Précis
One of the less common, but highly engaging, forms I have written in is the lecture. In Advanced Poetry Writing, the graduate students in the course were required to create their own assignment, and one of them instructed us to write a lecture based on two models: Mary Ruefle’s “Lectures I Will Never Give” (see featured image) and a lecture written by the graduate student leading the lesson. An assignment like this one works well in allowing students to practice entering literary conversations without the pressure of writing an academic essay. Furthermore, the assignment was highly metacognitive and analytical, though the graduate student allowed for creative freedom in the lecture format.
Heavily inspired by the format and style of Ruefle’s craft lectures in Madness, Rack, and Honey, my lecture explores the intersections of the mind, dreams, and poetry, while also challenging writing norms traditionally presented in English courses. Though the lecture is broken into fragments, moving between quotes and musings, it still contains an implicit thesis—that poetry accesses the mind in a way that other forms of communication often cannot. The lecture engages with sources, though they may be unconventional, and becomes an Ars Poetica explaining how the poetic form functions. Although I often refer to and break rules given by English teachers, such as “Don’t say ‘I think’ in your papers,” my aim is not to mock these rules but to demonstrate how creative writing allows writers to break them and write in a way more authentic to their natural thought process. The structure of my lecture reflects the movement of my thoughts, jumping from one idea to the next in a non-linear fashion.
A lecture is an advantageous form to assign students, not only in a creative writing course but in any course where students must demonstrate their understanding of concepts in a written form. The lecture format forced me into the role of a teacher, though I admit in the lecture that I do not consider myself an authority figure, and allowed me to explain ideas to an audience who may not have heard or read Ruefle’s lecture. Whereas my lecture is more creative and experimental in form, one can also write a more analytical and linear lecture. Either way, this is a beneficial way for students to learn concepts more deeply by actually teaching concepts. In Advanced Poetry Writing, we posted our written lectures on a class blog, but instructors could also have students read their lectures aloud and even pose discussion questions at the end; that way they are filling the role of the teacher. If professors are searching for an alternative for a written assignment or an oral presentation, the lecture is a useful format that students may find refreshing.
Not-a-Lecture
“Lectures, for me, are bad dreams.” – Mary Ruefle
I.
I’m choosing to begin with a quote for two reasons. The first and most honest reason is that I’m a copycat. Lectures appear to usually begin with quotes, or a memory, or a rule, depending on what type of lecture one is receiving. Thus, beginning with a quote feels appropriate.
When I hear the word “lecture,” I think of my parents standing over me—one doing most of the scolding, and the other nodding in agreement—while I listen to a list of what I’ve done wrong and what I need to do to make amends. Or, I think of teachers, the ones who speak in a monotone drawl while you watch the minute-hand on the clock, signaling each moment that you spend wishing time—no, life!—would go by faster.
The second reason I’m beginning with a quote, is because the idea of me giving a lecture frightens me more than the harsh voices of my parents and the dull voices of teachers. In other words, I think of figures who have this unspoken authority to give lectures. I’m frightened, because I’m in no way, shape, or form, an authority on literally anything. I would like to say I’m an authority on my own mind—I know it best, after all. However, what frightens and also excites me the most is that I think my thoughts are actually an authority over me.
II.
Mary Ruefle defines an “asylum” as,
a secure place of refuge, shelter, or retreat. It is a sanctuary, an inviolable place from which one cannot be removed without sacrilege. An asylum is a benevolent institution affording shelter and protection to some class of the afflicted. It is also an insane place, full of shouts and cries and cries and whispers. An asylum is a place of hopeless suffering and endless misunderstanding, a place of restriction and desperation. (“Lectures I Will Never Give”)
She declares that, for her, poetry is an asylum. For me, the human mind itself is an asylum. The mind is the one place where I can hide, and find temporary shelter from the chaos of the outside world. My mind is my escape, but my mind is also a trap, “full of shouts and cries and cries and whispers.” Poetry is an escape and an entrapment that occurs externally; it’s a bridge between the mind and the outside world, I think.
“Don’t say ‘I think’ in your papers.” – English teachers
“Certainty kills the crab, but without any certainty the crab could never live at all. I’m not talking about crabs.” – Wes Morrow, “This is Not a Lecture”
III.
According to my sound source, Wikipedia, “Bicameralism (the condition of being divided into “two-chambers”) is a radical hypothesis in psychology that argues that the human mind once operated in a state in which cognitive functions were divided between one part of the brain which appears to be “speaking”, and a second part which listens and obeys — a bicameral mind.”
I don’t write poetry; poetry writes me. As cliché as that may sound, I cannot explain my creative process in simpler terms. I listen to my thoughts and to poetry, simultaneously, while my body obeys. Poetry is not of the outside world, and yet it’s not of my mind either, for, “it’s a bridge between the mind and the outside world, I think” (previous page of this not-lecture).
IV.
Wes Morrow explains, “Poetry becomes imbued with meaning when it seeks answers it knows it cannot find and finds answers it was not seeking, when it looks for something in nothing, knowing it won’t be there, and when it looks for nothing in something, and finds it.” (“This is Not a Lecture”).
I think that the act of writing poetry accesses the brain in the same way that dreams do. This act is far more mysterious than we may comprehend, and far more intimate, as it taps into our subconscious. Dreams are essentially just reflections of our subconscious desires and curiosities and fears. They are a bridge between reality and the imagination. Someone, please tell me the difference between dreams and poetry. Actually, don’t tell me.
“Stop knowing. But continue trying to find out. Stop telling, but keep talking.” – Wes Morrow, “This is Not a Lecture”
“Never end your paper with a quote.” – English teachers
Exploding Pedagogy 