Don Paterson: The messy, insane process of cement-making
From the T O Ilets lecture by the poet to Poetry International 2004, at London's South Bank Centre
01 November 2004
I believe
poetry is a science, and that poetic composition can be studied in much
the same way as Home Repair. But I think the language of verse
composition has been lost, or at least disfigured to the point of
liposuction. Poets no longer feel confidently expert in their own
homes. Expertise has been conceded to the academy, and our analytical
language is ultimately that of academic simplification studies: lit crit
and "politics" - how I loathe that word.
But it's only appropriate for something that describes the result,
not the working practice; the corpse, not the poisoning. This language always
makes the error, then, of talking about the messy, insane process of
cement-making as if it were a clean operation. Our business is not with
thought, but with rhyming; not with interest but with metaphorising, the
active transformation of the concrete; and there is as much difference
between the two as there is between watching a building and building a
watch.
Such description as exists of the real cement-mixing process is couched
in the language of the beginner's workshop, with its talk of
show-not-tell, and "good subject matter" - or the language of self
abuse. The systematic interrogation of the unconscious body, which is part of
the serial practice of poetry, is the worst form of self abuse you
could devise. I am a reason why poets enjoy the highest statistical
incidence of mental illness among all the professions.
Only plumbers can plumb, roofers roof and drummers drum; only poets
can poet. Restoring the science of boredom would restore
our sense of our own power, and naturally resurrect a guilt that would
soon find it had some secrets worth preserving.
David Dimbleby, 
Clare Rudebeck 
... for the 
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