a little sermon

Scottie Bowman (bowman@mail.indigo.ie)
Thu, 12 Mar 1998 09:03:24 +0000 

	In my original post I wrote: 
	'...ideas can be truly realised only with words...'

	I was not writing about moods or emotions - it was *ideas*.
	
	In the immortal words of Jelly Roll, `the foist blues I no doubt 
	heard in mah life' was the St Louis Blues.  (Since it was 
	`composed', I suppose it doesn't count as a real blues.  
	However I was only a little Scots boy living many thousand 
	of literal & metaphorical miles from the place of origin & it was 
	the best I could do ...)  

	As we all know, it consists of an opening phrase of 5 notes, 
	answered by one of 6.  It breaks the heart.  Or, at least it breaks 
	my heart. I *think* its poignancy would be there, no matter what. 
	But it takes on a wholly other quality - a great volume of 
	associations & memories - once the words are added: `And I hate 
	to see.  That evening sun go down.'  That extra dimension is quite 
	dependent on the *words*.

	One of the most powerful images of recent years is the photograph 
	of the little naked Vietnamese child running down the road with 
	her burns open to the world.  It's an image, though, not an idea.  
	It could mean many things.  It might be about the vileness of 
	humanity; or the greedy callousness of the capitalistic West; 
	or the manipulative cynicism of the communist East; or the folly 
	of war; or the vulnerability of the human body; or the curse of 
	overpopulation; or the need for smart weapons, or....

	In the end meaning - MEANING - will need words to define it.  
	We will always bring our own private expectations to a work of art.  
	But I think we should at least try to understand the artist's 
	original intention.  When Brendan writes about the `...desolation of 
	Tchaikovsky, or of  Chopin, or the sweetness of Debussy, or 
	the sublime madness and pensive hush of Satie, or the mathematical 
	intellectual struggles of Bach and Mozart...' I think he's imposing 
	a `meaning' on certain neutral textures that others have claimed 
	to recognise - but which the artists themselves might very well 
	disavow. 

	Tim writes about Van Gogh.  It used to be fashionable to see his 
	manic-depressive moods reflected in some of his paintings.  
	Everyone, for example, used to see an impending doom in the ominous 
	black crows flying over the corn fields painted shortly before he 
	shot himself. Yet there's now great doubt about his underlying 
	diagnosis.  The suicide was probably a gesture that went badly 
	wrong (he died largely due to the incompetence of his doctor), 
	his mood on the day he painted the corn fields was rather cheerful, 
	& so on.  The `menacing crows' are simply an image that appealed 
	to him as part of the picture's structure on the day.

	If you want to evoke moods, atmospheres, you can probably do it 
	with greater facility using the more `visceral' arts such as music 
	or the pictorial.  But you probably also need to tell your audience 
	what you're about (as in a movie or `programme music').

	If, in a book, you're trying to create credible, living characters - 
	who by their nature will be paradoxical & multifaceted - then, 
	fair enough, you may well have to go about it using evocations, 
	hints, associations, tricks, & so on.

	But if you're essentially a didactic writer whose primary concern 
	is with the way human beings conduct their lives - which is what 
	I believe Salinger eventually tried to become (& I personally regard 
	it as a sad regression) - at some point you'll need to come out of 
	the warm nest of vaguely brotherly love & use words in clear, 
	sequential, coherent statements.

	Scottie B.