PROPAGATOR Alec Finlay Self-interviewed by Davy Polmadie May-June 2005 Davy Polmadie: Propagate? Alec Finlay: Propagate – to publish or transmit, as books do, or ideas; to breed or multiply, as letters grow into words; to extend to a greater area, as the imagination can create a new map of a landscape. DP: And mesostic? AF: ...is a name poem,much favoured by the American composer-poet John Cage, who wrote them as birthday gifts for friends. Pick a name and then grow your poem around it. The names make stems and the chosen letters their growing branches. DP: Are they found poems then? AF:No, grown poems, bred on an existing word-stock: O-A-K. DP: So the poems are like plants? AF:Yes, the letters are like cells and, if you nurture them with your imagination, they bloom into meaning. Syntax – the way that a poem reads – is like photosynthesis; light is drawn down through the name-stem and meaning spreads outwards through each word-branch. mark or shadow that some event in our life has cast on our inner nature. As an artist, I'm interested in the ways that this kind of knowledge and philosophy continue, all mixed up with contemporary medicine – it represents a kind of Doctrine of Signatures and that relates back to the poetic form and its feeling for hidden secrets. The project is a compound of pharmacy and herbarium, like most people's bathroom cabinets. DP: So some of the poems are about inner properties, whether these are chemical compounds or more subtle or inferred influences, but the mesostics are also poems that have a system. AF: Their rules are their signature, but they are poems not plants and this is a word garden. Language is like nature: crossbred, evolving, influenced by habitat, time, climate and use. I love to see a word taken over from one use into another, graft or bind, scion or root. DP: Even though the poems are fixed on trees, they don’t seem to belong to a particular place, a clearing or view over the park. AF: No they don’t and I think this is where the poems’ letterisme and petalisme are crucial. Though it is good to 'plant' or fix the poems and give them a place to belong, when you read them in their particular corner of the landscape you take in the surroundings as a matter of course – the poem doesn’t need to comment on this. After all, you and the tree and the poem are there. The curl of a piece of birch bark As it has a clearly defined centre and is neat, a mesostic tends towards the classical. As it reads through words by way of letters, a mesostic tends towards the avant-garde. DP: The poems read like secrets revealed. AF: They are mostly slight, little autobiographies; they are what I could make out of the given letters.You can do the same. I don’t think their beauty is a resemblance to flowers or trees, but the act of growth itself – a secret that concerns us all. The single letters show how words fall apart and come together, as biological organisms split into individual cells. They confront the fundamental shock of our ability to ‘rewrite’ nature by reconfiguring the genetic world. DP: Because a name is a chain of letters, an enchantment of chaos? The poems may be only little events but they recognise how close we have come to chaos. AF: And they may be, or become, elegies for plants that will no longer exist – I heard on the radio that as droughts increase the English landscape will lose many of its native tree species.YSP will become the Auvergne. These issues of growth and extinction are the poems’ context. DP: So the patterned poems are a mnemonic? AF:Yes, such playful s of words helps them rest in our minds as a rule. They are made for memory and offer distinctive outlines, reshaping the flowers and trees in our consciousness. Linnaeus speaks of the naming of plants as applying the skills of arranging, giving station by number, form, proportion and situation. DP: Any useful tips for word-gardeners? AF: Always begin with the most difficult letter, the z of hazel – double letters are difficult, the pp in apple – don’t forget the little words, and, the, are, and is – choose a plant you know. DP: And one of your analogies is people and plants – a traditional theme made new? AF: I was always drawn to the silver knots of the beeches along the roads in the valley where I grew up; the truth to reality in how a tree grows, of how it takes its scars, nicks,wounds into itself. Poisons that leach and pollute are often invisible to the eye, just as there are words that hurt us far more than sticks or stones. DP: The poems go beyond appearances? AF: Though plants are pretty to us in showy bs, their effect is intended towards specific purposes; their beauty is for the bee, even if our breeding makes colours more vibrant. What interest me are the uses and meanings that we make for plants, especially those that are to do with healing, whether it’s the extract of yew that makes a cancer cure, or how homeopathy ascribes an emotion or mood to a flower essence – the blemishes and spots on the skin of a crab apple make a rhyme with its ability to heal shame, a is not a unique event but it is a habit worth putting into words. DP: Because the poems are here in a Sculpture Park. AF: And the project is an attempt to settle a quarrel with the habit that some artists have of constructing works of art that parcel up the landscape into so much real estate; this bit is metal and orange, this is rough hewn stone. I never thought there was anything to improve nature, except perhaps that we should know and respect her better. NOTES INDOOR POEMS (PROPAGATOR) in the greenhouse, Lower Park MESOSTIC is a name poem. BILBERRY is royal purple and it stains. YELLOW IRIS is spring’s flag. MARIGOLD grew orange in the bog by my house. TORMENTIL is a yellow high on mountains. LICHEN makes litmus. DANDELION always seems to tell the same time. SEA KALE decorates the wild garden Derek Jarman made on the shingle at Dungeness. THRIFT like a ‘granny hat’, a spog liquorice allsort, it makes a pink blanket bleached by the sea. HOP is beery. SWEET PEA loved by poet Emily Dickinson. CARDINAL that Emily gave to her sister Susan. HONESTY pale in the winter, shaped like a penny. GOLDEN ROD,more yellow than golden. OAT SEED is milky inside. WHEAT is fractally patterned for aliens. CHICKWEED on the menu at our house in 1976. MILKTHISTLE yields silymarin which heals the liver. VALERIAN zzzzzz. TANSY tastes bitter and fights fever. ST JOHN'S WORT heals the black dog. ROCK ROSE is a Bach Flower remedy treating fear or terror. ECHINACEA fights off all those colds. ASPEN quivers in breezes. WALNUT looks brainy. OLIVE for peace in Palestine. OUTDOOR POEMS (TREES) found according to directions overleaf OAK is a heartwood. APPLE after lunch or before bed. HAZEL makes wands and bows. GINGKO ancient from Asia, one to help your brain remember. BEECH is the root of the word book. ASH made sea sounds in our garden. SYCAMORE have windmills that turn as they fall. PINE is on the horizon. ROWAN has leaves like fingers and is a ward for witches at the door. CHESTNUT old and obvious, yet memorable. YEWs grow near pews. GEAN is wild and cheery. CRAB APPLE is our native apple. HORNBEAM is a Bach flower remedy for those too tired to face the day. SLOE's plum for gin, sour is wersh in Scots. HAWTHORN the spiky creamy May. BIRCH peels away a sliver of silver paper. |
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