Ekphrasis lecture

Ekphrasis: poetry in response to
art
Theory and Practice of Poetry
Ekphrases: Theory and Practice of Poetry

‘To Speak Out’
• From the Greek rhetorical term:
• Ekphrasis (literally meaning to ‘speak out’: Ek-
Phrasis: literally ‘Out Speak’). Ekphrastic
rhetorical exercises would initially require a
description of a (possibly imagined) work of
visual art

Ut pictura poesis
• ‘As is painting, so is poetry: some pieces will
strike you more if you stand near, and some, if
you are at a greater distance: one loves the
dark; another, which is not afraid of the critic's
subtle judgment, chooses to be seen in the
light; the one has pleased once, the other will
give pleasure if ten times repeated.’ Horace,
‘Epistles’ Book II (from lines 361-363)c.11 BC

The Shield of Achilles (1820s interpretation)

From Homer, The Iliad (trans Pope)
Then first he form'd the immense and solid shield;
Rich various artifice emblazed the field;
Its utmost verge a threefold circle bound;
A silver chain suspends the massy round;
Five ample plates the broad expanse compose,
And godlike labours on the surface rose.
There shone the image of the master-mind:
There earth, there heaven, there ocean he design'd;
The unwearied sun, the moon completely round;
The starry lights that heaven's high convex crown'd;
The Pleiads, Hyads, with the northern team;
And great Orion's more refulgent beam;
To which, around the axle of the sky,
The Bear, revolving, points his golden eye,
Still shines exalted on the ethereal plain,
Nor bathes his blazing forehead in the main.
Two cities radiant on the shield appear,
The image one of peace, and one of war.
Here sacred pomp and genial feast delight,
And solemn dance, and hymeneal rite;
Along the street the new-made brides are led,
With torches flaming, to the nuptial bed:
The youthful dancers in a circle bound
To the soft flute, and cithern's silver sound:
Through the fair streets the matrons in a row
Stand in their porches, and enjoy the show.

The Portland Vase

From Keats, ‘Ode on a Grecian Urn’
Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of Silence and slow
Time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our
rhyme:
What leaf-fringed legend haunts about
thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? what
maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to
escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild
ecstasy?
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play
on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not
leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal -yet, do not
grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy
bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!

Ruskin’s description of Turner’s ‘Slave
Ship’
• …Purple and blue, the lurid shadows of the
hollow breakers are cast upon the mist of the
night, which gathers cold and low, advancing like
the shadow of death upon the guilty* ship as it
labours amidst the lightning of the sea, its thin
masts written upon the sky in lines of blood,
girded with condemnation in that fearful hue
which signs the sky with horror, and mixes its
flaming flood with the sunlight, – and cast far
along the desolate heave of the sepulchral waves,
incarnadines the multitudinous sea.

David Dabydeen, Turner, 2002

From ‘Turner’
…Turner’s grasp (he sketches endless numbers
In his book, face wrinkled in concentration
Like an old seal’s mouth brooding in crevices
Of ice for fish; like my father
Counting beads at the end of each day,
Reckoning which calf was left abandoned
In the savannah, lost from the herd, eaten
By wild beasts. He checks that we are parcelled
In equal lots, men divided from women,
Chained in fours and children subtracted
From mothers. When all things tally
He snaps the book shut, his creased mouth
Unfolding in a smile, as when, entering
His cabin, mind heavy with care, breeding
And multiplying percentages, he beholds
A boy dishevelled on his bed). For months
It seemed to speed me to a spot where my mother
Waited, wringing her hands, until I woke to find
Only sea. Months became years and I forgot
The face of my mother, the plaid cloth
Tied around her neck, the scars on her forehead,
The silver nose-ring which I tugged, made her start,
Nearly rolling me from her lap but catching me
In time, and when I cried out in panic
Of falling, pinned me tightly, always,
To her bosom. Now I am loosed
Into the sea, I no longer call,
I have forgotten the words.
Only the moon remains, watchful and loving
Across a vast space, woman I whisper to,
Companion of my darkest nights.

Georges Braque, ‘Large Nude’
1908.
Caron Ann Duffy, from
‘Standing Female Nude’, 1985
Six hours like this for a few francs.
Belly nipple arse in the window light,
he drains the color from me. Further to the
right,
Madame. And do try to be still.
I shall be represented analytically and hung
in great museums. The bourgeoisie will coo
at such an image of a river-whore. They call
it Art.
…

Dora Maar (1907-1997)

From Grace Nicholls, ‘Weeping
Woman’ (2009)
Even my hat mocks me
laughing
on the inside of my grief –
My twisted mouth
and gnashing teeth,
my fingers fat and clumsy
as if they were still wearing
those gloves –
the bloodstained ones you
keep.
What has happened
to the pupils
of my eyes, Picasso?
Why do I deserve
such deformity?
What am I now
if not a cross between
a clown and a broken
piece of crockery?

The Rothko Chapel, Texas

John Taggart, from ‘The Rothko Chapel
Poem’ (1991)
Red deepened by black red made deep by black
prolation* of deep red like stairs of lava
deep red like stairs of lava to gather us in
gather us before the movements are to be made
red stairs lead us lead us to three red rooms
rooms of deep red light red deepened by black
in this first room there is to be a wedding
we are the guests the welcome wedding guests
the groom welcomes us the bride welcomes us
rooms full of deep red light room upon room
in this second room there is to be a wedding
the bride and groom take our hands in welcome
room on room third room full of deep red light
in this third room there is to be a wedding
bride and groom take our hands in their hands.
Deepened by black red made deep by black
prolation of deep red like cooled lava
the stairs in a cooler prolation of red
there are still the movements to be made
stairs led us led us to three red rooms
rooms of cooled light red cooled by black
in the first room there was a wedding
we were guests we were the wedding guests
groom welcomed us and bride welcomed us
rooms full of cooled light room upon room
in the second room there was a wedding
bride and groom took our hands in welcome
room upon room full of cooled red light
in the third room there was a wedding
bride and groom took our hands in theirs.

Contemporary Ekphrasis
• ‘If the poem doesn’t
contain something more
than was already
available to the audience,
it will strike the reader as
superfluous, the
secondary product of
someone too dependent
on the earlier, greater
work.’
• Alfred Corn
• ‘Contemporary ekphrastic
poetry is … no longer
wedded to the notion of
elaborate description and
direct translation, but
instead tries to make
something new – to
interpret and engage with
subjects, to make images
speak or to perhaps
meditate on the moment
of viewing.’
• Helen Ivory

Ekphrasis lecture

Recommandé

Recommandé

Contenu connexe

Tendances

Tendances (20)

Similaire à Ekphrasis lecture

Similaire à Ekphrasis lecture (20)

Plus de Sarah Law

Plus de Sarah Law (20)

Dernier

Dernier (20)

Ekphrasis lecture