So claims Oscar Wilde in ‘The Decay of Lying’ (1891), a typically witty account of the ‘proper aim of art’, which he describes as ‘the telling of beautiful, untrue things.’ Recent and inevitable news of cuts to the Arts Council budget, might prompt us to question anew what art is really for, where it fits into the rest of our fragmented society. Commenting on Wednesday in response to the announcement of a 29.6% funding cut, Arts Council Chief Executive Alan Davey said: 'These cuts will inevitably have a significant impact on the cultural life of the country. There will be some tough decisions…’. But what does the term ‘cultural life’ really mean and where do art forms like poetry fit in?
(1.1 A bit of science)
In his new book ‘The Master and his Emissary’, psychiatrist and writer Ian McGilchrist looks at the segregated hemispheres of the human brain and their asymmetrical relationship. To vastly simplify one aspect of his infinitely complex argument, McGilchrist suggests that the left and right hemispheres deal with incompatible versions of the world: the left specialising in quantitative information, individual components and the right in holistic connections, intuition and metaphor – the domain of poetry. For all the left hemisphere depends on the right for its functionality, the information it deals in is highly-prized: ‘we live in a society where the indirect, the difficult, the implicit are not valued.’ (McGilchrist, October 2010)
The author relies on a rather neat metaphor himself when he says:
‘The left hemisphere, though unaware of its dependence, could be thought of as an 'emissary' of the right hemisphere, valuable for taking on a role that the right hemisphere - the 'Master' - cannot itself afford to undertake. However it turns out that the emissary has his own will, and secretly believes himself to be superior to the Master. And he has the means to betray him.’
In an interview for ‘Poetry’ magazine, McGilchrist outlines his ideas in relation to poetic expression. Metaphor is of key importance to society and the brain (indeed he characterises it as ‘the only way of understanding anything’) and yet it is marginalised. We live in a society that prefers instant gratification and quantifiable information (which we can constantly access through technology) over intuitive thinking and, as a result, poetry is bound to be marginalised too.
It’s an interesting theory which, in turn, provokes questions of what we mean by ‘truth’ in society and in art. It’s clear that the intuitive, deep truths of poetry are different from our social concepts of literal , informative truth: the facts, just the facts and nothing but the facts. Information versus knowledge. So how should we approach ‘truth’ within an individual poem? Is Wilde right when he argues that we should shun ‘careless habits of accuracy’ and realise instead that ‘Life imitates Art far more than Art imitates Life’? In early November, Jacob Polley and I will be leading a weekend workshop here at The Wordsworth Trust about poetic fictions, whether poetry can do justice to reality through the unreal, though who knows what conclusions we’ll reach!
(1.2 A bit more science)
Positivism, of course, holds that statements are senseless if they cannot be verified or falsified. However, outlining his theory of falsifiability, Karl Popper famously asserted that unfalsifiable statements are ‘unscientific’ but not without relevance (having cultural or spiritual meaning) and equally a theory cannot be guaranteed true by past corroboration, even after rigorous and repeated testing. For his part, McGilchrist suggests that the kind of attention we bring to bear on the world at a given time changes the nature of the world we attend to and there is no single way of thinking which can be proved true. All the same, science ‘purports to be uncovering such a reality. Its apparently value free descriptions are assumed to deliver the truth about the object, onto which our feelings and desires are later painted…’
A traditional approach: science first, poetry later. We’re familiar with the idea of art as embellishment, as ‘alternative’, entertainment in its truest sense. When we speak about ‘truth’ in art, we aren’t applying the exacting standards of the positivist and its assumed that we’re dealing with a far more tenuous concept. Yet McGilchrist writes that science ‘is just one particular way of looking at things, a way which privileges detachment, a lack of commitment of the viewer to the object viewed. For some purposes this can be undeniably useful. But its use in such causes does not make it truer, more real, closer to the nature of things.’
This is something I’ve been thinking about recently in relation to Richard Dawkins’ book ‘Unweaving the Rainbow’ and his remarks on the relationship between science and the arts. My article ‘Re-weaving the Rainbow’ is a review of three recent poetry collections by Jo Shapcott, Pascal Petit and Patrick McGuinness. I’m no scientist, to state the bleedin’ obvious. My selective, biased response to some of Dawkins’ points is very tentative, just as my understanding of neuroscience is limited (expect a possible blog entry from the far more qualified poet Niall O’Sullivan about McGilchrist’s book at some point!).
(1.3 A bit less science)
Nonetheless, it seems to this amateur that the questions McGilchrist raises in ‘The Master and His Emissary’ about ‘truth’ are fascinating. They strike at the heart of what the domain of metaphor and, by implication, the domain of poetry is for at a time when cuts to arts funding make is ever more paranoid and defensive about what it is we do, what poetry is ‘for’. In some ways, he argues that the issue doesn’t even need answering, such is the significance of metaphor to human life. But doesn’t poetry (and art) thrive on marginalisation? Rumours of demise are always greatly exaggerated and, like it or not, the best work usually comes unbidden and asserts itself against the odds – not an argument for increasing the odds, of course.
In the midst of this, I’ve been cheered this week to attend a series of different events that variously demonstrated to me how poetry is alive and vigorously kicking in all its forms (a sestina, I’m told, delivers a lethal karate chop). On Tuesday, I was a guest reader on Felix Dennis’ ‘Did I Mention The Free Wine’ which saw an audience of hundreds gathering outside Windermere to hear several hours of poetry and, er, neck free booze. The next evening, performing with the very talented Luke Wright, I read at Hull’s ‘Write to Speak’: a vibrant and exciting spoken word night fast making an impact with its warm atmosphere and mix of new and established voices – I definitely recommend a look at their programme for the coming months. Friday saw the gala of the second Manchester Poetry Prize at MMU, a generous award for new work won this year by Judy Brown and Michelle Kern, proving that good poems will out.
(1.4 A slapdash conclusion)
And perhaps poetry is even more tenacious than we often think. To quote McGilchrist a final time, ‘poetry engraves itself in the brain: it doesn’t just slip smoothly over the cortex as language normally does. It has all the graininess of life, as it rips into being from deep within the limbic system, the ancient seat of awareness and affective meaning.’ In other words, better get used to it - there’s no bloody chance of getting rid of us.
Below: the author, engaged in a highly scientific experiment about the optimum consumption of Budweiser (picture by Andrew Marshall)
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