Brief commentary, new slants, current scholarly finds are invited for our Alerts section. Poets and scholars are equally welcome to comment. A NOTE ON ANNE-MARIE ALBIACH'S WRITING by Norma Cole A NOTE ON ABIGAIL CHILD'S Climate/Plus by Lori Chamberlain DOUBLE EXPOSURE -- IDENTITY AND IMAGE: JEAN RHYS, MICHELLE CLIFF, AND JANE EYRE by Evangeline Brown A Note on
Anne-Marie Albiach's Writing
--Norma Cole
One of the things Abigail Child shows us in
Climate/Plus
(Coincidence Press: Second Season, 1986) is "How slippage is a property of aim." Slippage is part of the climate (from the Greek klima,
a sloping surface of the earth), and thus the work has a tendency to lean, to slide. We can see this slippage at the phonic level, the way sounds lead to other sounds:
Demote Or not at all To omit it. Not to say My pet, The world resembles writing.
And while sounds re-incorporate sounds, signs modulate among signs: we "demote" to "omit" to "not to say," in a movement down or slippage between words. Of course, the movement involves syntactic leaps and ambiguities as well: is "Demote" imperative or declarative; do we "omit it" or not; does the world resemble writing? Such ambiguities lead us off center to what Child calls
Child frames the present book nicely with a series of "frames" from one of her films, reminding us that her interests span the worlds of writing and film-making. In this series, we see an outdoors scene juxtaposing something natural (weeds? bare limbs of trees?) against an urban setting (buildings, a wall), with the letter "A" in the lower right corner. From one frame to the next, the camera seems to move ever so slightly to the left--"Slippage is a property of aim"--exposing what might be the letter "N" or "M" next to the letter "A." It is important, however, that we see evidence not just of this scene but of the film itself, with its sprocket holes and frame dividers, evidence of the way images are produced and situations are framed.
More spare and, in some senses, more "lyrical" than her earlier work
From Solids
(Segue, 1983), this work calls attention to its constructedness, its formal regularity. Written entirely in quatrains (with one important exception),
Climate/Plus
consists of the two title poems, "Climate," composed of seventy-seven stanzas, and "Plus," composed of seven stanzas. The book's structure, then, belies an interest in symmetry, in formal--if arbitrary--boundaries giving the illusion of unity. At the same time, however, Child breaks that frame, marring the formal symmetry with one stanza of only 2 lines fairly near the beginning of "Climate:"
It seems important that there be this "error" in the formal structure; like the sprocket holes, it reminds us of the making of the object, the aim and its slippage. In the same way, "Plus" serves formally as a coda to the book, yet it resists providing that formal closure:
"A good thought is a series of resonances," she says in a piece co-authored with Sally Silvers ("Rewire // Speak in Disagreement,"
Poetics Journal 4
, p. 71). Where a narrative structure urges toward causality, coherence, and completion, Child's work seems to challenge these concepts, to expose the arbitrary, the contradictory, the incomplete.
Climate/Plus
is a series of resonances, partial soundings of "The world people modify."
--Lori Chamberlain
Lori Chamberlain writes about topics in feminism and postmodern writing. Her article "Gender and the Metaphorics of Translation," appears in the spring issue of
Signs.
Looking at the pictures she cannot recall when this one might have been taken or why. She cannot determine the correct sequence. The meaning is unrevealed, opaque. There is a phenomenon called double exposure: the film is not advanced enough to prevent a subsequent image from being superimposed. The two images merge in casual juxtaposition.
"I went into the hall again with the tall candle in my hand. It was then that I saw her--the ghost. The woman with streaming hair. She was surrounded by a gilt frame but I knew her."
When there is no center of meaning because the record has been distorted or hidden, the bits and pieces bleed through forming a montage. In
Wide Sargasso Sea,
Antoinette Cosway's struggle to define herself is pushed and shaped by the pressure of the precognitive vision in
Jane Eyre.
Antoinette's future is known before she can grasp her present. She is closed off from her self because the only acceptable pictures are the ones which will isolate her from her island and her former slave, Christophine. The black woman and the voluptuous fecund land are her only ways out of the cold dreams and the fear. She is forced to look into mirrors that show only "child," "wife," or "insane." The mirrors are held so that she cannot see inward or forward, she can only see her past.
"In this album there are no pictures of my broken wrist or my mouth cut open by the top of an orange juice can. There are no pictures of her split chin or her smashed front teeth. These pictures show only tense joy. This is not an accurate record at all."
The negative is the prerequisite for the print.
Wide Sargasso Sea
revisions and foreshadows. The tale of Bertha Mason is transformed and superimposed on the older version. The vague and inexplicable hints about Bertha/Antoinette are given context and value. Jane and Antoinette and Michelle are women from whom the truth is kept. Jane accepts the identity prepared for her. Antoinette loses her identity in madness. Michelle pushes aside the kind and quiet lies and claims herself.
Photographs can repeat the same image endlessly. A movement backwards or forwards. In or out. The surface of film: a semi-permeable membrane.
"There was something austere, sad, lost, all these things. I wanted to identify myself with it, to lose myself in it. But it turned its head away, indifferent, and that broke my heart."
Rhys' paratactic structure, disjunctive and coordinate, is in direct contrast to Brontë's ordered hierarchy of experience. Similarly, Michelle Cliff, in Claiming an Identity They Taught Me to Despise,
uses parataxis to remain on the periphery as Rhys does. Choosing the margins, they both reject the hierarchic "Word." They choose marginal or indirect, non-authoritative expression, thereby allowing for a greater range of choices and of potential meanings than the logocentric choices Brontë makes. Rhys and Cliff embrace the complex image, the image moving backwards and forwards in time, the image that can change.
"It is like trying to remember a dream in which the images slip and slide. The words connect and disconnect and you wake feeling senseless." --Evangeline Brown
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