Ciardi's 'Tenzone'
I read [Ciardi's "Tenzone"] as a competition in which both [the Soul and Body, the poem's speakers,] attack the Soul: the Soul first attacks itself; then the Body joins in and finishes the job. But the poem is a debate, though the Soul does not realize it. The question at issue is "Which writes the poetry?"
The Soul begins with a wryly ironical description of the poet as a performer on the lecture circuit, inspired, witty, well-paid, lucent—"a gem of serenest ray"—and then confesses sadly that this gem of the lecture circuit "is, alas, I." In the following stanzas the Soul describes the poet as his critics see and judge him—a view and a judgment which the Soul tends to share. But since the Soul has already identified itself with the poet, it is, in describing him, frankly describing and judging itself….
When the Soul calls the poet a "greedy pig," it is not calling the Body names, it is calling itself names. Or, rather, it is doing two things at once: it is reporting the kind of thing that others … say about the poet, and it is agreeing with their judgment, which is a judgment against itself. The accusation that the Soul brings against itself is that it has sold itself out to the Body, has therefore, in effect, reduced itself to the level of the Body, has itself become nothing but a "belly" and a "greedy pig." (p. 19)
In judging itself so harshly, however, the Soul has implied its own importance. It has assumed entire responsibility for the poetry that has and has not been written. In the second part of the poem, the Body strips it of this importance. The Body begins with a wryly ironical description of the poet as a poet—grave, secretive, ignorant—"flaming and fire-freed"—and then says deliberately that this aspirant writer of poetry is "not wholly you," i.e. not wholly the Soul. The Body has a share in writing the poetry too…. The Soul is unsubstantial—a "glowworm," a "spook," a "wind" (though also a monkey on the Body's back)—and it writes poor poetry: it blows on ashes that won't catch fire. For, after all, good poetry is "belly and bone"—it is written out of physical and sensuous experience. The Body, not the Soul, is the true poet. The Soul is as dead as "yesterday's squall," but the Body knows how to savor "today's air." It lives and likes and thrives on the sensuous, the physical, and the material.
Thus the poor Soul gets it from both sides. The Soul, assuming its own importance, gives itself up because of its self-betrayal. The Body, denying the Soul's importance (the Soul is no more than a "burp"), gives the Soul up, feeling it can do better on its own: write better poetry and enjoy life more fully. But the poem that Ciardi has written says more than either of its two speakers. What it says is that Body and Soul are inseparable: Soul lives off of Body and can do nothing without it. Poetry is written by Body and Soul. (p. 21)
Laurence Perrine, "Ciardi's 'Tenzone'," in The Explicator (© copyright, 1970, by The Explicator), May, 1970, pp. 19, 21.
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