Re-reading poet Lyn Heijinian's autography, "My Life" did not have a very different ride than the first time. When I first picked up this pocket-sized notebook, I had an inkling it would disrupt my usual way of comprehension --most likely because the stoic photo Lyn gazing off at what seems to be nothing is slapped on the front. Pictures are supposed to tell a thousand words, right? Well, her's didn't tell me squat except that the then seemingly 40ish author favors straight bangs, 80's style hair cuts, little make-up and long earrings (and apparently likes to gaze off into the distance, which inevitably tells me absolutely nada about what to expect from the words strung together on the pages beneath this photo). So, yeah...I judged this book by its cover (or at least attempted to). The cliche tells us not to, but guess what, we all do--so don't judge me for the sin of literary judgments based on black-and-white photographs of wispy looking women.
Coming back on topic now, let's just say that reading the 165 pages of this book the first time was like doing one of those 10,000 piece puzzles of a bunch of roses, whose pieces where all the same shape. What I mean by this is that Heijinian's style is so far from linear, yet the pieces can be put together in ways that seem to make some sense in terms of linear thought; so you never really know if the way you lined them up in your head is actually the way they're supposed to be. Or even if you're supposed to try to comprehend what the titles of each chapter in this wickedly written book do not seem to hold any relativity to the chapter it's placed upon, yet pops up in later chapters and makes sense there. Her style in this book could be the bases of why some would consider it poetry, but personally I believe it's just plain too fragmented. Books such as this are in a category all their own, and should be based on the amount organized chaos that is distilled into them. It frustrates me. It makes me slow down and re-read. It made me pop an Excedrin. I love it-- in small doses.
Your post made me crack up.
ReplyDeleteWhat I hear you saying (more through word choice than specific words really) is...you were a bit frustrated by "My Life"...?
Honestly, I kind of agree on about the book not making a whole lot of sense. For me, there were parts that I could understand (if there seemed to be three or more consecutive sentences on the same subject) but other than that, I didn't really catch much of it.
Is it possible to OD on life?
ReplyDeleteI agree, though, with the remarks about Hejinian's style. If you try to read it like prose, it's like she's going off on so many tangents she ends up going on the original line again.
It's absolutely true that Hejinian's book is like a 10,000 piece puzzle! I think it's pretty awesome that it can probably be assembled to make 100,000 variations of the picture that is "My Life!"
ReplyDeleteI also like that you said you love the book... in small doses. The problem with small doses is that the poems make more sense as they echo and feed each other. I would find it very difficult to break apart and chew if it wasn't already broken up like a jigsaw.