As part of a class trip to the local museum, a handout was provided with activities to aid creative practice. I found it to be a great resource for expanding on where I draw influences from, such as art, objects, and exhibitions, and applying it to my own creative non-fiction, reviews, and poetry. I was drawn to ekphrastic writing and I could immediately recognise the potential it held in exemplifying the meaning of visual arts. Furthermore, as someone who struggles creatively, it felt like a more tangible way for me to start writing. With the use of an image as a reference point, I found myself being eased into creating a narrative, rather than plucking one from thin air. Gregory Pardlo suggests that the ekphrasis “affords the illusion we are working under controlled conditions” (Pardlo, 2011, pg.723) and it is through this suggested illusion that I have felt more at ease with producing a form of writing that I have very limited experience with.
We Are in the Here and Now is inspired by an image I came across of two cats “hugging” under a tree amidst a war zone. I felt moved by the image and located its origin to a video posted online. Whilst it has been debated whether photography and media qualify for creating ekphrastic poetry, I would suggest that the writing process applied is the same – after all, “drawing is used to appropriate photographic images” (Cherix, 2005, pg.62). However, the origin of my chosen image as a video complicated the matter. Gotthold Ephraim Lessing argues that the artist (or photographer, in this case) must “choose the most pregnant one [moment], the one most suggestive of what has gone before and what is to follow.” (Lessing, 1887, pg.92). Whilst my original impression was formed by a still image, the authenticity and translation of it risked being lost in the recording, and, in choosing which frame to use, I became complicit in the picture’s ‘pregnant’ state. This posed a dilemma. In response, I considered the role videos play in contemporary art and found that artists have “incorporated both media into their art-making almost from the moment of their inception” (Iles, Huldisch, 2005, pg.65). Therefore, despite the moving image being a “radical redefinition of art” (Iles, Huldisch, 2005, pg.65), it is still inherently art and so my dilemma was resolved.
Originally, I had intended on creating a prosaic story. However, in writing it I began to feel like there was something missing. The story lacked a distinctive narrative and, due to the nature of the story, I felt that any ending would be to exploit and eradicate my intentions for an “innocent” tone of voice. I experimented with different forms and genres and whilst my story, narrated by a cat, would always be magical realism, I considered embracing it for an easy way out – the cats could fly to the moon, or find a nice family and live happily ever after (think Paddington Bear). However, this way out avoided the cruel reality of being caught in a conflict – there is no escape. The solution came in the form of poetry. I didn’t need to give it an ending. It just needed to focus on the emotions of the here and now, hence the title. Furthermore, I was inspired by the works of 13th century poet Rumi in writing this piece and wanted to capture that same ethereality that animates his own work. Naturally, in writing this piece with a poet in mind, my then-story only found improvement in changing its form.
The situation of the poem is of two cats seeking solace amidst conflict with the narrative voice using escapism to comfort its companion. Lacking any real direction, the poem adopts a timeless presence of sorts and, as aforementioned, focuses on the here and now. To reinforce its timelessness, I used anaphora, repeating “we are in the here and now” throughout the poem. This phrase also had another purpose. With several studies suggesting that “animals have a very limited sense of past and future time” (Roberts, 2002 pg.486), I wanted to reflect this in the writing through its focus on the present imbued with the knowledge of comfort. Despite these limitations, studies suggest that animals are capable of daydreaming and imagination, which is what this poem ultimately is: a cat’s daydream. Another element of writing animals was trying to adopt a post-humanist approach. This was new territory for me and a problematic one. How could I be post-humanist whilst actively projecting my own humanity onto very real animals? Nevertheless, I persevered and attempted to weave elements of post-humanism into the narrative by reducing humans to a “whirring and droning” and a “staccato clip, clap, clack”. Additionally, I endeavoured to work destruction and its effect into the daydream, subtly mirroring the first couple of stanzas – “Distant humming permeates// the air… overripe flesh… lapping from// craters… clip clopping… reverberates about the square”. This, again, links to the inescapability of war and the trauma it inflicts, when even in daydreams the effect of war and anthropocentricity is still felt.
We Are in the Here and Now falls under the umbrella of war poetry. I have always been drawn to war poetry, history, and justice and this is owing to my upbringing. As a biracial child raised against the backdrop of 9/11 and the Global War on Terrorism, I was, like many people of colour at the time, raised in the political crossfire. Some of my earliest memories involve racial harassment directed at myself, my siblings and, most of all, my white, English mother. As I grew up, I saw the flippancy towards death tolls, displacement and destruction in Asian and African countries caused by Western ethnocentricity and thinly veiled colonialism. This has always been a frustration which, to this day, drives my work. Despite this upbringing and bias, I have worked towards leaving it behind in my creative pieces and instead readjusted my approach to building empathy. Whilst my poem is ekphrastic, I have chosen to omit the original video and obscured its link to the land it hailed from for the sake of impartiality, instead demonstrating how transhumanism affects ecology and zoology.
Some of the preconceptions I held when creating this poem was that writing was a mythical, intangible gift that some people just so happened to have, and others (myself) did not. This idea of mystical talent was incredibly dismissive of the work, time, research, and effort that writers put into their work. In breaking down my own creative process for this reflection, and with feedback from my lecturer, I realized that where I draw inspiration from isn’t as unique as I thought. Furthermore, I became aware that a journalistic approach to writing – gathering evidence, cross-referencing, and falling down rabbit holes of research – is not at odds with creative writing but an industry standard. This is only reinforced by Cristina Archetti’s investigation of journalism, practice, and poetry, concluding that “poetry and journalism share the same aim of engaging the reader and revealing what is not immediately apparent” (Archetti, 2015).
For this poem, considering its nature as ekphrastic, I could have been more descriptive of its immediate, empirical features to bring it to life on page and in imagination. Furthermore, in adopting a narrative voice present within the video, I established my poem as magical realism. This may be dismissive of the reality of the video and might even be considered insensitive. Of course, this text is no longer my own for “a text’s unity lies not in its origin but in its destination” (Barthes, 1967, pg.148) and in writing it, I have served it on a platter to be pecked at. For next time, I would explore alternative ways to approach anthropomorphism and its complexities. I would also consider my work more as reader than writer and attempt to disentangle – or make less obvious – myself and my history from future narratives. On a final note, though it is far from perfect, this poem has been instrumental in challenging and refining my presumptions surrounding the creative process.
Bibliography:
Altshuler, Bruce. (2005) Collecting the new: museums and contemporary art. [Online] Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press. Available at: https://doi.org/10.1515/9781400849352. [Accessed 05/01/24].
Archetti, C. (2017) “Journalism, Practice and … Poetry: Or the unexpected effects of creative writing on journalism research,” [Online] Journalism studies (London, England), 18(9), pp. 1106–1127. Available at: https://doi.org/10.1080/1461670X.2015.1111773. [Accessed 05/01/24].
Barthes, R. (1977). The Death of the Author. [Online] London: Fontana. Available from – URL. chrome-extension://efaidnbmnnnibpcajpcglclefindmkaj/https://sites.tufts.edu/english292b/files/2012/01/Barthes-The-Death-of-the-Author.pdf [Accessed: 10/11/24].
Iles, C, Huldish, H. (2005). [Online] ‘Keeping Time: On Collecting Film and Video Art in the Museum’. In: Altshuler, B (ed.) – Collecting the New: Museums and Contemporary Art – Princeton University Press. Available at: http://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/staffordshire/detail.action?docID=1422521. [Accessed 05/01/24].
Lessing, G. E. (2015). Laokoon: An Essay Upon the Limits of Painting and Poetry. Createspace Independent Publishing Platform.
Pardlo – Pardlo, G. (2011) “FRAMING OUR GROUND: Ekphrastic Poetry in the Workshop,” Callaloo, 34(3), pp. 721–723. Available at: https://doi.org/10.1353/cal.2011.0192. [Accessed 05/03/24].
Roberts, W.A. (2002) “Are Animals Stuck in Time?,” Psychological bulletin, 128(3), pp. 473–489. Available at: https://doi.org/10.1037/0033-2909.128.3.473. [Accessed 02/01/24].