[Wgcp-whc] session tomorrow--Reznikoff's Testimony

Richard Deming richard.deming at yale.edu
Thu Feb 25 13:49:26 EST 2010


Dear All,

just a reminder that we will have a session tomorrow from 3-5 in rm  
116 of the Whitney Humanities Center.  The reading for that is  
available in the office of the Whitney Humanities Center in our  
mailbox.  The focus of the discussion will be Charles Reznikoff's  
Testimony, an important work in the Objectivist "tradition" that makes  
uses of historical documents. Charles Bernstein writes in a review of  
Reznikoff's Collected Poems:

I can only hope that this collection will spur the republication of  
Reznikoff’s great anti-epic, Testimony. To write this book, Reznikoff  
spent years in various libraries pouring over trial records from the  
1890s and 1900s, selecting a few cases out of each hundred he surveyed  
and then styling them so as to allow the event itself to speak, as if  
without interference, without teller. As I wrote in “Reznikoff’s  
Nearness” (collected in My Way: Speeches and Poems), Testimony is “a  
chronicle of industrial accidents, domestic violence, racism. It tells  
the story of America’s forgotten, those who suffer without redress,  
without name, without hope; yet the soul of these States is found in  
books like this; the acknowledgment of these peripheral stories turns  
a waste land into holy ground.”

I'll paste below some links and a series of critical excerpts  
responding to Testimony.

Until tomorrow,
Richard Deming,


SHORT BIO, EXCERPTS OF INTERVIEWS, EXCERPTS OF DAVIDSON ESSAY (“On  
Testimony” by M. DAVIDSON from Ghostlier Demarcations: Modern Poetry  
and the Material Word, Berkeley: University of California, 1997)
http://www.english.illinois.edu/MAPS/poets/m_r/reznikoff/reznikoff.htm

NUMEROUS SOUND RECORDINGS
http://writing.upenn.edu/pennsound/x/Reznikoff.php







Excerpt from an Interview with Reznikoff by L.S. Dembo

Q. Well, that brings us to the question of Testimony: The United  
States, 1885-1890, a work that doesn't seem at all to be  in the  
mainstream of your poetry.

A. Testimony may be explained by T. S. Eliot's "objective  
correlative," as I understand it. Something happens and it expresses  
something that you feel, not necessarily because of those facts, but  
because of entirely different facts that give you the same kind of  
feeling. Now, in reading law, if the cases state any facts, they're  
just a sentence or two; but, occasionally, you'll find the facts gone  
into in detail, sometimes to explain or defend the judge's position.  
Still the facts have a function of their own—psychological,  
sociological, and perhaps even poetical. In Testimony the speakers  
whose words I use are all giving testimony about what they actually  
lived through. The testimony is that of a witness in court—not a  
statement of what he felt, but of what he saw or heard. What I wanted  
to do was to create by selection, arrangement, and the rhythm of the  
words used as a mood or feeling. I could have picked any period  
because the same thing is happening today that was happening in 1885.  
For example, in the volume I'm working on now there's a description of  
a Negro riot in St. Louis around 1900. A reviewer wrote that when he  
read Testimony a second time he saw a world of horror and violence. I  
didn't invent the world, but I felt it.

Q. But doesn't testimony as such come out as simply a transcription of  
reality?

A. But I throw out an awful lot to achieve my purpose. It's not a  
complete picture of the United States at any time, by any means. It's  
only a part of what happened, a reality that I felt as a reader and  
could not portray adequately in any other way. But I will tell you, if  
it's any satisfaction, that Testimony had very little sale.

Q. Well, that's certainly no satisfaction.

A. This discussion about testimony and events being lived through  
brings me to a waning I'd like to make. I suppose I'm an "objectivist"  
and I have my own "formula" for writing, but no formula can be a  
guarantee of good writing. I think behind any poem there's a  
background of experience and emotion that explains its moving quality.  
Sometimes even the poet himself may have forgotten the background.  
It's a mystery.

from "An Interview with Charles Reznikoff." Contemporary Literature  
10.2 (Spring 1969)

  Aldon Lynn Nielsen

Charles Reznikoff wrote at length in verse of the black experience in  
America. His longest poem, Testimony: The United States (1885-1915),  
Recitative, is divided up into sections according to geographical  
region and subject matter. Within these divisions, there is a  
repeating section entitled "Negroes," which is comprised of court  
testimony from cases involving blacks, rendered into verse patterns by  
the poet. These sections, taken as a whole, constitute the most  
substantial consideration given to black life by a white poet during  
the modernist period, and for once they let that life speak for  
itself, in the form of dispassionately reported depositions. One  
example shall have to serve:

Several white men went at night to the Negro's
house,
shot into it,
and set fire to his cotton on the gallery
his wife and children ran under the bed
and as the firing from guns and pistols went on
and the cotton blazed up, ran through a side door
into the woods.
The Negro himself, badly wounded, fled to the
house of a neighbor—
a white man--
and got inside.
He was followed,
and one of those who ran after him
put a shotgun against the white man's door
and shot a hole through it.
Justice, however, was not to be thwarted,
for five of the men who did this to the Negro
were tried:
for "unlawfully and maliciously
injuring and disfiguring"-
the white man's property.

Reznikoff allows the irony of America's racial injustices to  
foreground itself in these pieces, as in this one, which makes no  
comment on the fact that there were no charges for destroying a black  
man's property or for assaulting him and his family.

 From Reading Race" White American Poets and the Racial Discourse in  
the Twentieth Century. Copyright © 1986 by The University of Georgia  
Press.

Linda Simon

Reznikoff's sources for Testimony were hundreds of volumes in the  
Reporter series (these are published by region) from 1885-1915. He  
looked particularly for cases involving "injury (death, assault,  
theft) due to primitive violence; injury due to negligence,  
particularly those caused by machinery . . . , and unusual characters  
or places--unusual and yet characteristic of the time." These, he  
thought, would illuminate the transition in America from an  
agricultural to an industrial society and, presumably, the impact of  
that transition on particular individuals.

 From "Reznikoff: The Poet as Witness." In Charles Reznikoff: Man and  
Poet. Ed. Milton Hindus. Copyright ã 1984 by the National Poetry  
Foundation. Reprinted with permission.

Randolph Chilton

Naturally, nearly all of the poems describe a criminal act or  
circumstances surrounding such an act. In addition to their content,  
Reznikoff's editing strongly reinforces his dark view of the period he  
worked with.

[. . . .]

The macabre facts of these cases are left to speak for themselves, but  
the cumulative effect of such descriptions is to evoke on the reader's  
part a growing sense of "a world of horror and violence," in one  
reviewer's words. Reznikoff says, "I didn't invent the world, but I  
felt it." On another level, of course, if we read sensitively, we must  
remember that the speakers describe the world of our own ancestors--a  
world we have inherited. In this context, Reznikoff's unornamented  
rendering of the records of murder, incest, violent crime, and cut- 
throat greed finally makes us perceive our world as strangely as any  
surrealist perceives it, but with a much more historically oriented  
sensibility.

 From "Charles Reznikoff: Objective Witness." In Charles Reznikoff:  
Man and Poet. Ed. Milton Hindus. Copyright ã 1984 by the National  
Poetry Foundation. Reprinted with permission.

Linda W. Wagner

Reznikoff’s late sequences of poems, Volumes I and II of his  
Testimony, accumulate these factually-based accounts into moving  
collections. Repeatedly Reznikoff's pace in the poems adds  
immeasurably to the effect of control, of re-counting, that the poet  
seems to be aiming for. Many of these testimonies are heart-breaking.  
Most of them reflect the chaos of the modern urbanized world Reznikoff  
imaged in his first poems. But because they are phrased in longer  
lines, with more details and more interrelationships presented as  
context, they are easier to read and absorb than were his early short  
lyrics.

[. . . .]

Reznikoff manages our responses so that we know exactly what he wants  
us to know, when he allows us to know it. Because we are led so  
simply, given traditional scenes that our past experiences mark as  
positive or negative, the full effect of his contrived ironies--for  
they mark nearly every one of the testimony poems—is usually  
devastating.

[. . . .]

[B]ut it seems to me that what is equally important in this masterful  
series of poems, the testimony volumes I and II, is Reznikoff's craft,  
his ability to shape our responses so that his recounting is dramatic,  
for all its subdued and objective tone. We read Testimony because we  
are caught in its plots and characters, because we are moved by each  
accounting, because Reznikoff doesn't let us forget the implication he  
so carefully never states.

 From "Charles Reznikoff: Master of the Miniature." In Charles  
Reznikoff: Man and Poet. Ed. Milton Hindus. Copyright ã 1984 by the  
National Poetry Foundation. Reprinted with permission.

David Ignatow

He had sent me the first volume of Testimony, and I was knocked over  
by it; by its calm account of cases of murder, lust, perversion, theft  
and betrayals throughout the early years of this great republic, each  
case told with such economy of language, simplicity and directness as  
to leave no doubt in anyone's mind that he or she was reading an  
actual case drawn from legal history, but, and this was the big but,  
written from the viewpoint of an observer who could have been there  
and who knew who was at fault from first hand observation, yet was not  
about to point it out to anyone with so many words of direct  
accusation. The reader was left to draw his or her own conclusions,  
and yet fault was not the issue in all of these poems. It was more  
than that, it was the deepest sorrow and commiseration with pain,  
suffering, human frailty, with human limitation to self understanding,  
self discipline and human lack of soul, if one can define spirit of  
commonality in those terms. He was revealing the grating isolation in  
which each of the victims and their aggressors were living in a  
country dedicated to unity within diversity. There was plenty of  
diversity but little or no unity and the book was an overwhelming  
indictment of the case.

[. . . .]

Could a man do less that to write of his grief at the loss of  
opportunity this country had once to raise itself to the heights  
dreamed of by its founders? Charles was not about to shirk that duty  
to the truth, which in his sardonic way he could only hope that  
someday would act as a therapeutic with which to cleanse this country  
of its shame. And so I was to find him on every page of Testimony  
speaking to me as he had not been able to in private on those  
occasions when we had met, for one, that walk on Fifth Avenue with  
hints of his project barely made. After the first volume of Testimony  
I felt closer to him than ever before.

 From "Charles Reznikoff: A Memoir" In Charles Reznikoff: Man and  
Poet. Ed. Milton Hindus. Copyright ã 1984 by the National Poetry  
Foundation. Reprinted with permission.

Milton Hindus

Testimony should be a specific against what a fatuous public official  
once described as "the optimism of the American historical vision."  
This is not because Reznikoff believes America is worse than the rest  
of the world, but because he sees no reason to think it much better.  
Vice, drunkenness, greed, murder, and sadism produce results no  
different in America than they once did in Dostoyevsky's Russia or  
Dante's Italy.

[. . . .]

When Reznikoff resumed writing Testimony in the 1960s, there loomed up  
before his imagination out of "the dark backward and abysm of time"  
realities dwarfing the great economic Depression of the Thirties (the  
Second World War, the Holocaust, Hiroshima), yet he still felt that  
the horror of such grand historical abstractions could most  
effectively be brought home by the minute particulars of individual  
cases, which he had first begun to read extensively while working for  
a living on the encyclopaedia of law for lawyers, Corpus Juris. Later,  
he continued to read these reports for the sheer human interest of  
them and because he felt challenged to create for strangers (by  
selection, arrangement, and a clarified, chastened style) the feelings  
which some of the cases had aroused in himself. Litera scripta manet.  
The written record remains, but what good is it if it is unread? The  
law reports of the various states were for Reznikoff what Holinshed's  
Chronicles and Hakluyt's Voyages were for earlier poets, quarries out  
of which to dig materials that could be shaped into new  literary  
artifacts.

 From "Epic, Action-Poem, Cartoon: Charles Reznikoff’s Testimony." In  
Charles Reznikoff: Man and Poet. Ed. Milton Hindus. Copyright ã 1984  
by the National Poetry Foundation. Reprinted with permission.

Janet Sutherland

He called the work Testimony: The United States acknowledging in the  
title the importance of seeing the nation as a whole, even while  
noting its fragmentation. What is most worrying to critics in  
Testimony is its seeming bias towards all that is most sordid and  
terrible in American life. This is due in part to its origins as a  
source-based work, for seldom in criminal court cases is there mention  
of ordinary life. I feel, though, that it is also due to Reznikoff's  
ideas about young America. If we accept that his main aim in Testimony  
was to give an impression of the problems of assimilation (not just  
problems associated with race and culture differences but also those  
of urbanization, poverty, etc.) then one can see the drift of the work  
not as bias but as a deliberate attempt to direct the reader towards  
an understanding of the problems the New World has to face.

[. . . .]

Reznikoff called this verse form "Recitative." Why did he use this  
form rather than prose, for instance? The answer would appear to lie  
in the way Reznikoff uses the verse form to carry an indirect  
emotional content rather than using an authorial commentary or  
abstract emotional words which are more characteristic of prose.  
Reznikoff's "Recitative" form is clearly based on English as a spoken  
language, as a witness might speak in a court of law, rather than on  
more lyrical qualities. It is a verse form, however, using speech  
rhythms rather than a regular metrical arrangement. The shortened  
sentences taken from the source are broken in one or more places at  
natural pauses in speech rhythm. It is these breaks which transform  
the work from a "found" text into poetry. The abruptness of the  
shortened sentences leads to a kind of staccato effect emphasized by  
the occasional interjection of very short lines such as "the baby  
should live," "and shot her twice," "the S.S. man laughed." Such an  
abrupt or broken speech pattern suggests. an emotional state; thus  
Reznikoff can dispense with abstract emotional words because the verse  
structure subtly supplies an indirect emotional content. Commentary is  
unnecessary. In using the "Recitative" method, therefore, Reznikoff is  
isolating a particular section of his source--the testimony of  
witnesses--and in accentuating its particular characteristic (the  
spoken word) he gives the reader an unspoken sense of his source. . . .

 From Charles Reznikoff: Man and Poet. Ed. Milton Hindus. Copyright ã  
1984 by the National Poetry Foundation. Reprinted with permission.

Paul Auster

Testimony: The United States (1885-1915) Recitative is perhaps  
Reznikoff's most important achievement as a poet. A quietly  
astonishing work, so deceptive in its making that it would be easy to  
misread it as a document rather than as a piece of art, it is at once  
a kaleidoscopic vision of American life and the ultimate test of  
Reznikoff’s poetic principles. Composed of small, self-contained  
fragments, each the distillation of an actual court case, the overall  
effect is nevertheless extremely coherent. Reznikoff has no lesson to  
teach, no axe to grind, no ideology to defend: he merely wants to  
present the facts.

[. . . .]

It would be difficult for a poet to make himself more invisible than  
Reznikoff does in this book. To find a comparable approach to the  
real, one would have to go back to the great prose writers of the turn  
of the century. As in Chekov or in early Joyce, the desire is to allow  
events to speak for themselves, to choose the exact detail that will  
say everything and thereby allow as much as possible to remain unsaid.  
This kind of restraint paradoxically requires an openness of spirit  
that is available to very few: an ability to accept the given, to  
remain a witness of human behavior and not succumb to the temptation  
of becoming a judge.

 From "Reznikoff and His Sources." In Charles Reznikoff: Man and Poet.  
Ed. Milton Hindus. Copyright ã 1984 by the National Poetry Foundation.  
Reprinted with permission.

Michael Heller

For in Reznikoff, lives, cityscapes, testimonies, tend to remain  
resolutely what they are, to resist being read analogically or  
metaphorically. Particularly in the urban poetry, there is a sealed  
character to the contents of the work, one that is full of sorrow, of  
a judging sorrow and tenderness, which understands personality, even  
that of fools and villains, and yet accepts. In many of the poems,  
there seems to exist an air of resignation, a curious resignation,  
because in the way the contents of a poem are rendered, this  
atmosphere arises from its subject and not from its author's attitudes.

This air has as much to do with craft as with feeling. For what  
Reznikoff's work evokes--and this is its most contemporary aspect--is  
the perception and the humanity of the reader. The surer, possibly  
harsher aspects of judgment are left to the reader as if to say, let  
him or her decide what to feel (or do) about modern life, about the  
modern world. Instead of judgment, there is a sense of great  
detachment, a kind of moral spaciousness that the reader must cross.  
It is not that there are gaps of information--everything is given.  
Yet, as with few other contemporary bodies of verse, the reader must  
discover in himself the attitudes he has toward the material.

Nothing seems so aesthetically right, so convincing as this distance.  
We often find in Reznikoff the sense of the poet having just withdrawn  
from the scene of the poem, of the people recorded themselves already  
in some state of taking leave. The great, the impersonal forces of  
city life or of history have just happened, and now there is the  
moment urging one to seek stillness, a stillness in which an intuition  
or perception of what has occurred can take place. At times,  
particularly in those poems which record the experience of living in  
the Jewish urban ghettoes of the early 1900s, there is a stifling,  
pervasive claustrophobia: the boy who sneaks out late at night to use  
his sled, fearful of being assaulted for his Jewishness in the  
daytime; the young woman trapped and inarticulate before the sexual  
advances of the foreign boarder in the house upon whose money the  
family is dependent; the cello heard through the wall by a young man  
whose family insist that he defer and defer again his study of music.  
The great anxiety of city life, of things going on behind one's back,  
that one is essentially left out or that reasons for what has happened  
to one are not to be found in this life--these themes are nowhere  
presented more effectively than in Reznikoff.

Again, it is as much craft as content which produces the effect. The  
reader is made to feel the flow of event go by, to participate only as  
a witness. There are no imperial gestures in the language, barely an  
attempt to explain, let alone interpret. This restrained use of  
language marks Reznikoff's entire corpus. . . .

In such works as Holocaust and Testimony, the refinement of  
Reznikoff's method reaches an austere and heightened level. These  
works, edited from court testimony, trial records and historical  
documents, seem at first to be what we have come to call "found  
poems" (if such material in its sheer poetic recalcitrance can be  
called poetry). For it is the selection and arrangement alone, i.e.,  
versed, sectioned and placed in book form that indicate that these are  
to be taken as poems. Yet, other than their presentness, the author's  
relation to the materials is not to be discovered. The total burden of  
interpretation appears to be left to the reader; there is, by usual  
standards, nothing of literary value, nothing quotable or memorable,  
or even ironic--indeed, irony, in whatever form, must be supplied, as  
to the pedestal of Ozymandias' pillar, by the affected reader. Shorn  
of entertainment value, of sentiment, this work seems to place a  
curious demand on the modern reader. And yet for these poems to be  
simultaneously a witnessing and a rejecting of any social, artistic or  
psychological agenda in their presentation, for these materials to be  
able to "speak for themselves," strikes this reader as not only proper  
but in some powerful way as noble.

Shorn of comment, the poems of Holocaust and Testimony are less the  
case of an author's abscondus, than a way of implicating the broadest  
range of social, political and philosophical responses into a  
confrontation with material about which, truly, the less said, the  
better. In commanding response, but not dictating it, the author  
manages to give both good and bad conscience their due. This, of  
course, is modernity with a vengeance.

* * *

Artistic resolution and legal judgment are by no means synonymous, yet  
both aim at a kind of wholeness which is intellectually and  
psychologically satisfying. This satisfaction in works of art is  
always mysterious because our views, our understanding of events and  
of our worlds are always partial, are never exhaustive. Reznikoff's  
stylistic restraint has the effect of leaving the subjects of his  
poetry, like the things of the phenomenal world, with their intactness  
preserved, their tacit being untouched. Whatever their personal value  
to him, it is in this relentless pursuit of their being that  
Reznikoff’s craft and subtlety are involved. The paradox of  
Reznikoff's work, its modernity so to speak, is that the specific and  
the concrete, their very limitedness, are the gates to wholeness. This  
limitedness becomes in Reznikoff but the other side of openness and  
generosity towards experience. Through it we are uncompromisingly  
reminded that we have hearts and minds of our own, that we too are the  
witnesses of our world.



  
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