On Memory and Through Feeling:
Bringing back the lost art of poetry recitation
TLDR:
Why should we memorize poetry? Because we want to understand its moments, movements, curves, and meter. Because we want to bring something we love to life by means of our physical bodies.
We want to be an active agent in the construction of our minds. Because we want it to become a part of us.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
As we steadily evolve into our cyborg selves, the desire to record and store our experiences borders on obsession. The ultimate goal is to both experience and preserve, not missing a moment of the action and yet having a full copy after the fact that serves as proof of our presence. And yet, despite this shift in memory, it is not our cognitive organs, but our devices, that are actually doing the recollecting. For us, memorization is a skill to master during our school years before becoming one we promptly forget when it no longer serves us. And even in this academic case, the skill becomes outdated when all the information we could ever possibly need is physically at our fingertips.
Why then should we memorize anything at all? And why poetry for that matter? Historically, poetry memorization and recitation was an official part of western curriculum until about 1950 but continued beyond this point in the Soviet Bloc. From encouraging a love of literature, preserving the classic works through generations, to training the brain and tongue, schools rationalized the benefits of recitation in a myriad of ways, and in doing so, established a standard collection from which to draw assignments — one that still influences Western literature courses today. At some point in the 20th century this practice was all but removed from national education. And now we live in the age of begrudgingly binging information in preparation for exams, doing so with extra vigor if only because we know at some point we won't have to ever again.
And yet, in spite of, or maybe precisely because of, the hands-free mental environment we live in, taking up precious brain space for a piece of prose or poetry, rather than something "useful" like conversion factors or important phone numbers, becomes an act of defiance — a vehement confirmation of our humanness and our right to control what makes an imprint on our minds. We now gorge ourselves, equally willingly and unwillingly, on more content — words, images, and corporate branding — in one day than someone experienced in a lifetime only a few decades ago. Every time we see the same ad on the subway, it burns itself a little deeper into us. By means of exposure and repetition, that which we view and recite becomes a part of us. If that is the fate that awaits us, then I want to have my favorite poems be a part of me. When I go to bed at night, I want to lull myself to sleep in the recitation of words that move me, over and over again until we are one. And then I want to tell them to a friend over a campfire — until they leave an imprint there too.
With this tribute in memory, I not only enact responsibility for my mental infrastructure, but I also pay due respect to the object itself. A poem which may be read in brief passing as I flip through an anthology in a used bookstore suddenly gains a body — engaging not just the eyes, but also the tongue and the ears. Glanced over letters become spoken syllables, pauses become pregnant, and the whole thing goes nowhere without a decisive rhythm. Life!
Directions:
Why should we memorize poetry? Because we want to understand its moments, movements, curves, and meter. Because we want to bring something we love to life by means of our physical bodies.
We want to be an active agent in the construction of our minds. Because we want it to become a part of us.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
As we steadily evolve into our cyborg selves, the desire to record and store our experiences borders on obsession. The ultimate goal is to both experience and preserve, not missing a moment of the action and yet having a full copy after the fact that serves as proof of our presence. And yet, despite this shift in memory, it is not our cognitive organs, but our devices, that are actually doing the recollecting. For us, memorization is a skill to master during our school years before becoming one we promptly forget when it no longer serves us. And even in this academic case, the skill becomes outdated when all the information we could ever possibly need is physically at our fingertips.
Why then should we memorize anything at all? And why poetry for that matter? Historically, poetry memorization and recitation was an official part of western curriculum until about 1950 but continued beyond this point in the Soviet Bloc. From encouraging a love of literature, preserving the classic works through generations, to training the brain and tongue, schools rationalized the benefits of recitation in a myriad of ways, and in doing so, established a standard collection from which to draw assignments — one that still influences Western literature courses today. At some point in the 20th century this practice was all but removed from national education. And now we live in the age of begrudgingly binging information in preparation for exams, doing so with extra vigor if only because we know at some point we won't have to ever again.
And yet, in spite of, or maybe precisely because of, the hands-free mental environment we live in, taking up precious brain space for a piece of prose or poetry, rather than something "useful" like conversion factors or important phone numbers, becomes an act of defiance — a vehement confirmation of our humanness and our right to control what makes an imprint on our minds. We now gorge ourselves, equally willingly and unwillingly, on more content — words, images, and corporate branding — in one day than someone experienced in a lifetime only a few decades ago. Every time we see the same ad on the subway, it burns itself a little deeper into us. By means of exposure and repetition, that which we view and recite becomes a part of us. If that is the fate that awaits us, then I want to have my favorite poems be a part of me. When I go to bed at night, I want to lull myself to sleep in the recitation of words that move me, over and over again until we are one. And then I want to tell them to a friend over a campfire — until they leave an imprint there too.
With this tribute in memory, I not only enact responsibility for my mental infrastructure, but I also pay due respect to the object itself. A poem which may be read in brief passing as I flip through an anthology in a used bookstore suddenly gains a body — engaging not just the eyes, but also the tongue and the ears. Glanced over letters become spoken syllables, pauses become pregnant, and the whole thing goes nowhere without a decisive rhythm. Life!
Directions:
- Choose a poem that sees you, calls to you, tingles you.
- Memorize it. Read it every morning and let its words be like a prayer to you.
- Record yourself. Recite the poem to a camera lens. Recite it outside, in a basement, cuddled in blankets, wherever you feel your best.
- Send an mp3 file to NDNFzine@gmail.com.
- We will post contributions here.