Perhaps the most basic and essential function of poetry is to evoke a particular
response in the reader. The poet, desiring to convey on emotion or inspiration,
uses the imagination to create a structure that will properly communicate his
state of mind. In essence he is attempting to bring himself and the reader
closer, to establish a relationship. William Carlos Williams contends that
"art gives the feeling of completion by revealing the oneness of
experience" (194) This argument relies on the precept that art is reality
is not nature or a reflection of nature but a completely original creation. And
additionally, that art is holistic, where one can experience the whole of
reality through a particular. A poet's task is to write poetry that the reader
can identify with, something congruent with the thoughts of those he is writing
for (or to). If this can be accomplished, a connection is established, and
poetry can act as a catalyst to initiate the imagination. In my first paper this
semester I argued that Whitman uses sexual imagery as a rhetorical tool to
arouse the reader. The result of this is congruent emotions within poet and
reader that demonstrate an effective use of tone, through which Whitman can
address the reader. "The mystic deliria, the madness amorous, the utter
abandonment,/ (Hark close and still what I now whisper to you" (77).
Whitman is specking directly to the reader, through an all-encompassing god-like
persona. In "Song of Myself" Whitman reinvents himself as all of
reality, and through the use of tone and imagery (shot establishes a
relationship) draws the reader into his world. Williams' poetry is an attempt to
establish a communion, of sorts, with the reader, as well. His poetry is an
exploration of momentary images, a jagged journey through personal perception,
that the reader can relate to. Williams' diction and visual presentation of
words resists the artificial; his poetry has a rhythm that is natural and
American, a gregarious appeal to the common man. In Spring and All Williams
creates a persona that is appealing, establishing a relationship and affecting
the reader. Both Whitman and Williams create a harmony between themselves and
the reader that suggests the universality of experience. The creation of an
acceptable persona is essential to Whitman's poetic program. In "Song of
Myself" this is accomplished through a congenial style that consists of
unbridled enthusiasm, a friendly voice; an image emerges of Whitman shouting at
the reader, saying "Look what I've discovered!": "Stop this day
and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems,/ You shall
possess the good of the earth and sun" (25). His poetry is often
conversational, lacking a highly structured form. From the beginning of
"Song of Myself" it is clear that the poem is not merely a static,
decorative creation, but that it is an act of communication between the poet and
reader. When Whitman writes "what I assume you shall assume,/For every atom
belonging to me as good belongs to you" (23), he implies a meeting of
minds; not only is he going to address us but he is going to persuade us'
because, he argues, we are all the same. He establishes a persona by not only
speaking to us, but for us. Whitman becomes one with his audience, the American
people' by presenting himself as the "archetypal average American" (xxvii).
The persona that one senses emerging from Williams in Spring and All is a
justified arrogance, a writer that will completely ignore convention in order to
establish a tone. His mixture of verse and prose suggests a pragmatic technique,
a willingness to use whatever means necessary to connect with the reader. In
"Flight To the City," he explores imaginative associations connected
with the night sky, and follows it with the statement, "So long as the sky
is recognized as on association" (187). He speaks to the reader with
sincerity, with an enthusiasm that often descends into madness: If I could say
what is in my mind in Sanscrit or even Latin I would do so. But I cannot. I
speak for the integrity of the soul and the greatness of life's inanity; the
formality of its boredom; the orthodoxy of its stupidity. Kill! Kill! let there
be fresh meat . . . (179) Spring and All is a map of Williams' imagination, a
collection of poems cemented by "prose" explanation. He wants to leave
no doubt about what he is expressing, presenting himself as his own critic. Like
Whitman, the reader becomes part of Williams' persona through an expression of
the universality of thought, an "approximate co-extension with the
universe." For Williams the reader would ideally enter the world of his
poem so completely as to become lost, having no separate identity from that of
the poet. In the imagination, we are henceforth (so long as you read) locked in
a fraternal embrace, the classic caress of author and reader. We are one.
Whenever I say "I" I mean also "you." (178) To accomplish
this the poet must evoke in us the ability to identify with the external world,
and consequently the world of his poem. Williams' use of imagery encourages on
attentiveness of imagination within the reader. In "Spring and All,"
he describes the creation of images in the mind, within a lifeless wasteland:
"One by one objects are defined-/ It quickens: clarity, outline of leaf . .
. rooted, they/ grip down and begin to awaken'' (183). The image of the leaf
becomes a metaphor for the growth of an image within the mind. What Williams is
calling for is no less than a reconnection with the external world - a simple
response to a simple image. In "The Red Wheelbarrow" even metaphor
seems absent. Williams is concerned with the basic creation of an image; his
poetry is a sort of minimalism, containing only the essentials - a very concrete
image that will convey a tone. In "The Red Wheelbarrow," the poet
presents a single image: The setting is probably a farm. The Red Wheelbarrow is
stark; it is a bright color, distinct, man-made. The chickens are white,
indistinct, insubstantial, auxiliary. It has just rained: there is a sense of
rebirth, new life. The tone may be summarized as clarity, newness, affirmation
of reality. And "so much depends upon" (224) this image. Williams
creates images that are easy to convey yet profoundly substantial. They are not
really metaphors, but through their "realness" suggest the oneness or
congruity of reality. Whitman's presentation of the external world is an effort
to create images that are democratic in their nature, encompassing the whole
through particulars. Williams writes, Whitman's proposals are of the same piece
with the modern trend toward imaginative understanding of life. The largeness
which he interprets as his identity with the least and the greatest about him,
his "democracy" represents the vigor of his imaginative life. (199) In
"Song of Myself" Whitman presents images of everyday life in America.
Like Williams, he possesses an acute sense of the moment. Whitman perceives the
external world and distinctly portrays it: "His glance is calm and
commanding, he tosses the slouch of his hot away from his forehead,/The sun
falls on his crispy hair and mustache, falls on the black of his polished and
perfect limbs" (33). In this image Whitman conveys a common American,
confident and determined, strong. The image is crisp and distinct. It is not a
metaphor, but an example. It is a particular image of America, representative of
the whole. Through this image, and multiple other images -catalogues of
distinctly American portrayals, appropriately diverse scenes of a democracy -
Whitman suggests that all people are involved in continually creating and
sustaining America. The typical reader of "Song of Myself" sees
himself in the poem. Whitman's choice of imagery suggests that it is in everyday
life that democracy exists, that on attention to the moment of existence (any
moment} reveals a universality. Finally, Whitman identifies himself with all he
observes: What is commonest, cheapest, nearest, easiest, is Me. Me going in for
my chances, spending for vast returns, Adorning myself to bestow myself on the
first that will take me. "Song of Myself" is an appeal to the common
man, to see himself in the poem, to see himself in all. In a 1962 interview with
the Paris Review Williams remarks on the importance of rhythm in his poetry. His
career was a search for an idiom that is a distinct reflection of the American
pattern or style of speech. (159-185) His early poems, such as those found in
Spring and All, lack traditional metre, but still convey to the reader a sense
of rhythm. In the Avenue of Poplars, Williams writes, "He who has kissed/ a
leaf/ need look no further-/I ascend/ through/ a canopy of leaves/and at the
same time/I descend/for I do nothing unusual . . ." (228-9). The rhythm of
this is subtle and beautiful; it exists but is essentially invisible to the
reader. In other words, the rhythm is not so pronounced as to imply artificial
structure (as in iambic pentameter, for instance). This poem exhibits what
Williams called the variable foot - its meter varies in order to be true to
speech. According to Williams, a poet must escape the "complicated
ritualistic forms designed to separate the work from 'reality' - such as rhyme,
meter as meter and not as the essential of the work, one of its words"
(l89). Williams' meter suggests a clarity and preciseness of thought, an
unencumbered directness. Often, the rhythm in Williams' poetry depends on its
visual appearance. In "The Red Wheelbarrow," the eye perceives four
small, distinct stanzas, with four words each. Each stanza has three words on
the first line and one on the second; there is a minimalistic uniformity. There
is no doubt that the form of this poem heightens the sense of its tone, but the
actual effect defies definition. The subtlety of the visual and auditory rhythm
in the poem parallels the subtlety of its imagery. If the image is directly
conveyed from Williams' mind to reader's mind, then so is the rhythm. An
exploration of Williams' use of rhythm naturally encourages a discussion of his
use of prose. In Spring and All, he writes that "The nature of the
difference between what is termed prose on the one hand and verse on the other
is not to be discovered by a study of the metrical characteristics of the words
as they occur in juxtaposition" (229). In other words, meter is not the
essential factor in distinguishing between verse and prose. Williams concludes
that poetry and prose are aspects of the same art, and each becomes more
distinct as the meter becomes more or less substantial. William uses prose as a
practical mean of accomplishing what poetry can not in Spring and All. It is a
way of clarify and convey information about an idea or emotion already expressed
through poetry. There is no doubt that the rhythm of Whitman's verse is more
pronounced than that of Williams. It suggests the more traditional, but it is
clear that Whitman is willing to break with form when desired, slipping toward
prose: "Houses and rooms are full of perfumes,/ the shelves are crowded
with perfumes,/ I breath the fragrance myself and know it and like it,/ The
distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it" (24) On the
subject of rhythm, Williams said that "Whitman was on the right track, but
when he switched to the English intonation, and followed the English method of
recording the feet, he didn't realize it was a different method, which was not
satisfactory to an American" (Plimpton, 169). This distinction that
Williams makes between his own poetry and Whitman's suggests that the search for
a culture idiom is crucial to the development of a viable poetic persona.
Whitman is successful in his appeal to a common American audience primarily
through his use imagery, and the true value of Williams' poetry may be found in
his extremely subtle, variable, and exquisite form. Both poets take a pragmatic
approach to their vocation, using whatever they need to successfully commune
with their audience. According to Williams, a poet must write about "things
with which he is familiar, simple things - at the same time to detach them from
ordinary experience to the imagination" ( 197). This is the most obvious
advice that a writer can offer: "Write what you know." And that is
what Walt Whitman and William Carlos Williams do, as well as writing what their
audience knows. In other words, both establish a relationship with their readers
by appealing to a sense of the familiar and ordinary, "that life becomes
actual only when it is identified with ourselves". Whitman uses imagery
that acts as examples of American culture, a framework in which Americans can
identify. Williams uses simple images of simple things, and a natural rhythm
that seem to directly reflect his own thought processes, that of a modern
American. The techniques of both authors create a distinctive poetic persona.
The result is a substantial relationship between author and reader suggesting
and providing common experience.