Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Reena Sastri
Reena Sastri
R ita Dove has consistently refused what she sees as the limitations of
a primarily identitarian practice with respect to theme, idiom, or stance:
as she puts it in one interview, its so ass-backwards to say that there is a
Black way of writing and then there is a white (Conversations 158).1 In
Doves early work, poems in the voices of antebellum slaves sit alongside
those that are (in her phrase from another context) blessedly color-
blind (Letter 248), and the book-length sequence Thomas and Beulah
offers the perspectives of both men and women.2 But while critics have
celebrated the way the former US Poet Laureates work crosses cultural
boundaries, such discussions of crossing have tended to remain within
the sociohistorical realm.3 In Doves poetry, however, and in lyric as a
genre, the I not only crosses social boundaries, but exceeds their sphere.
Indeed, recognizing that the lyric self consists in part in the impulse to
exceed, Dove offers simultaneously gendered and racially marked speak-
ers, and the undoing, or exceeding, of such selves. Her restless I locates
itself not in terms of an essential African-American or female identity, but
in the undertaking of cognitive, imaginative expeditions no less free for
originating in the grounds of embodiment and the social. Dove mobilizes
the resources of poetrycompression, play of syntax against lineation,
aurality, and the unfolding of the poem in timein order to put the I
in motion. This I is unsettled further by the ghosts of the poetic past, a
haunting revealed both as willed by the poet adopting literary lineages,
and as received by the writer open to the otherness of the creative process.
Gesturing by these means outward from the embodied sociohistorical self,
she anticipates recent work on the way the poetic I, in its resistance to
stable self-definition, can offer a politically salutary alternative to politi-
cized identity.
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gods. They are free, and they make us free (462) may strike us as mystifi-
cation or fantasy, the association of lyric with freedom has proven resilient
and remains suggestive. Theodor Adorno described lyric as that sphere
of expression whose very essence lies in either not acknowledging the
power of socialization or overcoming it, as anticipat[ing], spiritually, a
situation in which no false universality, that is, nothing profoundly par-
ticular, continues to fetter what is other than itself, the human (343); for
Adorno, it is precisely in this ideal of freedom from the social that lyric
shows itself as socially and historically situated and shaped. Recent critics
of lyric frequently return to Adorno, as when Deborah Nelson writes,
lyric is the form in which we witness the exhilarationand per-
haps also the terrorof autonomy and self sovereignty. Unlike
the novel, which is polyvalent and social, the lyric is the aesthetic
and ideological form in which a speaker conveys the experience
and/or the fantasy of his or her own privacy and unfettered self-
creation. (xvi)
Not mere fantasy, such self-creation remains, for Dove, a meaningful ideal.
For poet Reginald Shepherd, self-definition as a black writer . . . a
gay writer amounts to a form of self-imprisonment, neglecting or even
negating the possibilities poetry offers not just of being someone else, .
. . but of being no one at all, of existing, however contingently, outside
the shackles of identity and definition(41). Poetry, less bound by social
circumstance than, say, the novel (44), offered Shepherd, growing up
poor in the Bronx, in a nation defined by racial difference, an occasion
to experienc[e] true freedom (51). Shepherds poetrymyth-saturated,
dense, by turns experimental and lushexplores such freedom in modes
often disengaged from a lyric I; Dove, by contrast, seeks to invest the
first person with such freedom. When her I is recognizably a version
of the poet, the pull toward quotidian detail and personal history, on the
one hand, contends with the lyric impulse to flight, on the other, to join
a seemingly confessional nakedness with an Emersonian transparency,
producing a complex staging. Her autobiographical poems evoke the
sense she describes of feeling at once alive in our own skin, and at the
same time . . . completely insubstantial (Conversations 167). Enacting de-
sired freedom, Doves I consists in a restless mobility, a movement both
intentional and contingent.
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In Doves earliest work, gestures are the emphatically vertical: the rest-
lessness cannot be contained within the horizontal, temporal planes of
the sociohistorical. In The Yellow House on the Corner (1980), Geometry
imagines a relation to the infinite that recalls Dickinson and Emerson:
I prove a theorem and the house expands:
the windows jerk free to hover near the ceiling,
the ceiling floats away with a sigh.
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always.
The poem seems to relish its own dailiness: each night, each morning.
While, as she says in an interview, Dove has aimed to avoid writing po-
ems that assumed the writers personal life was intensely interesting,
preferring that the personal not be so self-indulgent (Navigating
2), here she deliberately courts the charge of that indulgence, seeming
mischievously to defy Yeatss pronouncement that even when the poet
seems most himself . . . he is never the bundle of accident and incoher-
ence that sits down to breakfast (517). But this is only the starting point
of the expedition.
The third stanza departs from the poems origin in bodily self-
description:
My child has
her fathers hips, his hair
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subjectivity, becoming not what Emerson calls in The Poet one of the
deathless progeny (457) of works budding off from the parents, but a
particular individual whose gaze encompasses desire, respect, aggression,
and the potential for mutual recognition. Lastly, the distinction between
master and servant Emerson denies is recalled in the etymological roots of
Doves title word expedition. Her speakers self-presentation as a black
woman, and the mother of a mixed-race childa role freely chosen, yet
haunted by the history of American slaverymight be seen as correct-
ing Emerson by means of another American ancestor, the former slave,
abolitionist, and advocate of womens rights Sojourner Truth: where Truth
bared her muscular arm and asked, aint I a woman?, Doves speaker bares
her feminine, maternal, dark body and asks, aint I a poet?
But Doves relation to Emerson is not only oppositional. She shares
the impulse toward universality, and claims the exhilaration as her own,
being drawn from and through the bodily toward the disembodied, from
the opaque toward the transparent, from the sociohistorical, toward the
spiritual or ghostlyan impulse concentrated largely in the word
sheer. The OEDs first definition of sheer as an adjective is not its
most common modern usage, transparent, but an obsolete meaning:
exempt, free (from service or fealty); clear, acquitted (from guilt, crime,
etc.); similarly, an obsolete meaning of sheer as a verb is to clear, free,
acquit from blame. Thus one who is sheer, who has been sheered, is one
who has undergone an expedition, a freeing. In this context sheer also
suggests, homophonically, shear. Deriving from the root for to sepa-
rate, it means to cleave, divide, said esp. of ships, birds, etc., enlarging
the suggestiveness of the image of the child as a ship, with a seaworthy
prow, and of the birdlike ascent into the sky at the end of the poem,
a conjunction recalling abolitionist Frederick Douglasss account of his
longing when enslaved: Could I but swim! If I could fly! (50). As an ad-
jective describing a rock face, an ascent, or a descent, Sheer suggests the
extreme steepness, the monolithic wall without breaking point, evoked
in definitions of the sublime, which emphasize a solitary encounter with
nature. Sheer, however, also points toward share. To share means to
divide, but also means to unite, to own or use or experience something in
common. People might share a loaf of bread by dividing it into parts; but
they might also share a mutual regard or love. A definition pertaining to
chemistry (to which atomic has pointed us) is suggestive: Of an atom,
orbital, etc.: to hold (one or more electrons) in common with another
atom or orbital, so as to form a covalent bond. The power of the atomic
gaze, then, is not only the power to annihilate (through the enormous
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It is not difficult to see why critics have taken these lines, with their ap-
pealing ideals of elusiveness, the freedom of flight, and the piercing vision
of the bird of prey, as a sincere ars poetica, and have been eager to comply
with the speakers ostensible request. Therese Steffen, for instance, pencils
in the x and convincingly elaborates its multiple significances (4-5).Yet
there is a tension between What I want and the wills Doves I seems
to reject, including what the poem sees as the essayists will for immersion
in the landscape (I wanna be in this) and the novelists for mastery over
it (he entered each day with an ax).11 An equal tension runs between
the cozy invitation trusting that you the reader will comply with the
poets modest, small request, and a desire to elude the reader, to be a
moving target: if in politics a hawk is the opposite of a dove, penciling in
Dove as a hawk might be precisely wrong. Embracing the traveling x
as Doves self-definition misses the authorial Is ghostly proliferation
through the poem, its ambivalent relation to conflicting versions of poetic
agency and to audience.
A potentially more troubled relationship to audience characterizes In
the Old Neighborhood, completed in the days after Dove was offered
the position of Poet Laureate in 1993 (Conversations 137). Negotiating the
self s relationship to biographical origins (the I returns to her childhood
home for her sisters wedding), the poem equally confronts how the dif-
ficult endeavor To pull yourself up by your own roots, a phrase Dove takes
from Adrienne Richs Shooting Script (Dove: Selected Poems xxii), can
be hampered by a critical culture devoted to identitarian readings. In the
Old Neighborhood offers an uncomfortable, even painful, image for the
poets potential relation with her readership in a bird trapped and killed
in a fan in the attic:
102
The bird as icon of the poet is a familiar trope, and Dove is not the
first to associate its embodiment with mortality (as in Hardys Shel-
leys Skylark) or violence (as in Eliot reinscribing Keatss nightingale as
Philomel, in The Waste Land). For Peter Erickson, however, this incident
alludes to Paul Lawrence Dunbars Sympathy, registering by means of
the birds triple negative, The fear of a black poets failure:
the starling has no plumage worth stopping for because it is
black; the bird with no song signifies poetic inability; the birds
annihilation, concluded by the unceremonious disposal with the
fans reverse switch, condemns it to anonymity. Doves own po-
etic splendors are proof against this fate, but her cruelly macabre
farce of the starlings demise ruefully acknowledges the lingering
force of the stereotype that she has had to overcome. (97)
Erikson reads Dove through the lens of racial identity, as if it were a time-
less essence. But for Dove, newly appointed Poet Laureate, the dangers
are not failure and anonymity, but the pressures of publicity.12 In this
context, far from constituting a punitive sentence, anonymity may be an
ambivalently wished-for solution to the problems of publicity, and even,
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(possibly to produce bone meal fertilizer for the fathers roses; his garden-
ing recurs throughout the poem). This continuity, however, incorporates
radical change: following the birds death, the suggestion of a funeral pyre
is unmistakable. Further, the lines recall images from Adrienne Richs
Shooting Script (from which Dove takes her epigraph):
They wait for you to unfold for them like a paper flower, a secret
springing open in a glass of water.
They believe your future has a history and that it is themselves.
Where they here want to fasten the you, Rich imagines that the
you, can evade such identification:
What remains continuous in the self thus imagined? How has it been
transformed? What can the letters recipient hope to understand? As they
work to remain mobile, Rich and Dove keep such questions open.
Shooting Script later returns to questions of continuity: Whatever
it was, the image that stopped you, the one on which you came to grief,
return to it and learn to read there the map of the future; find there
how the lifeline, broken, keeps its direction (67). Where once, destroyed,
it became an image that stopped you, on which you came to grief, you
might now see it as not worth having been stopped by. Will a phoenix
rise from the flames of old bones and eggshells? Dove doesnt say. Tense
and unresolved, despite its title the poem will not provide a comfortable
shelter or place to stand, from which the poem emanates as speech.
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In the Old Neighborhood is an autobiographical poem, but with its
incantatory Let me go back and Let me return, and its revisiting of
childhood traumas, it is also a poem about autobiography. In it and the
other poems I have examined, a seemingly locatable, identifiable autobio-
graphical self is challenged by specific poetic strategies: syntax dislocates
the I, sometimes displacing it altogether (as with the pronoun Who),
or producing a vertiginous experience (as at the end of Genetic Expe-
dition) corresponding with the Is; a ghostly profusion of voices
haunts the text, bringing into relief how the lyric I is woven by a web
of past textsa process we can understand anecdotally, as in the account
of childhood reading Dove gives in the introduction to Selected Poems,
culminating with In the Old Neighborhood, or more abstractly, in the
sense that a poems I is always something like Eliots familiar compound
ghost (203). With these strategies, the I enacts a freedom to exceed
its origins with imaginative reach and mobility. In Doves early work,
movement aspires to the vertical. In On the Bus with Rosa Parks (1999)
and American Smooth (2004), however, the poets restlessness seeks different
modes, suggested by their titles: On the Bus experiments with locating
mobility in the horizontal and the historical, while American smooth,
as Doves opening gloss explains, is a style of ballroom dance, a type of
motion less vertical or horizontal than temporal, and, crucially, stylized.
In On the Bus, Freedom: Birds Eye View imagines the suns vantage
point:
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Rewriting Donnes The Sun Rising, Dove declines the suns position
not in the name of eros, but of agape. To place oneself on the bus with
Rosa Parks is to place oneself in history, the world of magistrates and
justice, of the injustices Parks confronted in a place called Dixie. In
echoing the Pledge of Allegiance, the final lines recall one of Langston
Hughess Childrens Rhymes:
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108
rib to rib,
with no heartbreak in sight
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That the dancing couple has achieved flight is represented by the poems
syntax and complex temporality. Located in the past perfect (we had
done it), the moment is over before the reader (like the speaker) recog-
nizes it. Part of what Im trying to capture Dove has said, is the fact that
you cant really capture a gesture or figure or feeling; you get a glimpse of
something, then it disappears (Preston). Such lyric poem moments are
brief: once you start breathing again, the moment slides away.
In this volume the words i am home belong not to an autobio-
graphical I, but, disconcertingly, to a bullet finding its target (Medita-
tion at Fifty Yards, Moving Target 38). The lyric I belongs not at home
but in such unsettling imaginative identifications, in the space of art. If
this is a space of illusion, theatricality, and virtuosityqualities the dance
poems celebrateit is also a space of discovery, of the reach toward some
point true and unproven (Geometry, Selected Poems 17) where social
categories that implicitly limit individuals and erect divisions between
them can be radically reenvisioned. The creative mind, Derek Attridge
suggests, has to operate without being sure of where it is going, probing
the limits of the cultures givens, taking advantage of their contradic-
tions and tensions, seeking hints of the exclusions on which they depend
for their existence (20). In this way, something unprecedented can be
brought into being.
Such a process opens the political potentiality Dove aims for in Ameri-
can Smooth. Glossing the title, she explains:
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Notes
1. Other interviews take similar stances: Ive always had a resistance to being
typecast, placed in the category of Black Poet, she asserted in 1985 (Con-
versations 21). In 2005, she remarked, So many generations of black writers
before me could not afford to attend artistically to their full human selves
because the critical reception would not permit it. They had to be black or
nothing (Interview 1036); now African-American poets are finally explor-
ing the freedom to write about anything we choose (1039).
2. Doves 2004 letter to the editor of Poetry expresses her disappointment with
Garrison Keillors anthology Good Poems (2004) for its overwhelmingly white
bias, and with Poetrys reviews of it by Dana Gioia and August Kleinzahler. She
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finds only three black poets, all dead; although I may be missing someone
poems can be blessedly color-blindthis is an abysmal percentage (248).
This commitment to expanding the canon coexists with what I describe here
as the commitment to lyric freedom.
3. See, for example, Therese Steffens Crossing Color and Malin Pereiras Rita
Doves Cosmopolitanism.
4. For Tzvetan Todorov, the capacity for such consent defines the essentially
human, locating the universala term he seeks to salvagein the capacity for
self-transformation (21). He defines this capacity in terms of the potential for
(qualified) freedom from our origins: The context in which human beings
come into the world subjects them to multiple influences, and this context
varies in time and space. What every human being has in common with all
others is the ability to reject these determinations; in more solemn terms, let us
say that liberty is the distinctive feature of the human species (390).
5. As Justin Quinn writes in 2003, much criticism of the last two decades has
arraigned the American Romantic tradition for the ways in which it was put
to use in the burgeoning commercial and political ideologies of the United
States; as such criticism sees it, Emersons sublime is nave: it pretends to
abscond from history, but in truth it ensures that one set of social formations
prevails (193-94).
6. For an account of this shift and a provocative analysis of race as either es-
sence or illusion (Our America 134), see Walter Benn Michaelss Our America
and The Shape of the Signifier. Michaelss polemical stance can usefully provoke
questions about current critical paradigms of racial identity.
7. In the interview, Mackey goes on: Mixes of things that defy and redefine
boundary lines are very important in the literary politics, cultural politics, and
marginalized social politics of the time were living in (330).
8. Completed prior to Vendlers negative review of Doves Penguin Anthology of
Twentieth-Century American Poetry in The New York Review of Books, and Doves
reply, Defending an Anthology, in the Letters section of the same publica-
tion (November-December 2011), this essay is not the place for a thorough
consideration of this troubling exchange.
9. The play between Emersons dissolving of the I into the eye is articulated
in Lee Zimmermans An Eye for an I: Emerson and Some True Poems of
Robinson Jeffers, William Everson, Robert Penn Warren, and Adrienne Rich,
where Zimmerman discusses several American poems that revisit Emersons
disembodiment and oneAdrienne Richs Transcendental Etudethat
critiques it.
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10. Talking about her poems about the maternal body, Dove acknowledges her
gratitude to poets like Plath and Sexton who blazed the way in this regard
(Conversations 117). Grace Notes poems about motherhood emphasize human,
rather than exclusively female, embodiment: in Pastoral, a mother breastfeed-
ing her infant feels what a young man must feel / with his first love asleep
on his breast (38); in After Reading Mickey in the Night Kitchen for the Third
Time Before Bed, a mother addresses the young daughters curiosity about
menstruation by telling her that this blood is what makes us / black moth-
er, cream child (41)female and male. See Costello, Scars 436.
11. Pat Righelato writes that the poem critiques the self-importance of male
writers (124), but Doves poem is subtler and more even-handed.
12. Doves comments in interviews acknowledge these dangers. As Laureate,
she spoke of the mind-boggling level of media attention and the strains of
assum[ing] the mantle of the public servant, and of needing to Forget the
private person, cut out the self-reflection, and just deal with the situation on a
public level: That, more than anything, stops the writing (Conversations 124).
Earlier, when she began to think about publishing, she had been terrified that
I would be suffocated before I began, that I would be pulled into the whole
net of whether this was Black enough, and felt a pressure . . . to be a credit to
the race (159).
13. In Arrow, following Ars Poetica in Grace Notes, a young woman stu-
dent told, in so many words, by a scholar visting her university, you women are
nothing, nothing at all, finds a solution in wearing yellow brighter / than
her hair so she cant be / seen at all (50); similarly, in Canary, Billie Holi-
days performance is a defense against vulnerability and injustice: If you cant
be free, be a mystery (64). In Agosta the Winged Man and Rasha the Black
Dove, an earlier self-portrait to set beside Ars Poetica and Genetic Expedi-
tion, there is no hiding: both subjects of Christian Schads painting are ex-
posed on the merciless canvas (Selected Poems 98).
14. Here Dove may also be recalling Wallace Stevenss impartial Emperor of Ice
Cream who regards concupiscence and death with equanimity (50); thanks to
Lee Zimmerman for making this connection.
15. Doves 2009 Sonata Mulattica integrates its historical and aesthetic concerns
in its main subject, the violinist George Polgreen Bridgetower (for whom
Beethoven wrote what became known as the Kreutzer Sonata), a European
musician born to an African father and Polish mother. The volumes title sug-
gests some of the implications of Doves project in juxtaposing the aesthetic
(the form of the musical piece) with the social category of mulatto in which
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