Resisting empire, not the reader

thoughts on stewarding prairie-like thinking and writing

Before you read on, please know the context in which I write: I am a poet whose filmmaking peers and mentors grew up in one of the world’s most experimental film programs (UW-Milwaukee). And I often write alongside avant-garde poets. I am a very slow reader and I am doing my best to read War and Peace. I am interested mostly in reading what others might call “difficult” and I am not sure where I stand on writing poetry that is difficult… though I think many would call my writing that. And — I also write essays like this on Substack.

Oh! And I want to do live timed-writing calls for poets and those adjacent to poets — leave a comment or send me a message if you’d like this. Timed writing calls have been the most beautiful, fruitful ways for me to write and to connect with other writers. Would love to do this monthly <3 Not sure what day / time and open to suggestions!

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Illegibility as refusal

A few months ago, I could—with reasonable certainty—identify a Substack post that was written with AI, because of my proximity to dozens of college students turning in AI written essays. And, back then, not that long ago, AI written language was simple, limp business-speak. But now it’s not so easy to identify (look at all the backlash about the use of em-dashes and the OG em-dasher Emily Dickinson). Even so, if I feel like I am reading something written with flat, lifeless language, I ruthlessly unsubscribed without question from that publication.

Time is limited. I love reading. I spend most of my life inside, alone, reading. That’s another problem to address in another essay I may never have the time (or emotional intelligence) to write. I am not going to throw any of my minutes to writing (AI generated or not) that feels like it’s only desire is for increased subscriber numbers… and maybe to “convert” people to “paid.” I am already tired thinking about complaining about the writing put out there as void of all complexity and meaning in the effort to be legible and clear (a word that has become a weapon, no?!?) to its readers. But I’ll push through the fatigue…

I am not saying articles must be written like a Lispector short story and I am absolutely not saying that public spaces should use language too difficult for those whose home language is not English! I am saying: if you are going to take the time to TAKE MY TIME away from me… give me something worth repeating!

We don’t need any more “we’re fucked” in the age of AI rants. I know. I know. But what I am advocating for is some mess, some bodily fluids, some prairie-like writing of ideas that are not so neatly categorized into profitable / proliferate-able (a word? who cares.) / viral-able!

What do I mean by prairie-like writing? Hmm. Here’s a spectrum to track some of my desire:

Come at me in the comments with your disagreements. I know this is not perfect, but I want to get as close as I can to describing what I want.

Rupi Kaur is way over on the legible end — her poetry is so readable that I often miss any feeling of resonance at all… It feels like the joke is on me because I am not “getting it.” But I don’t think there’s anything to “get.”

But Andrea Gibson and Mary Oliver’s poetry so legibly guides the reader through significance and potent thinking. This is when legibility serves the writing. I am talking about the mode of language here, as it serves the experience of the writer.

And then we move in Ross Gay - Anne Carson - Walt Whitman territory: where language is played with, adjusted, and things like rhythm, cadence, tone, shape, form all play into the meaning-making in the reader’s mind. It’s not perfectly legible. It takes a bit more work to really feel it. And it’s worth that effort.

Now we are getting closer to where I would say the writing’s illegibility becomes the joy and surprise: Rae Armantrout, Jorie Graham, Dickinson, Ashberry, Ruefle. I love these poets so much because I feel like I am swimming inside of their writing and I have to lean in. I must trust and wonder about the meaning that is being made — and often it’s the meaning I boldly ascribe to the language that makes it feel alive. I am participating HARD with these poets.

And then on the other side of this spectrum… I am not sure if I have found any poet that is so completely illegible, at least to the point where Kaur is legible, but I know Gertrude Stein and e.e. cummings have this effect on some people. Where they feel so lost at sea that it’s not worth it to find or feel the writing. And that’s fair! But this is where my edges are, and edges make me feel excited. And I want to be excited and impassioned as much as I can in this fast life.

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Prairie-like Writing

Okay but back to the argument I am trying to make about all kinds of writing. Not just poetry. I want to apply this desire widely, though poetry / poets are my access point for fully understanding it. I seek prairie-like writing to read. I turn away from faceless concrete like writing.

What does this look like? I think it looks like embracing fragmentation, lyricism, errancy, and associative logic. As writers, we can trust our readers will follow the leaps and inside of those empty spaces between one boulder and the next, the reader will have filled in what their life was thinking about in that moment.

I wrote some prompts last year that are related to these ideas ⤵️

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Plain language and business speak as a tool for the empire

Of course the flattening of language supports capitalistic ends: have us all think without nuance, without complexity, and we are more likely to rely on the exploitative labor-profit machine. What happens when a society is full of people without the capability to express themselves fully and from their lived experience? Weaker relationships, less ability to think laterally and invent ways out of subordination, and less energy for pleasure.

Listen, I teach young people critical thinking, writing, and argumentation sometimes (hiya, fellow adjuncts!). You’re never going to hear me complain that young people are unable to think through complex problems, nor are they—generally—unable to communicate their thoughts on them. (Because duh young people are here for a specific reason and we, as oldies, don’t need to know what it is yet. We should focus on our own gd selves.) But what I will say (and often) is that young people are developing their skills right now in an increasingly pressurized environment of perfection and scrutinization. In any given moment, they could be corrected by someone they do not know and may never meet. Correction is a tool of empire, no? My most common assignment is writing long-hand daily thoughts, observations, and expressionistic word sketches. I emphasize the value in writing as a pathway for proximity with your mind and your written language. I want my students to practice writing language that no one else will read. I tell them up front that I will very lightly scan their handwriting to see that they are attempting the assignment but “I do not have the time nor the mental capacity to read 64 novels in a week,” though I don’t doubt their writing is as fascinating as overhearing hot gossip in a bathroom stall. ←this is the literary genre I want to see more of

This exercise encourages prairie-like thinking. If you’re not familiar, a prairie is full of grasses, sedges, flowering plants (I just found out are called forbs!), shrubs, and trees. They often look and feel unruly! But the closer you look and acquaint yourself with them, you can see how they work. Everything feeds into one another. Trees protect the shrubs from harsh winds. Sedge covers deep trails for insects. Etc. etc. I’m no Robin Wall Kimmerer (dare I say I dream to be, though?) nor Aldo Leopold (though I live near his stewarded land!). The prairie as an analogy for how I think and write helps me appreciate it — and fight to maintain it. I want to be wild to on-lookers and to feel like home to those who want to stay long enough to get to know me.

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And this brings me to the end of this argument — for now: it is important to resist empire, and not the reader

I know the counterargument well:

If you want people to read your writing, make it accessible enough to understand.

You should not hold your readers in disdain by shutting them out of the experience.

Why write if you are not going to make any sense?

I think the good work here is to find the medium / the middle and to actively invite your reader in. I think of Ross Gay’s reaching out to his reader by calling them, “pilgrim” — a move also used by poet Steve Scafidi iirc. Or maybe I am thinking of only John Wayne, ha!, and I have been subconsciously hoping to use “pilgrim” in a poem someday?

Or, I think of taking moments to ground into sensory detail amongst gestures of experiment.

The reader can feel if they are asked to participate or not. We can, can’t we?

And I am here saying that flat, hyper-clear writing that could have been written by a bloodless robot is more uninviting that the writing that is a lil mess-ay, a little prairie-like. And I feel more at home where there is some illegibility, until I know to lean in and look more closely.

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If you’re curious about my poetry → here’s a poem-video TriQuarterly published.

I also love this poem [I saw that I was a kiwi bird] that Stone of Madness Press published, for how it feels so much like my thinking.