On Pound’s “A Pact”

Image rendered from https://media.poetryfoundation.org/m/image/957/ezra-pound.jpg?w=448&h=&fit=max.

Pound begins the poem by presenting opposites, wanting to form a pact with Walt Whitman despite having detested him and then again with the image of a “grown child” in line 3. The image of the pig-headed father is also somewhat of an opposite in that pig-headed means obstinate or stubborn (OED) and yet the speaker of the poem is abstaining from his/her typical stubborn behavior of detesting Walt Whitman by now making a pact with him. This is all presuming, of course, that making a pact is only something someone does with someone they do not detest (though one might make the argument that may not necessarily be the case). Nonetheless, the image of the “grown child” seems to be setting up some sort of opposition.

The speaker also seems to be calling attention to time’s construction. The verb tenses shift from present (I make) to past participle (I have detested) back to present (I come) back to past participle again (Who has had) to present again (I am old) then simple past (It was you that broke) to present (Now is). Beyond the tense shifts, the speaker says “I am old enough now” (5) as if within the “now”-ness of the present tense, there is also an “old.” In other words, recognizing old-ness also recognizes that time passes—that something, here “I,” goes from young to old over a period of time. But that word “old” is smushed in between present tense “am” and a reference to the present, “now” (5), rendering time in the fifth line inconsistent in that there is both a set, stationary present in the “now”-ness and a passage or movement of time in the word “old.” Further down in the poem, the speaker even says “now is a time” — using the unspecific article “a” over “the,” implying there are several times, one of which is “now” (7).

The notion of carving Walt Whitman’s “new wood” in conjunction with Pound’s words in “RE VERS LIBRE” (1913) seems to refer to taking a wider free verse, long Whitman line and chiseling it down to something more structured and succinct (6). Pound has done just that. Each of these lines are purposefully broken, all but one by punctuation, and the poem itself is presented in no set meter or form, giving it a “commerce” shared between Whitman and Pound (9).

The OED defines commerce as “Exchange between men of the products of nature or art,” giving credence to the idea of a shared sap and root between the speaker and Whitman in line 8; however, my understanding of commerce is in the mercantile or economic sense– that there is monetary value about an object that becomes traded and in that sense, there is a commercial relationship between the traders of that object. Were poetry to be this object, as I understand wood to be functioning that way in this poem, then both uses of commerce seem to fit to Pound’s use. However, I don’t want to stop at “well, it works,” either– why use commerce? Wood is a natural good, so perhaps the metaphor extends into choosing that word “commerce.” What do you think?

The Anxiety of Waiting in Basma Abdel Aziz’s THE QUEUE

For this, I’m reading Chapter 19 of James L. Gelvin’s The Modern Middle East: A history (fourth edition from Oxford Univ. Press) and Basma Abdel Aziz’s The Queue published in 2013 and then translated by Elizabeth Jaquette and published in 2016 by Melville House. Photo from https://media.npr.org/assets/img/2016/04/29/the-queue-cover-final2_wide-cc4b1914da37ce4ca9181d8e6ced2ac4c05793be.jpg?s=1400.

  1. “[Ines] wouldn’t leave her place for more than a moment, and Um Mabrouk began to send Mabrouk to bring her breakfast every day” 130
  2. “Yehya was distraught for days” 154
  3. “For several weeks [Amani] hadn’t seen or spoken to anyone but Yehya” 174
  4. “For weeks before she’d left her job, Amani hadn’t made any sales” 204
  5. “[Amani] didn’t know how she’d arrived in this emptiness, how time was passing, or whether it was passing at all.” 152

At the end of the Gelvin chapter on the Arab Uprisings, he annotates the historical use of the “spring” metaphor from “Arab Spring” and its first use, “Springtime of Nations,” which ultimately led to the incorporation of liberal ideals into society and government in the greater European area – “even if the realization of those alternatives [to autocratic government] might take a century and a half or so” (346). Thus, he comes to, at the very end of the chapter, a notion of waiting. That perhaps the Arab Uprisings are still in their beginnings or middles and the more liberal governments of the region are in the future. While of course this may be so – that is to say of course time in its most fundamental understanding moves linearly and forward – I wonder if the very question The Queue seems to take up is what that waiting may look like on the ground. In other words, while one might say the region is bound to fully realize the revolutions’ ideals in due time, that due time may in fact complicate that realization and its process.

Above, I’ve chosen several quotes from The Queue that outline, in the first four (from pp 130, 154, 174, and 204), moments when characters experience the anxiety of waiting. To an intentionally absurd extent, the characters spend their time waiting – that is to say all of this waiting occurs in “weeks” or “more than a moment,” both which blur the notion of time as a definable set of moments. In other words, we might experience time as a definable set of points, each moment passing its previous equal. What The Queue’s characters seem to experience via the anxiety of waiting is time not as a set of definable points but time which has begun to itself seem so long, it has become indefinable. I think we all feel this in a colloquial setting – the way we use “five more minutes” or “a few more minutes” interchangeably, each of them undefined when we use them in their own specific (with “five”) or unspecific (with “few”) means. The point is not that we wait exactly five minutes nor that we define how long a few minutes might be. It is the act of waiting that is the point. And in that act of waiting, the specific amount of time, again, does not seem to be what is relevant, which is to say time goes from being undefined to being indefinable, experienced in The Queue as hyperbole or absurdity – or, as I call it, irrelevant. The point, again, is waiting. Not necessarily time.

I digress now because I feel like I’m beginning to sound pedantic.

As I spoke about earlier, this creates anxiety for the characters who have to wait. Ines has to be brought breakfast, Yehya is distraught, Amani speaks to no one and loses her job. Ultimately, then, the anxiety of waiting accumulates and seems to affect the characters’ goings-on in their daily lives. So what does it mean for interference or deviation to seem to cause anxiety? For Gelvin’s piece, it seems to be anger and need for interference and deviation manifests in revolution and where The Queue places itself is after a revolution. The Queue then seems to be making the argument that despite revolution, the afterlives of revolution are weighed down in anxiety and waiting.

This brings me to the final passage above: “[Amani] didn’t know how she’d arrived in this emptiness, how time was passing, or whether it was passing at all.” 152

Time seems to collapse or at least become blurred – that is, felt as time/waiting itself rather than any incremental or specific ordering of time – in the novel due to the sheer amount of waiting. Waiting seems to be the cause of much of the anxiety – for Gelvin’s subjects it seems to be about waiting for the realization of liberal ideals whereas for those characters in The Queue it seems to be that and the fear of the new government and the ways that new government can and does exploit its people. I think a paper is to be written on the ways neoliberal, militarized capitalism functions in The Queue as a means of causing fear and anxiety via waiting.