Course:In Broken Images by Robert Graves
| CRWR 501P 003 |
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| Advanced Writing of Poetry |
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In Broken Images by Robert Graves
My understanding is that this poem came out sometime between 1914-1946. Erik shared it with me recently, sent my way at random, as is usually the case. It's awesome when they do that, especially if I personally receive it and can read it within the moment it was sent, because it's kind of like we're inside of a thing together for a second. Sharing in reading it together or something. We've been working on my new play, PEACHES. Exploring at length the dichotomy of good and evil, or whether they exist at all. The dualities and multitudes that we as people carry all at once. How probably we are not a monolith. How that last sentence carries a "probably" because does there exist any objective truth? (The only one we've landed on is the title of a great book... that the heart is a lonely hunter.)
Erik sent this to me in June, I think. A couple weeks before a new draft of PEACHES was due to them (my dramaturg) and to a theatre company in Lethbridge, AB called Theatre Outré. This poem speaks to so much of what we've been investigating. And it kind of did my favourite thing inside of a making process: it changed the play entirely, and hopefully for the better. The play isn't really about the existence of good and evil anymore (not explicitly, anyways), which feels really good. I don't know that I fully know what it actually is about now, but I'm excited to be walking into new territory. I do know that Greg and Prince have a peach orchard to save. That they have healing to do. This line from In Broken Images illuminated that for me, especially:
He continues quick and dull in his clear images; I continue slow and sharp in my broken images.
I was really going to try to just excerpt this entry. But fuck it, it's just too good to not share with whoever ends up caring to read this.
He is quick, thinking in clear images;
I am slow, thinking in broken images.
He becomes dull, trusting to his clear images;I become sharp, mistrusting my broken images.
Trusting his images, he assumes their relevance;Mistrusting my images, I question their relevance.
Assuming their relevance, he assumes the fact;Questioning their relevance, I question the fact.
When the fact fails him, he questions his senses;When the fact fails me, I approve my senses.
He continues quick and dull in his clear images;I continue slow and sharp in my broken images.
He in a new confusion of his understanding;I in a new understanding of my confusion.
We all will take what we do from poems. Interpretations, etc. For me, this poem acts as a reminder of the complexity of all people and, thus, all characters - regardless of which storytelling medium they exist within. The obvious connection (especially given the relationship of this poem to a play I am currently writing) is the execution of complex and nuanced characters in my playwriting. But how about poetry? What can it mean to have a sharp and layered narrative voice? The many representations/expressions of the self? How about other characters referenced in a poem? Or even the role of the audience as a dynamic and complex thing? While it is a newer influence on my writing, I am so glad that I received this poem prior to starting this class. Its message has been hung in the back of my mind through the writing of each week's experiments.
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