
I returned to Mina Loy yesterday morning and was rereading some favorite poems.
And I read her brief essay "Modern Poetry."
I liked this: "This composite language is a very living language, it grows as you speak. For the true American appears to be ashamed to say anything in the way it has been said before. Every moment he ingeniously coins new words for old ideas, to keep good humor warm. And on the baser avenues of Manhattan every voice swings to the triple rhythm of its race, its citizenship and its personality."
And: "You may think it impossible to conjure up the relationship of expression between the high browest modern poets and an adolescent Slav who has speculated in a wholesale job-lot of mandarines and is trying to sell them in a retail market on First Avenue. But it lies simply in this: both have had to become adapted to a country where the mind has to put on its verbal clothes at terrific speed if it would speak in time; where no one will listen if you attack him twice with the same missile of argument. And, that the ear that has listened to the greatest number of sounds will have the most to choose from when it comes to self-expression, each has been liberally educated in the flexibility of phrases.
"So in the American poet wherever he may wander, however he may engage himself with an older culture, there has occurred no Europeanization of his fundamental advantage, the actuer shock of the New World consciousness upon life. His is still poetry that has proceeded out of America."
That's pure Mina Loy.
You get such a sense of her character, her anti-snobbism, from the diction itself.
The humorous and solecistic "high browest" shows her lovely spirit and her embrace of the original phrase.
As I reread her, I wonder how much she influenced Barbara Guest (another favorite of mine).
Because inasmuch as Guest probably had the best and fullest understanding of the poet who was the subject of her landmark biography, H.D., Guest is so much closer in her own poetry to the poetics of Loy.
H.D. was a poet who grew in power with each passing decade.
Hers wasn't an early flowering, followed by recapitulation or descent into silence.
Like Yeats, H.D. wrote some of her most powerful poems very late in life.
She began in Imagism, but soon found she had a gift for hunting out the archetypal image.
Her embrace of the occult and mystical tendencies meshed with her ability to intuit the archetypal in the particular, and eventually led her to a place where she could engage history as it was coming to be, and write poems as large as the events (for example, the second World War) which occupied the world stage in her lifetime.
But her poetic diction is nowhere near as forgetive as Loy's. Or Barbara Guest's.
This is probably because both Loy and Guest had a much more active engagement with the abstract art being produced in their respective lifetimes, and cultivated strong friendships with the artists who produced these works.
Both women showed a marked critical acumen. Guest worked as a professional art critic for decades, and authored monographs on several artists. She often produced
livres d'artiste with beloved painters. Guest did create some visual art herself. Loy created art that sometimes looked more like fashion, and fashion that sometimes looked more like art--if one is going to worry the unnecessary distinction with quibbles or cavils.
It is not accidental that the concrete praxis of each poet tended towards catachresis.
Catachresis is one of the more painterly rhetorical devices; it is strongly analogous to the less representational modes of painting--both the expressionistic and the abstract.
Catachresis is often the literary equivalent of liberated paint.
Loy and Guest shared this embrace of catachresis with Hart Crane.
Hart Crane took this device to the extreme. He was a virtual "catachresis queen."
So many poems by Loy seem to be speaking across decades to poems by Guest.
A poem like "Marble" by Loy reads like a total pre-figurement of Guest, say the latter circa
Fair Realism.Both poets wrote stunning ekphrastic poems.
Think of Loy describing Brancusi's "Bird in Space" or Guest describing that Balla painting in a memorable poem.
Both poets were marginalized in their lifetime.
It's true Guest did come to a much fuller appreciation towards the end of her life--and so did Loy to a somewhat lesser degree.
Loy's true acclaim was to be largely posthumous.
In this essay, "Modern Poetry," Loy praises two men at length.
Of course she was one of the many poets mentored by Pound, so she gives him his due.
But it's interesting that she seems to show much more passion when discussing Cummings.
It's not hard to intuit that she respects Pound's overarching intellect and critical mind.
But it's also not hard to intuit that she likes Cummings better as a poet.
Because Cummings was as imaginative as Loy was.
Loy doesn't delude herself. She understands how rare "perfect poems" are. She tells a number of contemporary poets how many perfect poems they have written, and this number is often "one" or "two."
This is very funny because it's so rare to find such honesty.
Sure, it's bumptious. In a sense. But it shows how seriously she took the art and how carefully she read her contemporaries.
She has the good sense not to speak the complete truth to Pound, or about Pound, but one can read between the lines.
Loy knows how hard Cummings worked his muse and she sees his many indulgences and failures. But she has a great eye for where his successes lie, and she has a great empathy with the poet because they are both equally demanding when it comes to exploiting the full plasticity of the English language.
And that's something Guest is known for.
Another thing in Loy's little essay: poets have been bitching in the same way
forever! Here's Loy lamenting the unfairness in America's simultaneous embrace of jazz and rejection of experimental poetry: "And why has the collective spirit of the modern world, of which both are the reflection, recognized itself unanimously in the new music of unprecedented instruments, and so rarely in the new poetry of unprecedented verse?"
Poets today still bitch like this. If you think Radiohead is cool, why don't you like my poetry?
Tell the poetry instructor the truth! "Ummm...you're not Radiohead. You don't make my balls flutter. You don't give me flutter balls."
It's amusing to see Loy also give acclaim to some contemporaries who are no longer even remembered as poets.
Some people are meant for their own time, and are wonderful in it. Others are for the ages.
She closes the essay with an appreciation of Williams which demonstrates she understood exactly what he was doing (early in his career) poetically, even when his poetics was diametrically opposed to hers.
"The doctor wishes you to know just how uncompromisingly itself that fact is."
Obviously she was speaking there to the "red wheel barrow" sort of poem, which had set off such fiery arguments. "Is it even poetry?" echoed everywhere.
And now it seems so funny.
The fact that everyone instantly memorizes the refrigerator note poem should have tipped people off.
Loy remains defiantly herself and her poems still wear their resplendent armor.
I rarely remember any blurb. Who does? But the one Thom Gunn gave for this edition of
The Lost Lunar Baedeker is one of the few blurbs I've ever read where I haven't felt a subsidization going on (if not complete parasitology!)
He wrote, many years after Loy's death: "Mina Loy has finally been admitted into 'the company of poets,' the canon.
As if she cared."