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A review by versmonesprit
Death the Barber by William Carlos Williams
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? N/A
- Strong character development? N/A
- Loveable characters? N/A
- Diverse cast of characters? N/A
- Flaws of characters a main focus? N/A
0.25
We all know those so-called contemporary art pieces which are nothing more than thoughtless and artless productions just to sell an object without having to call it that, and how people so desperately want to believe that it too is art that they gaslight themselves into thinking there’s certainly some deeper meaning, some deeper message, some deeper art attached beyond the flat, unskilled, mainstream, and unoriginal façade.
I unfortunately feel like William Carlos Williams’ so-called poetry is exactly that too. I had to look him up on Wikipedia to even have an idea of what people see in these jottings. Apparently, people want to believe it’s a stance against both form and language — it’s free verse (in the 20th century, shocker 🙄) and “American” in its language. Listen, I love American literature. Even more than English literature! That should be enough to establish I don’t think the American use of the English language is artless. (Look at Herman Melville, Henry Miller, Jack Kerouac!) I have read prose (see the parentheses before) that is filled to the brim with poetry, that does not even proclaim itself prose poetry! People write prose that is infinitely more poetic than whatever Williams was doing here.
These are direct quotes from Wikipedia: “he sought to renew language through the fresh, raw idiom that grew out of America's cultural and social heterogeneity, at the same time freeing it from what he saw as the worn-out language of British and European culture,” “to show the American (opposed to European) rhythm that he claimed was present in everyday American language.” I’m sharing these to stress just how laughable all these claims are. First of all, yes, English is a fascinating language that is so symbiotic with its sound that when first learning it, if you’re ever unsure during a grammar test, more often than not the correct answer will be whatever sounds the best! By this I mean I’m not arguing every day English is devoid of rhythm; however it is sadly devoid of poetry. The so-called worn out European use of language is just having a vocabulary beyond what you’d find in a grocery list. It’s erudition, it’s eloquence. Rejecting a skilful use of language in poetry gives rise only to jottings that read like an amateur writer’s first draft of a mass-market book.
There are 39 “poems” included in this selection. Of them, I liked only 2, and they’re still far from being memorable or truly impactful. I also kept a single quote from another “poem,” not for its poetry (there is none) but for its statement that the static nature of a painted object frees it from the necessity to move, in hopes I can use it in a future essay pondering art. Williams failed to paint any real image, which became a capital offence when he also failed to evoke any feelings whatsoever. Having read Bashō’s haikus earlier this year, I can’t help but be dumbfounded by how a writer can be incapable of painting any striking image in a whole page (sometimes more!) when Bashō does it in 3 extremely short lines!
If this review is dragging, it’s because I am truly frustrated by the artlessness of these soulless jottings. Kudos to Williams for being yet another writer who proves not everything can be poetry! (Yikes for proving not everything can even be a passable prose either though.)
I unfortunately feel like William Carlos Williams’ so-called poetry is exactly that too. I had to look him up on Wikipedia to even have an idea of what people see in these jottings. Apparently, people want to believe it’s a stance against both form and language — it’s free verse (in the 20th century, shocker 🙄) and “American” in its language. Listen, I love American literature. Even more than English literature! That should be enough to establish I don’t think the American use of the English language is artless. (Look at Herman Melville, Henry Miller, Jack Kerouac!) I have read prose (see the parentheses before) that is filled to the brim with poetry, that does not even proclaim itself prose poetry! People write prose that is infinitely more poetic than whatever Williams was doing here.
These are direct quotes from Wikipedia: “he sought to renew language through the fresh, raw idiom that grew out of America's cultural and social heterogeneity, at the same time freeing it from what he saw as the worn-out language of British and European culture,” “to show the American (opposed to European) rhythm that he claimed was present in everyday American language.” I’m sharing these to stress just how laughable all these claims are. First of all, yes, English is a fascinating language that is so symbiotic with its sound that when first learning it, if you’re ever unsure during a grammar test, more often than not the correct answer will be whatever sounds the best! By this I mean I’m not arguing every day English is devoid of rhythm; however it is sadly devoid of poetry. The so-called worn out European use of language is just having a vocabulary beyond what you’d find in a grocery list. It’s erudition, it’s eloquence. Rejecting a skilful use of language in poetry gives rise only to jottings that read like an amateur writer’s first draft of a mass-market book.
There are 39 “poems” included in this selection. Of them, I liked only 2, and they’re still far from being memorable or truly impactful. I also kept a single quote from another “poem,” not for its poetry (there is none) but for its statement that the static nature of a painted object frees it from the necessity to move, in hopes I can use it in a future essay pondering art. Williams failed to paint any real image, which became a capital offence when he also failed to evoke any feelings whatsoever. Having read Bashō’s haikus earlier this year, I can’t help but be dumbfounded by how a writer can be incapable of painting any striking image in a whole page (sometimes more!) when Bashō does it in 3 extremely short lines!
If this review is dragging, it’s because I am truly frustrated by the artlessness of these soulless jottings. Kudos to Williams for being yet another writer who proves not everything can be poetry! (Yikes for proving not everything can even be a passable prose either though.)