Auden’s Vineyard 1/3
by onepuzzledspecies
Here is one part of that Auden essay I mentioned in the previous post. The ‘vineyard’ in the title refers to the following lines in Auden’s elegy for W. B. Yeats:
*
Follow, poet, follow right
To the bottom of the night
With your unconstraining voice
Still persuade us to rejoice
With the farming of a verse
Make a vineyard of the curse
Sing of human unsuccess
In a rapture of distress
In the deserts of the heart
Let the healing fountain start,
In the prison of his days
Teach the free man how to praise
*
“MUSÉE DES BEAUX ARTS”
In “Musée des Beaux Arts”, the subject of poetic analysis is introduced to us in the very first line. The words “About suffering” prepare the reader for the topic about to be discussed, and create some additional expectation as to how it might be discussed. Already there is a tension: The words sound, on the one hand, as the title of a dissertation; on the other hand one could imagine them as a casual conversation opener, albeit in an unusual combination. After all, ‘suffering’ and ‘casual’ are two uncommonly paired concepts.
This ties in with a larger theme in the poem, namely the triviality of individual suffering when one looks at the ‘big picture’. Seen from the right perspective, the death of a child by drowning is un-dramatic: something to be observed, but that fails to make an impression. Auden illustrates this point by referring to a sample of concrete, everyday events and actions, partially repeating the items in Brueghel’s painting: walking, eating, ‘opening a window’, waiting, skating on ice, etc. The people who take part in these situations are outside the range of significance of the suggested tragedy, and come to represent the indifference of the world at large.
Significantly (no pun intended), Icarus himself – the subject of the painting that inspired these reflections – does not appear in the poem until in line 14. The reader must roam about within the lines to spot him; search for him within the framework of ideas and images – just as an observer of Brueghel’s painting might not even notice the “white legs disappearing into the green water” unless she reads the title. By the time we “find him”, we have absorbed enough information about his surroundings that his appearance is instinctively compared to the other events being described, echoing the sentiment of the poem. In addition to the careful “physical” architecture of the poem, the idea of suffering is being placed within a context (in the middle of descriptions of more or less unrelated events) that makes us realize new things about the concept.
The fact that Auden chose to write about Brueghel’s depiction of Icarus rather than the story of Icarus itself adds another layer of complexity. Instead of ‘plainly’ writing about the relative gravity of suffering according to perspective, he addresses the Old Masters’ understanding and recollection of that subject. Although he lets his imagination take the impression of the painting one step further into the verbal world, and thus formulates his own understanding of the underlying themes, the narrative is reigned in by Auden’s own onlooker perspective. As readers, the repetition of how’s remind us that we are looking at Auden looking at another artist’s treatment of the theme. This has the effect of creating a distance to the statements made by giving us the impression that he is merely relating the insights of others, thereby seeming to welcome readers to make up their own minds rather than telling them what to think. In other words, this ‘double distance’ softens the impact of the assertive, lecturing aspects of the poetic voice.
In addition, it contributes to the ambiguity of the admission of insignificance, which is somewhat self-contradictory: Putting an event into a carefully wrought work of art is itself a way of asserting its significance. Things attain importance because we choose to see them as important, and we make them so by creating stories and art and meaning out of them. By writing this poem Auden can be seen to signal his own understanding of the importance of suffering – as an individual occurrence – as well as his recognition of the position and judgement of the Old Masters. This is emphasized by the short, powerful line “They never forgot”, which serves as a contrast to those lines describing the subjects of the poem, who are depicted as barely noticing: Everything “turns away”, everyone “had somewhere to get to”, except the artist. In other words, Auden is implying the potential of artists to notice the details, the out-of-place, and the significant, and their ability to keep that knowledge or insight alive through their craft.
Stylistically, the poet’s diction reinforces the contrasts within the narrative. The lines about trivial tasks and situations (ll. 4, 7-8 and 12-13) are longer and seem more ‘aimless’, implying the endless possibilities of distraction from the tragedy being witnessed. The words “reverently, passionately” applied to the elders’ waiting draw the syllables out on the tongue as if one is being made to taste the waiting. They suggest something almost sublime, implying a depth and sincerity of emotion – that contrasts with the flippant “not specially” used to describe the attitude of the children. Colloquial and dismissive, “not specially” evokes the image of a shrug, whereas the refined “reverently” of the elders suggests an acquired, elevated language. An even stronger contrast appears when the childish phrase of the “dogs…doggy life” is followed by a reference to such a depraved and cruel figure as that of a torturer. The dissonance jumps out at us and catches us off guard, consequently sharpening our curiosity and attention to what is going on.
So far four devices pertaining to form and style have been identified: The distancing effect of looking at a concept through the lens of another artwork; the contradiction between the narrative statement and the implications of there being a poetic narrative in the first place; the reinforcement of ‘opposites’ to be found in the language and diction, and, not least; the intrinsic narrative contrast between the extremity of Icarus’ situation and the indifference of the distant witnesses, functioning as an allegory for the incongruity between a person’s perception of his place and importance in the world and the reality of individual insignificance on the large scale.
A common pattern of juxtapositions emerges as the major technical device in Auden’s poem, uniting the various devices listed above in a pattern of implicit comparisons. Auden uses a range of these juxtapositions – between people, figures, concepts, arguments and words – to create irony, ambiguity, paradoxes and contrasts. The use of paradox, in particular, has the effect of defamiliarizing the reader with the concepts that are discussed; knocking us out of what Victor Sklovskij termed the automatization of perception. The poem thereby achieves a tension of expression, engaging the reader in a debate between truths, challenging and stimulating our imagination. However, the internal contradictory elements combine to form a coherent whole, so that the poem arrives, as Cleanth Brooks phrased it, at an “organic” harmony through the reconciliation of contradictions.
I really enjoyed reading this, thanks for posting!
Thank you! How nice
Brilliant analysis. Do you see a similarity between this poem, and the first part of In Memory of W B Yeats? In particular:
“But in the importance and noise of to-morrow
When the brokers are roaring like beasts on the floor of the Bourse,
And the poor have the sufferings to which they are fairly accustomed,
And each in the cell of himself is almost convinced of his freedom,
A few thousand will think of this day
As one thinks of a day when one did something slightly unusual.”
Especially the last line – that reminds me strongly of this poem. More broadly, the theme – that nature/the landscape/the world does not mourn for the passing of a great soul, or for heroic failure (anti-Comus, you might almost say) – seems to resonate through both poems.
I see what you mean about the similarity, yes. I’ve heard one lecturer talk about Auden as a poet who throughout his entire career draws our attention to perspectives, and I think that insight can be applied to these two poems as well: How we interpret the world and what we understand as important depens upon our position of speaking and our perspective, which is almost inevitably false and distorted, especially when it comes to the importance we assign to ourselves. By putting the death of Icarus and Yeats into the context of nature, as you say, Auden creates a subtle but pointed irony: “Oh all the instruments agree / The day of his death was a dark cold death” indeed.
As I touch upon in another post about Icarus, however, there are also hints in “Musée” as to the role of the artist in registering – and perhaps honoring? – the sufferings and significant events that individuals go through. Balanced, of course, with Auden’s growing preoccupation with humility and his increasing modesty on behalf of art. In “Yeats” I think this comes across even clearer, with the line in part I about poetry making nothing happen – but then those last stanzas in part III – “STILL persuade us to rejoice,” right? “Sing of human unsuccess / In the rapture of distress.” The sense of heroic failure, as you put it, is definitely there. But even more than heroism I see that emphasis on “praise,” and traces of that “imaginative awe” Auden saw all poems as rooted in – embracing one’s helplessness and marginality, perhaps…
And lastly, in that line about the “few thousand” that “will think of this day,” I think we arrive at Auden’s concept of community: “an association of human beings who are united by a tie of common love.” Unlike the crowd (collectivity without individuality) and the society (people associated “for some functional purpose”) Auden saw this idea of a community as the ideal upon which human beings should model their lives together. By being part of small communities “united by a tie of common love,” for instance of poetry, we exercise the idea of Agape (!), as he saw it.
Plus, in the context of the ideal community, he thought art could do something good, because, “[I]n a community the only possible form of authority is one accepted by a free choice.” To choose freely one must have a (realistic) conception of what one’s choices are, and be aware of one’s own desires and responsibilities (what kind of connections one has to other people, for instance) – and that is what art does for us. In other words, poetry could serve a purpose by making the reader aware of her own feelings, by articulating the kind of choices one has to make, and by encouraging (and demonstrating) the kind of imaginative “exercises” by which we are able to envision all that which transcend our own selves…
Looks as if I got a bit carried away – in any case, thanks for the comment! I really appreciate it.
Ah yes, it is that first line which really hammers the point home, doesn’t it? “Oh, all the instruments agree…” Without that, it could well be another Comus.
Well, “Yeats” does mark that famous turn in Auden’s thought, doesn’t it? Compared with “Spain”, for example; or “To a Writer on his Birthday”, there is that sudden sense of inwardness. As far as “Still persuade us to rejoice” and “Sing of human unsuccess” go – you know, I’m not sure if I’m entirely persuaded by what you say, because I’ve always thought that the “still” at the beginning of that line signals a continuation from Part II of the poem, especially:
For poetry makes nothing happen: it survives
In the valley of its making where executives
Would never want to tamper, flows on south
From ranches of isolation and the busy griefs,
Raw towns that we believe and die in; it survives,
A way of happening, a mouth.
In other words, I wonder if Auden is lamenting heroic failure, or if he’s just driving home the theme of the inwardness of poetry.
“Praise” – yes, I agree with you there – it is strongly reminiscent of the last paragraph of his inaugural lecture at Oxford.
Ah, I hadn’t thought of the Auden’s concept of community when I read the first part – thanks very much for that. And it’s interesting, because that line is preceded by what I’ve always thought is one of Auden’s most powerful statements of the isolation, the desolation and the delusion of the human condition:
“And each in the cell of himself is almost convinced of his freedom…”
Moreover, it is immediately followed by:
“As one thinks of a day when one did something slightly unusual.”
I wonder what it means for the idea of community, that he uses the word “one” – which signifies the individual – twice in that sentence.
“Transcend our own selves” – yes, you put it perfectly, and I do feel that that was the position Auden finally arrived at, albeit through a long and circuitous route. It’s perhaps reflected best in his essay on Robert Frost, this constant attempt to negotiate this tension between the public and private nature of poetry, without ever arriving at a fully satisfactory conclusion.
Sorry, looks like I got carried away as well.
Auden fascinates me, and I don’t think I can ever tire discussing him and his work.
“Driving home the inwardness of poetry” – yes, I think that’s fair. Thanks for reminding me. Sometimes my interest in Auden’s musings on the paradox of inevitable failure/necessity of praise – “To fresh defeats he still must move” – leads me to neglect other aspects of his poetry, such as the dichotomy between private/public that you bring up.
I also think you are spot on about the “statement of isolation,” and his emphasis on the essential aloneness of the human condition: As I see it, that individual isolation is in fact the cornerstone of all his views about society – at least in this time period, from around 1939 and onwards. He reads a lot of Kierkegaard and writes in a preface to Either/Or about the existentialist’s approach to human existence from the point of view of “man’s immediate existence as a subject,” which I think it’s safe to say that he approved of. So I agree that his use of “one” here as opposed to “we” is deliberate and significant.
The relationship between the “I” and the community as Auden sees it is really fascinating. Speech is a big part of that, and in the inaugural lecture you mention he makes a series of remarks about the kind of duties, choices and considerations the poet faces, particularly in relation to language, as I see you’ve written on. Didn’t he at one point even describe a poem as a “verbal community”?
Thanks for telling me about Kierkegaard – it makes a lot more sense now.
I agree, and I think it’s the most fascinating part of Auden’s work. You always sense this tension in his work, don’t you, between the inwardness of the “I”, and the community? So in that essay on Frost, for instance, he talks about how poetry ex hypothesi cannot be entirely inward, because the very use of language (unlike music or painting) commits you to the public realm; because language, of course is one of the features that defines, identifies and characterises the community (‘no such thing as a private language’).
And I find it extremely interesting that he seems to have anticipated all the deconstruction theories of the post-structuralists by a couple of decades – the idea that when you’re using language, you are always calling upon words with contested histories.
I suppose it only proves the point that if you’re seeking for ultimate truth, look among the poets!
Haha, as long as we don’t forget that: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P8ecyNmgCBU
The public nature of language – yes, exactly! I’ll have to reread that Frost essay soon.