Speaking Otherwise
Let us suppose that before we speak or draw or write in terms that are comprehensible to others, there were what might appear at first to be a random or chaotic internal process out of which we create meaning that can be shared with others. If so, would that mean that the earlier seemingly chaotic process was meaningless or that it was without intention or design? The artist or poet or dreamer proceeds with the intuitive conviction that in such ‘raw’ data of consciousness there is a vast sea of undiscovered meanings that we ordinarily suppress or transform into a language that allows us to live together productively. What if these undiscovered meanings were in fact more familiar to others than we may at first suppose and that the work of the artist of the poet is to the represent such meaning? Surely it would be futile to try to convey that meaning in a language designed for everyday purposes. Consider this poem by E.E. Cummings:
nonsun blob a
cold to
skylessness
sticking fire
my are your
are birds our all
and one gone
away the they
leaf of ghosts some
few creep there
here or on
unearth
I would claim this poem is meaningful, though its meaning be at first obscure. If, however, we were to ‘translate’ the poem into more readily understandable language, the creative consciousness from which the poem sprang would be lost. To convey our understanding of the poem we would have to use a ‘poetic’ language that might at first appear to have little relation to the original, except that both verge on nonsense:
Long After the End
Shattered glass
A silent cry
A hopeless heart
And all that rage