Edith Södergran
Nietzcheian feminist, lesbian icon, ground breaker of Finland-Swedish modernism. Despite all this, I don't have the slightest fucking clue as to what to make of this woman. I just can't seem to make up my mind.
One of the most obvious characteristics of her poetry is that she does not write verse. All of her poetry is strictly free-form. Something she freely admits being incapable of producing in the foreword of her second collection of poems, The September Lyre.
That my writing is poetry no one can deny, that it is verse I would not claim. I have tried to bring certain obstinate poems into a rhythm and thus discovered that I only possess the power of words and imagery in full freedom, that is, at the expense of rhythm.
The insight into (and admittedly, the arrogance of) her own capabilities is both something of reassurance and annoyance. On one hand, thank god she's aware of it at least. On the other, I'd like to see a bit more structure in her work, as the lack of it is a serious annoyance more often than not.
Not to mention the ellipses. Sweet Jesus on a stick the rampant abuse of the ellipses. I am half an inch short of violating her grave for the express purpose of shaking some sense into the mouldy contents of her skull. Rat-a-tat-a-Rattle. It's not worth it goddamnit! It's not worth it!
Despite these annoyances there are poems and moments where she shines.
Take my hand, take my white arm,
take my narrow shoulder's longing...
- The day cools I, Poems (1916, my trans.)
It reaches out and grabs you, ellipses and all. Perhaps even because of them. While she claims that her power over words and imagery is compromised by rhythms and rhyme-schemes, I find that her most compelling poems are often those that adhere to some sort of rhythm or meter.
You sought a flower
and found a fruit.
You sought a well
and found a sea.
You sought a woman
and found a soul.
- You are disappointed.
- The day cools IV, Poems (1916, my trans.)
So, I admit disappointment in the fact that she so clearly avoids to make use of it more often. One could of course argue that she was in fact, a mediocre poet who occasionally shone, but I'm not quite ready to make that judgement.
I don't have the slightets fucking clue as to what to make of this woman.
One of the most obvious characteristics of her poetry is that she does not write verse. All of her poetry is strictly free-form. Something she freely admits being incapable of producing in the foreword of her second collection of poems, The September Lyre.
That my writing is poetry no one can deny, that it is verse I would not claim. I have tried to bring certain obstinate poems into a rhythm and thus discovered that I only possess the power of words and imagery in full freedom, that is, at the expense of rhythm.
The insight into (and admittedly, the arrogance of) her own capabilities is both something of reassurance and annoyance. On one hand, thank god she's aware of it at least. On the other, I'd like to see a bit more structure in her work, as the lack of it is a serious annoyance more often than not.
Not to mention the ellipses. Sweet Jesus on a stick the rampant abuse of the ellipses. I am half an inch short of violating her grave for the express purpose of shaking some sense into the mouldy contents of her skull. Rat-a-tat-a-Rattle. It's not worth it goddamnit! It's not worth it!
Despite these annoyances there are poems and moments where she shines.
Take my hand, take my white arm,
take my narrow shoulder's longing...
- The day cools I, Poems (1916, my trans.)
It reaches out and grabs you, ellipses and all. Perhaps even because of them. While she claims that her power over words and imagery is compromised by rhythms and rhyme-schemes, I find that her most compelling poems are often those that adhere to some sort of rhythm or meter.
You sought a flower
and found a fruit.
You sought a well
and found a sea.
You sought a woman
and found a soul.
- You are disappointed.
- The day cools IV, Poems (1916, my trans.)
So, I admit disappointment in the fact that she so clearly avoids to make use of it more often. One could of course argue that she was in fact, a mediocre poet who occasionally shone, but I'm not quite ready to make that judgement.
I don't have the slightets fucking clue as to what to make of this woman.
posted by M | 12:02 pm
3 Comments:
I hate elipses and writers like that. I'm much less cautious in making up my mind it seems.
Perhaps. I find that there are a lot of things that speak for her poetry as much as there is that speaks against it. A skilled writer can always make use of ellipses and any other oft-hated device in a manner that is sound, correct and enjoyable. It's the horde of people that can't that I truly hate.
Люблю эту поэтессу...
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