Benedikt, Michael (Vol. 14)
Benedikt, Michael 1935–
Benedikt is an American editor, poet, critic, translator, playwright, and song composer. His poetry, with its surprising shifts in subject and logic, reflects his interest in surrealist art and theater. He has also experimented with prose poems. (See also CLC, Vol. 4, and Contemporary Authors, Vols. 13-16, rev. ed.)
JEROME J. McGANN
The purpose of Michael Benedikt's collection of prose poems, Night Cries, is straightforward enough: to see the world lying about us in a new way, to strip off the veils of familiarity (Shelley), to open the doors of perception (Blake, Huxley). It is one of the oldest and most resilient of Romantic subjects, and Benedikt re-presents it out of its modern Romantic traditions of symbolist and surrealist literature.
Mr Benedikt's project, like that of his forebears, lays down one fundamental imperative. If the world is to be seen in a new way forever …, then the source of vision and understanding has to be broken in upon and cleansed. Tradition has always dictated that such a cleansing is an inward affair, a matter (literally) of insight. Mr Benedikt is a very traditional poet, and his Nietzschean parable "The Doorway of Perception" states the programme in no uncertain terms….
[Mr Benedikt] is a selfconscious manipulator of the form. Many of the poems here are parables about the virtues of prose poetry and the vices of verse…. "The Muse in Armor" brings the obvious charge that verse is stuffy and insincere….
The second charge against verse is related to the first: that to write in verse one must calculate. Verse entails deliberations, and ends in craftiness….
Mr Benedikt's book interests me precisely because it is so selfconscious about itself, so well...
(The entire section is 456 words.)
Coming upon Michael Benedikt's collection of brief prose pieces [Night Cries], one should perhaps be reminded of the traditions of the prose poem and of French surrealism, from which these pieces appear to be derived. But what comes to mind instead is Gertrude Stein's dictum that "remarks are not literature"…. For the apparent purpose of these pieces is to pose novel hypotheses and situations and to make amusing, unexpected remarks….
[Characteristically an] arbitrary relationship will be premised, usually in the title. A dramatic situation involving the speaker and a personified physical object will then be established, and a linear narrative or conceit will be developed, employing explicit physical imagery. The theme will often be sexual or scatological. The tone will be detached, bemused, sarcastic.
The weakness of the method should be evident from the description. It is deductive, and it is very often predictable. The imagery and episodes, however shocking or clever, vivid or violent, become so many supporting instances of a proposition stated at the outset. The speaker sees a face in the trash; and since we know from previous anecdotes that he is given to personification and to establishing relationships with inanimate objects, we can pretty much predict what will follow. The result is that, although these pieces present many instances of sudden violent action … they present few surprises. From the...
(The entire section is 470 words.)
Michael Benedikt … seems to have given up on mankind altogether and makes his work a series of jokes at its expense. To write a Benedikt poem (or prose poem in the case of Night Cries …) you begin with something obvious and expand until it becomes absurd. Anyone with any wit at all can do it. The language is filled with clichés, figures of speech, puns, morals that cannot be subjected to any scrutiny at all before they begin to break down. (p. 45)
I also have an argument with the concept of the prose poem….
From a jaundiced perspective it appears that a prose poem writer throws out the craft of poetry and the bother of inventing a story with plot and character for an easier alternative. (p. 46)
Finally I admit to being alienated by Benedikt's surrealism. One of the things that people like about surrealism is that it only confirms their own worst suspicions about the world—that people are dead and all life has passed to inanimate objects. People in these poems are so dead, in fact, that they are menaced by their own clothes or furniture which are now much more alive. There must be an incredible amount of cultural masochism at work to permit people to go on believing this nonsense, or depths of self-hatred which are bottomless. People and objects are not "interchangeable" (as one of Benedikt's admirers so glowingly says they are). Is it any more profound to endow a garbage pail...
(The entire section is 402 words.)