Poetry And Politics: The Tough Relations
By V.I. Postnikov
31 October, 2014
Countercurrents.org
The relations between poetry and politics have always been strained. Many great poets have deliberately stood outside politics, or even disdained it. Others subconsciously avoided the “mundane” topics. Yet, there are some that wholly embraced politics and fed upon it. The latest poet’s talk between Gary Corseri and Charles Orlovski has spurred my long-standing desire to try to probe these relations.
Being a poetry translator and an environmentalist in one, I, of course, am not immune to what is happening to our world. And that inevitably brings politics into context. But my understanding is that nature of poetry is much deeper and meaningful than any politics can offer. Politics is temporary, poetry is timeless. Politics is false, poetry is true. Even the languages are different. Even logic.
Starting from Whitman in my early youth, I found myself under the spell of philosophical lyricism and unbridled ideas. It was thanks to Whitman and Longfellow that I first felt unfathomed beauty of imagination. The next revelation was Tagore’s Gitanjali. (All these were advised by my late father).
Then the “mundane” world took the upper hand. I went into scientific work, taught at the university, raised family, etc., but in the darkest hours, I have always remembered the poems I heard in youth. They were not “loaded” with politics, or morals, or ideology. They were pure in thought and sound, and they were my “savior”.
With the collapse of the SU, when my scientific work collapsed accordingly, I had to abandon science and to look for any type of work. After a few years of advertising cigarettes and vodka, I was lucky to join a Japanese firm on an IT project in the Ukrainian energy sector. I was so glad, I hoped to learn Japanese! I had always been keen on zen, and Basho, and thought that I could read haiku in original. I was so naïve. “No way”, said the chief manager, “ that would divert you from the job”. But at least, I was paid.
In 2004, I was fortunate to attend the Schumacher College (UK), one of the principal institutions that teach deep ecology. There, I heard of Robinson Jeffers from a remarkable John Seed, the founder of Rainforest Information Centre. At that time, a militant anti-American spirit soared high in the atmosphere of the college because of the US invasion in Iraq. At a lecture, John recited Jeffers’ «Shine, perishing republic!”» which struck my imagination; it was bluntly anti-American, moreover, anti-civilizational! It seemed that 1950s’ poem excellently fitted our time. The name “ Robinson Jeffers” was then firmly embedded in my brain. Later, when I searched broadly for his poems, I felt all the magnificence of his vision.
The greatness of Jeffers’ poetry lies in his ability to hit the nail on the head of humanity. He managed not to be caught into the politico-cultural network; he castigates its existential mediocrity. Insignificance, cowardice, and at the same time, enormous self-conceit and unbridled egotism makes humanity repulsive to Jeffers. He called himself “Inhumanist”. But his position is far from a simple rejection of failed humanity (as in the spirit of Nitzsche); on the contrary, he enjoins humanity to stop self-admiration and to fasten one’s eyes on what is “immeasurably greater”. (And this is contrary to every politician). To stop self-tickling and start dealing, at last, with real life. That is why he is so revered by deep ecologists and radical thinkers the world over.
It is interesting to compare Jeffers with the Russian poet Aleksander Blok. Particularly with the short essays which Blok wrote shortly before death. In one of these essays, titled «The Crash of Humanism» (1919), Blok writes:
“Across the world, the toll is heard on anti-humanism; the world is being awashed, shedding its worn-out dress; a man becomes closer to elements; and therefore more musical. A man is an animal; a man is a plant, a man is a flower; now, he’s transparent to the traits of incredible cruelty, as if he’s not a human, but animal; now, he shows the traits of primeval gentleness — as if not a human, but a plant. This flickering signals the change of a whole species; the entire man set himself in motion, he is awake from an age-long dream of civilization; his spirit, soul and body are caught in the whirl; this whirl of spiritual, political, social revolutions is akin to cosmic events; a new selection is taking place, a new man is being formed: a man — a humane animal, a social animal, a moral animal – is being reshaped into an artist, in the words of Wagner.” [my translation here and further – VP]
Indeed, «the traits of primeval gentleness» are transparent in Jeffers’ and Blok’s poetry, as in many others who address what is «immeasurably greater” than man. We may recall the names of Blake, Wordsworth, Lawrence. No wonder that these poets are not embraced by politicians. And vice versa.
Not shunning politics, not retreating into ivory towers, but seeing all it through, we preserve our true spirit, we stay who we are. I think, politicians will be disappointed.
…
No end in life’s unfolding space,
We live commensurate with chances,
We either face the gloomy sentence
Or feel the brilliance of Face.
But you, the artist, keep your knowledge
In laws unshaken. Be resolved
To tell the scoria from gold.
You’re bestowed with impassive edge
To measure all that you envisage.
Your mind – let it be firm and shrewd
Erase the accidental visage –
And you will see: the world is good.
Now, view the light – the dark is lit,
Permit all things unhurried flow,
All which is sacred, which is low,
Through heat of soul, through cold of wit.
…
Who forges sword? – The fearless knight,
While I am helpless in my rave,
As you, as all – just a clever slave,
Created from the dust and blight.
This world seems terrible to me …
The hero is deprived of stand –
His hand is in the peoples’ hand,
A conflagration broke the land.
And every heart, and mind, and thought –
Has its own despotism and law…
And thirsty dragon opens jaw
To gorge the Europe in glee.
Who shall defeat the dragon plight?
Don’t know: our side, obscure in sight,
As in the past, its future’s dim,
And smells of ashes in the night.
But tune forever stays, instead:
There’s always someone there to sing
Amid the crowd. Lo! His head
A beauty offers to a king.
There, on a scaffold, singer stands
And looks into the butcher’s eyes;
Here, for his poems and his stance
The crowd gets him crucified.
And I will sing… You won’t succeed
In stifling my inflamed creed.
Let church is empty and obscure,
Let pastor sleeps; before the mass,
I‘ll tread into a dewy pass,
And turn the rusty door-lock key
To sneak into eternity,
And in the scarlet dawn will serve
My own mass.
Thou breathed this dawn, now, bless my tales!
May I expose you some details
of secret life? Of what is thriving,
Of how the wrath consumes the striving,
How freedom and the youth are one,
How spirit reigns in everyone,
How father to his son imparts
The vows of the ancient past.
Some two-three links of generation
And carbon went a transformation;
Under a kick of stubborn strain
It turned into a precious grain.
So blow, without a restful sleep,
Let living vein is running deep,
The diamond glistens from afar –
My angry iambus, crush the stones!
1911
Alexandr Blok (An Excerpt from “Requital”)
Victor I. Postnikov, a poet/scientist/translator. Published essays and books on deep ecology and poetry, a member of Ecocentric Alliance. Published in Culture Change, Countercurrents, Dandelion Times. Contact: [email protected].
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