collaging of cultures that we are experiencing. Gary Snyder warns of the potential for a worldwide "monoculture." And the last, and seemingly most important, of Alcheringa's goals as written in its statement of intentions is "to combat cultural genocide in all its manifestations."
It seems to me that there are several perspectives on what the role of ethnopoetics is exactly. Gary Snyder's may be more radical - a primitivist effort to directly combat the encroachment of modern culture. While Dennis Tedlock's is, by comparison, humble and conciliatory - just an effort to expand the scope of modern poetry. One can clearly observe that ethnopoetics remains as a vague idea open for individidual interpretation than a concentrated group effort.
And as I mentioned in my first post, there is clearly an immense diversity in the form of ethnopoetic writing. All ethnopoetic poets share the desire to explore the immense diversity of cultures and to bring the ideas of these cultures to a modern audience. Most desire to convey the meaning of the original works as faithfully as possible. But the most faithful mode of translation is up for debate. Poems may be translated into standard, grammatically typical English or concrete poetry filled with untranslatable sounds. Just as the best way to convey meaning is a matter constantly being debated in poetry, the best way to translate a poem is a matter constantly being debated in ethnopoetics.
Sources:
Rothenberg, Jerome. Shaking the Poem: Traditional Poetry of the Indian North Americas. New York: University of New Mexico Press, 1991.
"Selections from Alcheringa." Duration Press. 2009. 14 May 2009 http://www.durationpress.com/archives/ethnopoetics/alcheringa/alcheringa.pdf.
Snyder, Gary. "The Politics of Ethnopoetics." Ubu Web. 2009. 1 June 2009 http://www.ubu.com/ethno/discourses/snyder_politics.pdf.
Tedlock, Dennis. "Ethnopoetics." Ubu Web. 2009. 1 June 2009 http://www.ubu.com/ethno/discourses/tedlock_ethno.html.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Poem to be Recited Every 8 Years While Eating Unleavened Tamales
It can be difficult to understand many of these poems without background. They rely on complex allusions that are completely alien to most western readers. Furthermore, many of them purposely use ambiguity to create a mystical, ineffable kind of mood. I tried to research a few of the allusions in this poem. I noticed that Tlaçolteotl, the god of vice and purification, was oddly juxtaposed with images of Quetzalcoatl, Piltzintecutli, and Xochiquetzal, gods of fertility and knowledge, and Xolotl, god of lightning and death. These associations, coupled with the poem's deliberate ambiguity and minimalistic descriptions, assert the overwhelming power of romantic love.
Part 1 of this poem immediately makes it evident that this poem is a sort of chronicle of the unfolding of the speaker's understanding: "the flower / my heart / it opened." The speaker seems to suggest some kind of sexual encounter as the catalyst in creating this understanding. His heart is opened at midnight by Tlaçolteotl, "our mother / goddess desire." The speaker suggests that he has gained understanding by opening himself to "desire." Another thing that is immediately apparent about this section is its strange line breaks. They immediately visually seperate it from the other parts of the poem. I have come up with a couple possible reasons for this: 1. this typography echoes the "opening" of the speaker's heart, 2. it emphasizes the importance of the different manifestations of Tlaçolteotl.
Part 2 begins to describe the unfolding of the speaker's understanding. The repetition of the phrase "in the" emphasizes the multiple instances of birth that are occurring in this setting. Furthermore, humans, nature ("jewel-fish"), and gods ("maize god") are juxtaposed and united in these instances of birth/reproduction.
Part 3 is immediately striking in its brevity, typography, and nature as a short sentence fragment. It is hard to say but my best guess is that it functions to describe the kind of paradise/plenty that exists after the birth introduced in the previous parts.
Part 4 again brings the gods down to earth. But this time literally: "down here on earth / you rise in the marketplace and say / I am lord Quetzalcoatl." The connection between heaven and earth is especially explicit as the part progresses: "hear the word of our lord / in the quechol-bird's word." Quechol-birds literally reflect the gods but these lines also develop the connection further through the repetition of the "rd" sound. This consonance strengthens the connection between gods and nature and also perhaps echoes the songs of the quechol-birds (a connection between man and nature?). However there is an abrupt transition in the last stanza. It is the first instance of death being mentioned in the poem. This makes it apparent that the birth in this poem is also a rebirth. It also explains that this birth is a means of moving on and cultivating hope. Even if this hope is only meager: "your brother whom we mourn / will never be killed again."
At this point the mood of the poem suddenly became very melancholy for me. The world moves on so the best we can do is accept the finality of the past and enjoy the brief period of rebirth that we have and the (momentary) end of suffering.
Xolotl stands menacing over part 5 of the poem. This marks a transition to part 6 in which Piltzintecutli, a fertility god, is "lain down." Or at least, the speaker asks us to look to see if he is lain down. This distinction conveys a sense of anxiety. The repetition of the word dark highlights this anxiety and emphasizes the disollution that occurs after the plenty described earlier.
Part 7, too, is difficult. I wonder about the significance of this merchant. It could be that the merchant comes to exploit the peoples' desires. This is hardly suggested by the context in that he is selling luxury items: "turquoise spikes for your ears / and turquoise bands for your arms." But according to Wikipedia Xochiquetzal is "By connotation, ... also representative of human desire, pleasure, and excess." This is contrasted with the seeming connection between desire and prosperity earlier. Furthermore, the speaker says, "I fear the maize god is still on his way)" which is contrasted with the connotation of prosperity connected with the "maize god's" birth. The entire part functions to show the other side of desire. It's capacity to cause decadence and destruction.
Parts 8 and 9 are distinctive and mark a break from the pattern of the unfolding of a description of rebirth. I think part 9 especially brings the entire fanciful scene back into the dream-state from which it started ("at midnight / that lordly hour"). All the images of gods and states of rebirth and death seem merely to be unfoldings of the wandering mind of some dreaming person. I notice a particular contrast between the rhythms of part 8 and 9. Part 8 is anapestic and repetitive suggesting the steady dreamlike state it describes. Part 9 suggests through its line breaks and indentation hard pauses in the middle of phrases like "here / the woman." Furthermore, the brevity of the lines itself also gives the whole part an arresting rhythm. The rhythm of part 8 suggests that the realizations of the poem are fanciful and undermine their gravity. The rhythm of part 9 reasserts the significance of these realizations. The whole 9th part centers the poem in the relationship of a man and a woman. And these contrasts seem to highlight the importance of romantic relationships: their omnipotent capacity for creation and destruction.
Part 1 of this poem immediately makes it evident that this poem is a sort of chronicle of the unfolding of the speaker's understanding: "the flower / my heart / it opened." The speaker seems to suggest some kind of sexual encounter as the catalyst in creating this understanding. His heart is opened at midnight by Tlaçolteotl, "our mother / goddess desire." The speaker suggests that he has gained understanding by opening himself to "desire." Another thing that is immediately apparent about this section is its strange line breaks. They immediately visually seperate it from the other parts of the poem. I have come up with a couple possible reasons for this: 1. this typography echoes the "opening" of the speaker's heart, 2. it emphasizes the importance of the different manifestations of Tlaçolteotl.
Part 2 begins to describe the unfolding of the speaker's understanding. The repetition of the phrase "in the" emphasizes the multiple instances of birth that are occurring in this setting. Furthermore, humans, nature ("jewel-fish"), and gods ("maize god") are juxtaposed and united in these instances of birth/reproduction.
Part 3 is immediately striking in its brevity, typography, and nature as a short sentence fragment. It is hard to say but my best guess is that it functions to describe the kind of paradise/plenty that exists after the birth introduced in the previous parts.
Part 4 again brings the gods down to earth. But this time literally: "down here on earth / you rise in the marketplace and say / I am lord Quetzalcoatl." The connection between heaven and earth is especially explicit as the part progresses: "hear the word of our lord / in the quechol-bird's word." Quechol-birds literally reflect the gods but these lines also develop the connection further through the repetition of the "rd" sound. This consonance strengthens the connection between gods and nature and also perhaps echoes the songs of the quechol-birds (a connection between man and nature?). However there is an abrupt transition in the last stanza. It is the first instance of death being mentioned in the poem. This makes it apparent that the birth in this poem is also a rebirth. It also explains that this birth is a means of moving on and cultivating hope. Even if this hope is only meager: "your brother whom we mourn / will never be killed again."
At this point the mood of the poem suddenly became very melancholy for me. The world moves on so the best we can do is accept the finality of the past and enjoy the brief period of rebirth that we have and the (momentary) end of suffering.
Xolotl stands menacing over part 5 of the poem. This marks a transition to part 6 in which Piltzintecutli, a fertility god, is "lain down." Or at least, the speaker asks us to look to see if he is lain down. This distinction conveys a sense of anxiety. The repetition of the word dark highlights this anxiety and emphasizes the disollution that occurs after the plenty described earlier.
Part 7, too, is difficult. I wonder about the significance of this merchant. It could be that the merchant comes to exploit the peoples' desires. This is hardly suggested by the context in that he is selling luxury items: "turquoise spikes for your ears / and turquoise bands for your arms." But according to Wikipedia Xochiquetzal is "By connotation, ... also representative of human desire, pleasure, and excess." This is contrasted with the seeming connection between desire and prosperity earlier. Furthermore, the speaker says, "I fear the maize god is still on his way)" which is contrasted with the connotation of prosperity connected with the "maize god's" birth. The entire part functions to show the other side of desire. It's capacity to cause decadence and destruction.
Parts 8 and 9 are distinctive and mark a break from the pattern of the unfolding of a description of rebirth. I think part 9 especially brings the entire fanciful scene back into the dream-state from which it started ("at midnight / that lordly hour"). All the images of gods and states of rebirth and death seem merely to be unfoldings of the wandering mind of some dreaming person. I notice a particular contrast between the rhythms of part 8 and 9. Part 8 is anapestic and repetitive suggesting the steady dreamlike state it describes. Part 9 suggests through its line breaks and indentation hard pauses in the middle of phrases like "here / the woman." Furthermore, the brevity of the lines itself also gives the whole part an arresting rhythm. The rhythm of part 8 suggests that the realizations of the poem are fanciful and undermine their gravity. The rhythm of part 9 reasserts the significance of these realizations. The whole 9th part centers the poem in the relationship of a man and a woman. And these contrasts seem to highlight the importance of romantic relationships: their omnipotent capacity for creation and destruction.
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