This isn’t about a Divine calling. It is about the slippery nature of words.
Today in class I shared with my students the article “The Possibilities and Perils of Writing Poems aboutVisual Art” [Writer's Chronicle 39: 2007]. The article was written to academics, or at least, to writers who take their work very seriously, and discusses the exchange or interchange between art and the viewer writing about the experience (poets, specifically). The article uses lofty terminology to discuss language and how people are stirred (changed) by art.
Some of my students were very off put by this. They thought the article over rot, too analytical, and that some things are impossible to talk about (such as how one is moved by an art piece) and therefore not worth discussing. Speaking about the unutterable and how it feels to be moved by art ruins the moment, one student said. There is no way to speak about the experience so why try.
Because I like the article it made me think about why I appreciate this kind of talk about art and writing. Why do I find the poet’s grappling for words to explain her experience compelling? What does it mean to be found by art? What do we mean by unutterable and should we try for the words? What is with me and my fascination with words? Then it hit me. It’s the Bible’s fault!
It’s to my advantage as a writer that I’ve spent many hours grappling with “God’s words.” How could I expect not to be a concentrated reader of, well, anything that tries to say something profound or true.
As a child I was taught that scripture is a fixed point. Black and white. A hook by the door you could hang your life on. Sure it was confusing. It was a mystery, but older men had figured out the puzzle and written Sunday school curriculum to explain it to younger people (enter: the flannel graph board).
Some of it was to be taken literally. Yes, the water did turn to blood. Yes, there was a flood that lasted 40 days and 40 nights. Yes, a real fish ate Jonah. And some of it was purely figurative–When Jesus says “anyone who enters me, he will be saved” he means that as a figure of speech. No one was crawling into Jesus. He also meant “he and she” when he said, “he.” Though, sometimes when the Bible says “man” it just means “man.” How slippery.
Then there are the literal stories that are also figurative. For example, the Garden of Eden is symbolic for our relationship with God, but also a literal place in time and history.
What the Bible says must never change and therefore adding to the Bible is a sin. You don’t go creative with God’s words. That is treacherous and makes interpretation a sticky buisness.
At the same time, spoken correctly and at the right time, a quote of scripture has the potential of sending evil back to Hell. Memorization is the key. Words become very powerful, but not just any words, the exact words.
Though Bible stories, histories, and common interpretations are thought to be fixed points like stars in the sky, they do not remain static within the reader. It was told to me that reading the Bible every day would change me, whether I was seeking change or not.
Words, then, are transformational.
This was the same terminology I was using this morning when speaking about “good” art. That you cannot help but be changed by it even if you do not understand it. Though, some understanding helps, for sure. My own terminology for experiencing art comes from the language of my religious experience. This is not unique to me, but I’m taking credit for it.
How does the Bible make me a Poet:
I have learned from my years of studying “the Word” that you cannot trust “words.” I know that sounds horrible, but it I’m being honest. I find words slippery and treacherous, in that they can redeem and banish. I distrust much of what has been taught to be the “fixed points” in the Bible. They seem to be more “fixed” points, either culturally fixed and/or politically fixed. The slippery nature of words in/out of context.
How then do I approach the Bible if I am so distrusting:
Very tentatively. My eye scans for the Truth shimmering underneath the surface. I try to see the unutterable, and if not see it then feel it, and sometimes I even attempt to Write what finds me in the interchange.
