chris at 11:00 PM |

 

Some More Questions about Genre: UTA Student Writers Discussing Differences in Prose Poem, Flash Fiction, Creative Non-Fiction

Last evening I posted a link to Ron Silliman's blog (and I see today a fine Paul Blackburn poem, too) because I became interested in his post (of Monday, 9/22/03) that opens for discussion some exigent questions about genre distinctions in poetic writing. I promised to return today to this subject after thinking it over some more and discussing it today with my students. From Ron's post, the line of questions that drew me: what is it ("criteria") that makes a piece of writing qualify to be called a *prose poem,* and not *flash fiction*? To this I wanted to add another offshoot type, shorter manifestations of creative non-fiction, of which I think much blogging would qualify, especially when infused with allusion to personal experience explained in first person voice (when the boundaries between fiction and non-fiction become particularly blurred).

I had looked over the current issue of Double Room and selected the poem, "I'd Heard She Had A Deconstructive Personality," by Anthony Tognazzini to use as example for class discussion. One reason I chose it is very practical: because it dips into some of the theorizing students are reading in my course ("deconstructive," & "personality"= a nice inquisitive fusion there).

More importantly to my mind, however, this piece is a fast moving work of imagistic, play, nearly irresistable in lyric magnetism and energy, while at the same time it interestingly stops short of radical experimentalism: it is very conventional in terms of any narrative development: 3 predictable parts are there: beginning, middle, end (though arguably the writer has problematized this somewhat by mixing verb tense variations into the surreal atmospherics). I will also say here that I have never seen Mr. Tognazzini's work anywhere before and I do not know him or anything about him--I did not even look for a bio on the website. I did not want any personal biographical information to influence how I thought of the poem or how I very minimally presented the questions and poem to the students. I wanted them to sort out for themselves what and where the issues and questions might reside, based first on the work of the poem, as much as possible (given that to some degree students will have to follow the lead a teacher lays ground for).

I will emphasize this with enthusiasm (and to give credit where due--thanks, Ron Silliman for that inquisitive post on Monday!): in my class today, what a great discussion we had (the students enjoyed this exercise, said so, and know that I am posting this commentary).

So, what did we do, and what was decided?--the students read the Tognazzini poem example from Double Room. I then read it aloud. I posed the question of genre. They are preparing what is basically a creative non-fiction piece right now: a 3 page descriptive, first-person writing assignment that they can do almost anything with, so this also figures into their writing for the course. I would like to see them experiment. I note, though (and not for the first time teaching this course and giving this assignment) that all but a few are very uncomfortable using "I" in writing. They have for years been trained never to write in first person for their school work, here and previously. I find that a terrible prescription for hobbling writerly self-development.

Back to the Tognazzini piece at hand: initially, many students were put off by the surreal-type leaps and jarring (or so it was thought) juxtaposing of harsh images ("miserable rat hole") with those connoting affection ("A kiss... whole body a tympanic drum brushed by a broom"). One student declared that such fragmentation might indicate that the writer might habitually not (and does not know how) think clearly. Other students disputed this interpretation, of course, with a variety of responses. One student raised issues of cross cultural differences in language use and in styles of learning.

But back to the poem (one difference in teaching via dialogue instead of lecturing: lots of recentering toward focus necessarily occurs) again: what genre? And how, why? Hard to place, they said, finally, mostly because the piece itself is so captivating that the question of classifying it is of no interest. I really liked this answer!--but held my peace because I wanted them to push for more. My question to see if we could get more specific, then, was: what are the particular features or elements here that might suggest a pattern belonging to genres you know of?

First off, everyone agreed this poem is very adept with rhythm. That is usually not such an outstanding feature of prose (though it might be news to Montaigne!), at least not most prose even when it is intended to be particularly creative, today in English. I'll buy that, then. Somehow rhythm has taken a back seat in prose, has been sort of white washed out of even our creative prose. What a loss, then. But this piece highlights rhythm, plays with it by varying staccato measures with that one and only, very intriguing long, third in from last sentence. Rhetorically supreme in terms of art. The students noticed this and liked it--also noted that it sets some of the criteria for classifying this piece.

What else stands out or could be used to move us to understanding this piece as part of a tradition focused on genre making? The outstanding use of imagery, surprise, play, and other rhetorical elements, the students found very "poetic." But of course they admitted that this alone never makes something a "poem," since all these things cross over to other kinds of writitng, happily, but W.E.B. Dubois, for instance, would be surprised to hear the the essay he took so much time writing as a piece of politically moving expository writing could as easily be called only a poem, instead (if based only on use of these rhetorical criteria).

So there must, then, be a whole lot more going on before a decision can be made. What to do with the question of *who is speaking* in this piece becomes interesting too: this kind of lyrical spin really begs questions of understated autobiographical elements. What are we (readers) supposed to do with that (if anything...)? The class, of course, did not (and could not in one day!) name or discuss all possible answers or directions. But interestingly, the students noticed how very traditional is the narrative element here, although it is also couched in very experimental (to the students' sensibilities) sounding language use. The 3 part story structure. The basic theme of love/romance/affectionate relations. Between noticing this and noticing the use of rhythm they concluded that this piece is a hybrid: neither a prose poem nor strictly fiction (what would be "flash fiction"). It "stops short of being a prose poem because of this reliance on conventional narrative structure."

All of this being arguable, of course, and working here to begin to sort out more variations on question than any kind of answer much less any final answers, I found this final comment in the discussion particularly resonant (I am summarizing here) : Classifying this writing to inflexible genre notions is going to be a problem always, because this particular piece plays and works off of tension between elements of differing forms and genres.

So, hybrid forms and genres, anyone? Upside: allows for, even promotes, flexibility in both the work and the readerly expectation. Downside: could lead to equivocating. So, I don't know--that seems too easy a trade-off in some ways, but, again, I'm only looking for the questions here, not for definitive answers, even though the irony of this is that to ascribe genre means, of course, to have something definitive in mind--right?

Well, to conclude for now, here are some quotes from students (those brave ones willing to let me publicly post their off the cuff responses), to all of whom I am very grateful for the excellent discussion today and for being willing to let me write about them here (Thanks, All!) :

Dana Rothrock writes:
"[I think] the genres exist as criteria both for those who need those *standards* in order to set goals for themselves, without which they would have nothing to write, and as a springboard for those who wish to rebel against those criteria in order to create their own genre--one which previously did not exist. There is tension between these two mindsets in which neither can exist without the other. Therefore the existance and acknowledgement of genres are very important."

Jani Shuttlesworth writes:
(image-to-image, or part-to-part, metonymies, preliminary analysis of transformation process)
"whole body & panda (extinct?)
"unmotorized Victrola (mysterious--not moving, not making music, not capable of making music?)
"miserable rat hole" (how can a rat hole have feelings?!--she must be like an old Victrola that has been neglected & the rats have built a nest in it?)
"Here and then Here" (she comes and goes?)
"Poppies exploding, smoke" (she drifts off like in Oz?)
"Igloo, silly string" (cold, hard, with a distraction of silliness for defense?)
"my fingers flashed in" (noticeably?)
"Her fingers hang dry on the back of a battleship" (Basically giving up her fight?)
"... yet her legs have touched the earth where the dirt makes its list of the powerless and blessed" (but in sentence, kneeling?)
"washed her face... 'rest' " (fully changed & at peace?)

Erin Adwell writes:
"This [piece by Tognazzini] is powerful! I like the two sentences that describe "her" : 'We talked until memory milked out all her mistakes.' and 'Her fingers powerless and blessed.' They emphasize the narrator's erractic flow by juxtaposing 'her' calm. The medium length of these sentences confirm [for me] 'her' tranquility. They empower and *amplify* the final [and the only spoken] word, Rest. This is beautiful and moving! It invigorates and inspires the reader. I enjoyed reading it, and look forward to more."