Awareness of oblivion within pumping away our lives with each heartbeat is one of the reviews essential motivators of the c-esthetic imagination. When that imagination becomes so technologized and externalized, and thus "captured" by the social forces (industry and commerce) that produce the technologies, aesthetics become secondary and pleasure dominates the arts and gives them their only meaning. Sunrise and sunset all too often go unrecognized. It matters because over time we gradually lose our capacities to embody in symbolic forms-forms that allow us to recognize and contemplate-the subtleties of our nature, which loss tends to make us ignorant of ourselves. We fall into the sickness of literal mindedness. Apollo and dionysus, Athena and Aphrodite are such embodiments. As are the stories of Europa and Thalia, leda and io, oedipus, Agamemnon, Odysseus, medea, jason, and Hercules. The inconceivable and the unique, the unrepeatable, the story of beginnings, the mysterious forces that drive men and women into all sorts of strange and unimaginable experience, the appetites that dominate our energies, the irrationalities, inhibitions, blindnesses, brilliancies that make our lives both fearful and.
But there are other purposes. The complacencies are shook by early death, accident, disease, natural and human-made disasters, those metaphysical moments when reality intrudes into the fantasies of our lives. Suddenly our confidence and security are shorn away. When has there been a time when such things did not happen? Death and instability reside inside us like the darkness of a closet in a well lit room. Our cosmologies account for this aspect of our lives by providing us with literal readings of ancient myths that long ago lost their intensities. For this reason some of us manage to suppress our awareness of this darkness. But some of us are never able.
Page 4, theoi, greek mythology - exploring
Its vehicle of expression is words, which are mental and conceptual in nature. But the drift of our technologies has been toward externalizing our aesthetic experience. Public taste regarding the arts has largely been transformed by this drift. Public arts that once had a partly private character by virtue of the craft needed to accomplish them-painting, sculpture, music-now have machines to take over the element of craft, supposedly freeing the artist in all of us from anterolisthesis the constraints that craft imposes. The drift has been toward externalizing the aesthetic, a direction the poet cannot take. But the adolescent, sensing in his or her body the breaking up of boundaries, the crossing of thresholds, still feels the world and the realm of possibilities it holds as a purely personal affair, and, like all dawn creatures, is prone to dream, needs.
And at the other end of life, when the body is again crossing thresholds, the human mind becomes once more riveted to its own personal existence, and is again desperately in need of visions of meaningfulness-not the scientific explanations, nor the pulpit's, but the feeling. Most of us most of the time are insulated from the chilling and vigorous airs of these sunrise and sunset times. The prime of life is outward directed and likely to find the technological avenues to c-esthetic experience very convenient. One throws on a cd, or perhaps a video, or pulls out the keyboard-it's all programmed to select instruments, provide back up accompaniment, set the chords and tempo, and record. There is nothing wrong with this. It serves its purpose.
Technology is the application of science to industrial or commercial objectives, and, in a larger sense, is a body of knowledge about methods for accomplishing tasks. It tends to immerse us, naturally enough, in the realities it is designed to manipulate. The aesthetic imagination, on the other hand, is concerned with abstracting life impressions from their contexts for the purposes of embodiment in c-esthetic forms to be offered to our contemplation as autonomous objects-not, to be sure, directly connected to life, but, insofar as they are. Artists see their work, from the minutest details of craft to the broad vision, as both construct and expression and as being both impersonal and personal, embedded in the history of their art and ahistorically original. Our new technologies tend to intrude into this two sidedness, with the effect of dividing artists from themselves by externalizing craft and formalizing the imaginative content of their work. As such, the new technologies have profited most everyone but artists, and among these, poets the least.
Caught up in the competition for attention, when radio and cinema and vaudeville were creating new cultural experiences, poets had to innovate to keep their place in the world. But the world was seldom listening and, enjoying new forms of pleasure, was often deliberately deaf. In the lifetime of my maple tree, we have seen Imagist poets strive to make poetry more concrete, to concentrate on the "thing" itself. We have seen others strive to write their verses in the form of the musical phrase instead of the metronome. Poets have broken up syntax, restructured sound patterns, made poems in the shapes of things, broken up lines and line structures, abandoned rhyme and meter, made poetry objective, "found" poems in urban trash and technobabble, collapsed and revised spelling, made poetry surrealistic, dadaistic, futuristic, abandoned. Through all of it, poetry became ever more distant from its readers. It matters because even though the technological and material world changes, the needs of humanity do not change-people do not lose their need for the direct encounter with meaning that is the special province of poetry. Poetry is inherently personal, private, and emotional.
Iliad : Homer, robert Fagles, bernard Knox
Our technologies, therefore, as much as our arts, are an expression of who and what we mba are as a people. But technology also has a life of its own, is put to purposes different from art, and some of these purposes can be dark, as we have found, often to our horror, in the twentieth century. Technology can and does change us, has been changing us at an accelerating rate since the industrial revolution, and is having profound impacts on us now, affecting not only how we do what we do, not only what we do, but, even more deeply, how. The whole situation is symptomatic of the role of poets and of poetry in our creative and cultural lives. We all know the story of cinema in the twentieth century. And the story of television. And the stories of walkman radios, audio tapes, cds, video machines, video games, the internet, interactive cable, etc. For those of us to whom words matter, words that are not pictures, that do not make up pictures, and that are not music, and do not aspire to be music, for those of us to whom words are the essential makers of meanings, poetry.
Old and ancient at ten years. Though the maple, which gre I see through my study window even as I tap these keys, is over eighty years old. And still young, as far as trees. I have no antipathy for technology. The oral tradition in pre- literate Greece was formulaic and could hardly have given us the rich interrelationships of parts and the structural and emotional unity of Homer's great epics which these works finally acquired in their written form. Writing was itself a technological advance and had a definite impact on the early cultures that had acquired. Ong has shown. Orality and Literacy: The technologizing of the word, the transition from the primary oral stage of culture to the literate, with its dependence on writing, was accompanied by transformations of consciousness-how we experience and use our modes of self-expression and our imaginations. The advent of writing represented potentials for growth and reinvention of our own self-conceptions.
tradition. In a world in which poetry has disappeared from the reading habits of the people, those first ibms were pure magic-something out of an alchemist's lab. Words lit up by themselves the room one wrote them in; they glinted, shined, almost spoke themselves as they came letter by letter onto the screen. Admittedly, when time came to pass these words on to the vacuum, they took the old forms-black words on white pages pressed between paper covers of magazines or the stiffer covers of thin little books. But their moments of creation, that was where the alchemy was performed. Before the eyes, they came sprouting up onto the black velvety square like a lawn of grass at the command of one's fingers. The new machines have made the experience of word processing so much more business like, with their rulers, white screens, black words, split screens, windows, tool bars, etc. One sits in front of them feeling more like a draftsman than a poet. I am one of those who love the old ways. A traditionalist, if you will though my tradition is only ten years old.
I have learned to think of words this way over the ten years I have worked on this machine. I lose this feeling of numinousness with the new computers. Why does it matter? It matters because technology affects us; it transforms not only how we do things and how we think about the doing, but also what. There have been times in our history when dissertation poets were not only regarded as but actually were the leaders of intellectual and creative life. Because they combined the aesthetic dimensions of art with the conceptual heritage of their culture, they shaped both the sense of life and its interpretation. And there have been troughs, when poetry declined and the leadership in aesthetic thought and experience-that cutting edge which opens new ground for artists of all sorts- passed on to other media, painting, fiction, cinema. Changes in technology characteristically produce both excitement for new potentials and nostalgia for traditions.
Iliad, the, myth Encyclopedia - mythology, greek, god
Joseph m ditta, imagination and Technology: Reflections on the future of poetry mine is an old computer, one of the first generation of ibms, the kind that have a dark screen monitor on which the words shine in bright green. Next to it is a dead printer, an old Epson, which refuses any longer to spike up the paper from the box underneath. I have been resisting replacing these old machines for the newer models. I see these new ones every day. Their monitors have bright screens and words appear in black wallpaper on them, though one can change the color of the words if one desires. I am not thrilled. Why does this matter? It matters because i am fixed on these bright green words, because when I write, these words become vivid things in themselves, each one like a bright light that shines in the dark.