Among recent notices on my Facebook feed was one for the new issue of Big Bridge, in particular a feature on “Neo-surrealism,” edited
by Adam Cornford. Cornford’s expansive introduction to the feature,
which looks back to the history of surrealism and forward to his
selection of living poets, includes this definition of his subject:
“What defines a Surrealist poetry today, then, is what has defined it
from the outset. (This definition embraces both answers I gave at the
beginning, though the latter one, I believe, is the more important.)
Surrealist poetry can only be ‘a cry of the mind determined to
break apart its fetters.’ It must contribute, intentionally or
otherwise, to the liberation of the mind ‘and all that resembles it.’” I’m
not here to argue against the mind’s liberation, rather to suggest that
newer forms of surrealism can be used effectively to record what occurs
before the imagined line break in Cornford’s phrase “the mind
determined to break apart / its fetters.” The breaking apart of a mind,
most familiar to me as a product (or anti-product) of dementia and
Alzheimer’s, can be tracked through what I’ve elsewhere called “documentary surrealism.”
In the blog post to which I just offered a link, I wrote: “To say that
dementia is a surreal condition is probably not to say anything anyone
doubts who has confronted a relative or friend with Alzheimer’s
disease. More interesting, on a literary level, is the way in which
writing about dementia creates a hybrid form, documentary surrealism.
If documentary poetry combines the strengths of historical writing,
journalism, collage, and the lyric, then documentary surrealism opens
up the field to the ways in which the imagination is actualized by
mental illness or other extreme states (such as the post-traumatic
syndrome Andre Breton dealt with during WWI when he treated soldiers off
the battlefield).”
1 comment:
Incredible post.... Three incredibly gifted and poignant writers. Bless you all!
Sheri Swaner
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