Agnes Ernst Meyer & J.B. Kerfoot - 2 Concerete Poems (1915)
Forgotten Poems #42: Fictions of Firstness
History is a funny thing. Funny strange. Deeply strange. And if we strip away the politeness: wrong. Not wrong because it is factually in correct, though it often is. But wrong because it asks simplistic questions, without interrogating why we ask this question, and not a thousand others.
While there is a long history of Western concrete, collage, and ‘shape’ poetry stretching back to the ancient Greeks, it is generally accepted that Guillaume Apollinaire’s Calligrammes (1918) were the first to explore the idea in the “modern” age. However, Meyer’s ‘Mental Reactions’ and Kerfoot’s ‘A Bunch of Keys’ preceded this by a few years, published in the avant-garde magazine 291 (1915-16), a proto-Dada publication edited by Meyer, photographers Alfred Stieglitz and Paul Haviland, and artist Marius de Zayas. Regardless of this, Apollinaire is still routinely celebrated for his ‘firstness’. And given the state of information and the internet, this won’t change any time soon. No-one cares if it is true, and the proof is in the pudding. 1000 websites will tell you Apollinaire was the first, and tomorrow 1000 more.
Firstness is a strange, yet powerful concept. Western art history was, and still is, singularly obsessed with it. Whoever did it first is a genius, and all those that “came” after, simply followers. Most of these “firsts” were attributed back in the 1950s and 1960s, and of course, those given the power to attribute such glory all belonged to a particular class (remembering that, for instance, universities would remain distinctly wealthy, white, masculine (etc.) spaces until the late-1970s and 1980s). It reminds me of that Kanye West (RIP) line in Black Skinhead: “There’s leaders, and there’s followers… I’d rather be a dick than a swallower” (I take odd pleasure in quoting this, given that my name is also Dick).
So, the typical solution is a re-writing of history. Meyer and Kerfoot were the first, I could say, and that is my discovery. Hence, as a critic I am now also first, and by asserting Meyer and Kerfoot’s preeminence, I assure my own ascension. There is a self-aggrandising egotism involved in the circle of firsts: and no-one likes a jerk, right? Of course what we are talking about is the “canon” of Western art. First we notice that the canon is selective, and eventually repressive. Then we start inserting new voices into the canon, thinking our work done. But later, we uncover an even deeper truth: it doesn’t matter how many voices we insert into the canon, it’s still a canon. It’s purpose is war. The maintenance of territory through death (whether physical or psychological).
So why do we care about who did it first? Personally, as an anthologist, I would never claim that Meyer or Kerfoot were “first” because I know there will always be others: before before before. I know this even though I haven’t found them yet. But I have faith. If you are willing to search—the way one searches someone else’s eyes, or the horizon—and I mean really search, you can always find more. I know I say it a lot, but I think it bares repeating: and, and, and . . .
These declarations of firstness lack faith: they lack foresight and hindsight. They lack that essential quality of prophecy (in all ancient Greek narratives, for instance, it is prophets who invented poetry—and what is a prophet but someone who is exceptionally good at saying “I don’t know”?) Whether or not Meyer or Kerfoot were “first” is a meaningless question, imo: and you don’t really care for “being” do ya? There are a thousand other, more interesting questions one might ask, for instance: what kinds of works does it gather up in its abstract wave of becoming, and to what histories might it belong. Which horizons does it scan? And which horizons does it suggest? How does it function as a prototype for creation, and on what prototypes is it based? And how might we take up these prototypes and create our own lines of flight . . .
Ok, that’s me for today. Stay tuned for more Forgotten Poems next week! As always here’s one of my own poems, from waaaaay back in 2007, which explored shape. I don’t even remember anymore why I wrote it, or what inspired it? But when I looked through my archives, there it was. I never published it. I don’t know that I ever showed it to anyone, outside my writing and editing partner Laurence Stacey. But I save everything!
Shout out to
for the great post on Poems That Stand Out From The Page, which contained two of my favorite poems of all time (Gwendolyn Brooks’ ‘We Real Cool’, and Winnie the Pooh’s ‘The More It Snows’) and reminded me I’d been meaning to post something about concrete poetry.
xoxo
dw
Forgotten Poets Presents:
Forgotten Poems, a living anthology of obscure and out-of-print poetry from the late-1800s and early-1900s. Explore the archives:
