Showing posts with label anxiety. Show all posts
Showing posts with label anxiety. Show all posts
10.09.2018
sidestep the missteps
Part of the ‘anxiety of influence’ relates to the effort not to repeat the errors of the precursors.
Labels:
ancestors,
anxiety,
anxiety of influence,
error,
harold bloom
2.17.2016
echo chamber
That is, in poetry more than in any other verbal genre, readers bring an expectation that not only do all the elements matter down to the comma and the white space at the end of a line and between or within stanzas, but that each of those elements, no matter how widely arrayed, may tug at other elements and condition the whole. The poem is an echo chamber where we listen to the reverberations that otherwise dissolve into the white noise of anxiety.
—Lee Upton, “Poetry, Defined. Briefly.” Swallowing the Sea: On Writing & Ambition Boredom Purity & Secrecy (Tupelo Press, 2012)
—Lee Upton, “Poetry, Defined. Briefly.” Swallowing the Sea: On Writing & Ambition Boredom Purity & Secrecy (Tupelo Press, 2012)
Labels:
anxiety,
comma,
echo,
elements,
expectation,
genre,
lee upton,
poem is,
punctuation,
reverberation,
white noise,
white space
8.07.2011
poet before philosopher
Here Coleridge encounters, in thoroughly existential fashion, anxiety itself. He cannot pin down this anxiety, cannot attach it to any definite object, event, or person; it is the revelation of void or non-being:
A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear,
A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief,
Which find no natural outlet, no relief,
In words, or sight, or tear—
All the German idealism, with which poor Coleridge’s head was crammed had nothing to say to him about this experience; it did not even provide the terms necessary for its philosophic comprehension. Kierkegaard had no yet introduced the analysis of dread into philosophy. Coleridge the poet, however, saw and knew before Coleridge the philosopher.
—William Barrett, Irrational Man: A Study of Existential Philosophy (Anchor Books/Random House, 1962)
A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear,
A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief,
Which find no natural outlet, no relief,
In words, or sight, or tear—
All the German idealism, with which poor Coleridge’s head was crammed had nothing to say to him about this experience; it did not even provide the terms necessary for its philosophic comprehension. Kierkegaard had no yet introduced the analysis of dread into philosophy. Coleridge the poet, however, saw and knew before Coleridge the philosopher.
—William Barrett, Irrational Man: A Study of Existential Philosophy (Anchor Books/Random House, 1962)
Labels:
anxiety,
dread,
philosopher,
quote,
samuel taylor coleridge
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