Principles of Stratigraphy: Methodology
5. Site Plan: Chapter Outlines
The principles of excavation outlined above which find their expression in the buried shard or primary rock, the chronology of past and present,
exhumation of the dead, and the processes of unearthing are put into question by Hill’s sedimentary poetics, Carson’s parodic and reverse stratigraphy, Monk’s collaborations with the dead, and Oswald’s geomorphology of a self-excavating earth. Two of the chapters focus on geological models (Hill and Oswald), while the other two deal with archaeological modes (Carson and Monk). This
divergence allows the discussion to cover a broad range of excavatory
approaches, and enables the exploration of different rhythms, experiences and forms of time.
In Chapter One, I examine the extent to which Hill appropriates Paul Celan’s ‘science of sediment’ in order to negotiate a concern with aesthetics and ethics.147 My critical intervention here is twofold in that I move beyond current readings of Hill’s dialogue with Celan in Tenebrae (1978) and Orchards
of Syon (2002) to argue that a specifically geopoetic engagement with the
Romanian-born poet is refracted more extensively in Hill’s work. A corollary to this is my assertion that Hill’s excavatory model can no longer be simply read via Mercian Hymns as conventionally archaeological or even geological; rather his excavations are complicated by ideas of erosion, deposition, and the
composite substance of sedimentary rock. The chapter focuses on Triumph of
Love (1999) and Orchards of Syon, and the landscapes of the Midlands and
Hodder Valley that they invoke. It suggests that Hill transposes Celan’s
geopoetics to his own landscapes of home, but that in excavating this familiar terrain he finds neither geological permanence, nor any consolation in the historical strata. Instead the shifting nature of Celan’s sedimentary poetics undermines the supposed certainties of home. The heart of my argument is that
146 Angela Leighton, On Form: Poetry, Aestheticism, and the Legacy of a Word (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2007), p. 227.
Celan’s ‘science of sediment’ provides Hill with an ethical solution to his
problem of poetic vision; how to account for historical events that impinge upon, but are not within his own experience. Nevertheless as I argue, Hill’s
excavations must acknowledge the limits of borrowing this sedimentary lexicon, and also the limits of language itself, and the attendant difficulties of
domesticating either Celan’s neologisms or his abstractions of landscape. Having established an alternative model for reading Hill’s excavations, I go on to consider the work of Carson, a poet who poses a more explicit challenge to archaeological poetics, although this is usually attributed to his mobile street- level poetics rather than excavatory practice.
Chapter Two is primarily concerned with two works by Carson, his translation of The Inferno (2002), and his more recent collection, On The Night
Watch. Unlike Hill, whose excavatory impulses are well documented albeit in
terms of conventional models, Carson is rarely considered in terms of
archaeological poetics.148 The argument in this chapter provides a supplement to existing accounts that characterise Carson as a ‘Belfast poet’ and focus on his mobile street-level poetic practice, by establishing a framework for reading his frequent use of excavatory tropes and subterranean perspectives. While Carson’s excavations also tend to be mobile, radiating outward from his home city, to urban edge-lands and global contexts, I tease out a hitherto
unrecognised aspect of poetic-archaeology, which I argue is significant to his engagement with place – parodic stratigraphy. Parody always requires altering some aspect of the target text for comedic or critical effect, and Carson’s parodic gesture is to renovate the principles of poetic excavation found in the work of literary precursors and their landscapes, from Dante’s infernal
cartographies, to Edward Thomas’ England, and Heaney’s rural North. Like Hill does with Celan, Carson relocates the landscapes of medieval Florence, Hell, and early twentieth-century rural England onto his already palimpsestic native Belfast. As the chapter demonstrates, however, these domesticating strategies are always confounded by the poet’s deliberate mismapping of one place onto another. Carson returns to the sites once excavated by his literary precursors to find them littered not with shards of the remote past, but with relics of the
contemporary world. What emerges in Carson’s ‘world turned upside down’ is
148 Kerrigan touches on excavation and Falci also notes the stratiographical texture of Carson’s
an archaeological poetics that undermines the fixity of the past through
subjecting it to both the vicissitudes of the present and the radical openness of the future.
Unlike Hill and Carson who layer literary landscapes from elsewhere onto their respective sites of home, Monk excavates the literary-historical repository of her native Lancashire. Chapter Three examines Monk’s multiple exhumations of the dead in the long poem sequence Interregnum (1994), arguing that her deep dialogue with the landscapes of Northern England must be read through her renewal of the literary and historical sources and traditions that are
entwined with these places. The chapter augments recent criticism that has overwhelmingly positioned Interregnum and other of Monk’s work within debates about environment and identity.149 It argues that these discussions produce overly-generalised accounts of the particular landscape of
Interregnum, neglecting the ways in which the poet’s response to place is
deeply embroiled in political history and literary tradition. The central historical event of Interregnum is the well-known fate of the Pendle witches. In critical accounts of the poem, the figure of the witch tends to eclipse the presence of other exhumed voices, such as the Quaker, George Fox, or Gerard Manley Hopkins. Nevertheless Monk reworks Hopkins’ poetry as a source for the voices of the witches, referring to this citational method as ‘collaboration’ with the dead.150 Monk’s so-called ‘collaboration’ with Hopkins has been largely
overlooked, and even discussions of the alleged witches tend to gloss over the political, religious and socio-economic contexts of the early-modern period in which much of the sequence is situated. This chapter contends that while Monk may seek to embed her contemporary concerns with gender, voice and history in the Lancashire landscape she is unable to do so without engaging existing sources and traditions, in particular Hopkins’ sacramental poetics of place.
The various unearthings of sediment, contemporary ruins, and bodies in previous chapters work on the assumption that excavation is a process that requires human hands, vision and a set of tools with which to hollow out and
149 See Harriet Tarlo, ‘Home-Hills: Place, Nature and Landscape in the Poetry of Geraldine
Monk’, in The Salt Companion to Geraldine Monk, ed. by Scott Thurston (Cambridge: Salt, 2007), pp. 28–61; also Tarlo, ‘Radical Landscapes: Contemporary Poetry in the Bunting Tradition’, in The Star You Steer By: Basil Bunting and British Modernism, ed. by James McGonigal and Richard Price (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2000), pp. 149–180.
150 Geraldine Monk, ‘Collaborations with the Dead’, in The Salt Companion, ed. by Thurston, pp.
178–187. Hereafter cited parenthetically as ‘Collaborations’ followed by page number in arabic numerals.
reshape the landscape. In the final chapter, I overturn the idea that human intervention is a necessary aspect of producing place by showing that in Alice Oswald’s poetic excavations at least, the earth unearths itself. Like Carson, Oswald is more readily understood as operating at the surface of landscape rather than plumbing its depths. Indeed during a recent reading of Memorial: An
Excavation of the Iliad at the Bath Literary Festival, the poet herself suggested
that the idea of excavation was something new and specifically textual in her poetic output. She remarked that she had always been somewhat suspicious of deep historical engagements with place, and that the presence of the past in her earlier collections is always conditioned by the need for the remnants of history to be extant and visible in the present landscape.151Nevertheless by
reading Oswald’s work through the lens of geomorphology, specifically fluvial and igneous processes, I suggest she does renovate poetic concerns with the past and with depth. Her textual excavations of Homer in Memorial can
therefore be seen as an extension of the morphological work of natural forces that expose and shape the surfaces and depths of landscape in Dart (2003) or
Sleepwalk on the Severn (2009). Moreover human tools of excavation do
appear as metaphors for writing in her work, more often than not in the guise of familiar gardening implements. While Oswald seems to echo the conventional archaeological poetics of Heaney and perhaps Hill in this respect, her idea of digging is in fact quite different. Despite making an analogy between writing poetry and digging, Oswald is suspicious of accounts of place that accede too much to metaphor and that place emphasis on lyric intervention in landscape. Thus rather than wielding the spade, Oswald suggests that the poet must ‘move alongside’ it, learning to sense that which the spade unearths on its own
terms.152 Oswald is not so much excavating the ground herself, she would have
us think, as attuning her senses and her labour to the slow ‘pace’ of change within the earth itself. These ‘deep slow’ changes are also suggestive of the geomorphological processes that have over millions of years shaped the landscapes of Oswald’s poetry – Dartmoor, the Severn Valley and the Troad region. Unlike the archaeological trajectories of other poets covered in this
151Alice Oswald, ‘Reading of Memorial’, poetry reading delivered at Bath Literary Festival, Bath,
10 March 2012.
152Oswald, ‘The Universe in Time of Rain Makes the World Alive with Noise’, in A Green
Thought in a Green Shade: Poetry in the Garden, ed. by Sarah Maguire (London: The Poetry
thesis then, Oswald’s work emphasises the excavatory work of nature itself, whether these are geological processes originating deep inside the earth, rivers and oceans that are visible at the surface, or extraterrestrial forces such as the effect of the moon on the tidal patterns.
Whether negotiating ethical or ecological concerns, or raising questions about literary descent and the efficacy of lyric voice, these poets all use
excavation as a model for their deep dialogues with particular places and the social, historical and textual strata that constitute them. In doing so they are exemplary of an archaeological impulse in post-war poetry that is currently overwhelmingly associated with Heaney. This thesis provides the first full-length study of the archaeological imagination in contemporary British and Irish poetry that attempts to go beyond the constraints of a Heaneyesque model. It provides an original contribution to an emerging field of literary geography by combining spatial frameworks with a literary-historical approach that both widens the debate concerning the efficacy of archaeological tropes in contemporary poetry and criticism, and that offers new insights into the work of Hill, Carson, Monk and Oswald.
I. ‘No one conjures our dust’: Geoffrey Hill’s Science of
Sediment
IN THE AIR, there your root remains, there, in the air.
Where what’s earthly clusters, earthy, breath-and-clay.
—Paul Celan, Die Niemandsrose1
Let me be, says the dying man, let me fall upwards toward my roots.
—Geoffrey Hill, Without Title2
1. Introduction
For Sheridan Burnside the potential for ‘intersubjective ethical
relationships’ in the work of Geoffrey Hill hinges on the possibility that ‘acts of poetic saying’ might stand in for the failure of divine intercession in the atrocities of the twentieth century – the Holocaust and other genocides.3 Burnside
suggests that Hill’s ‘literary response to the duty of remembering the dead’ is predicated in part on an engagement with Paul Celan; however, for Hill as for Celan, poetic address is always fraught by the insufficiency of ‘linguistic resources’ in the ‘fulfilment of that duty’.4 The failure of poetic or theological address to offer absolution for the suffering of others that Burnside identifies, seems partially located in a tension between the aesthetic and the ethical uses of language as a means of witness, confession and remembrance. This chapter explores the way in which Hill plies between an aesthetics and an ‘ethics of pity’ through recourse to the work of Celan, but where Burnside connects the two
1 Paul Celan, ‘In the Air’ (‘In der Luft’), in Selected Poems and Prose of Paul Celan, trans. by
John Felstiner (New York: W.W. Norton, 2001), p. 395/GW 1:290. First published in Die
Niemandrose (Frankfurt: Fischer, 1963). Hereafter Felstiner’s translation is cited parenthetically
as SPP followed by page number. Standard references to Celan’s work in the original German are from his Gestammelte Werke in 7 volumes. All citations from English translations are hereafter appended with a reference to Celan, Gesammelte Werke, ed. by Beda Allemann, Stefan Reichert, Rolf Bücher, 7 vols (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1975–), abbreviated as GW followed by volume and page number in arabic numerals.
2 Hill, ‘Insert Here’, Without Title (London: Penguin, 2006), p. 15.
3 Sheridan Burnside, ‘The “Tenebrae” Poems of Paul Celan and Geoffrey Hill’, in Geoffrey Hill
and His Contexts, ed. by Piers Pennington and Matthew Sperling (Oxford: Peter Lang, 2011),
pp. 151–170 (p. 167).
poets through their use of Christian liturgy, I unearth commonalities in their excavation of the linguistic resources of landscape – the language of rock and stone.5 My particular contention here is that Hill’s poetic response to the
suffering of the other operates via the adoption of a sedimentary lexicon drawn from Celan. This chapter thereby intervenes in existing debates concerning Hill’s work in two ways. First it extends recent critical accounts that deal with Hill’s explicit engagement with Celan in Tenebrae and Orchards of Syon, by suggesting that a vein of geopoetic dialogue with Celan adumbrates Hill’s remembrance of the atrocities of war and the Holocaust in The Triumph of
Love.6 It also reassesses the assertions of early Hill criticism, which tend (positively or negatively) to identify the poet’s mode of excavation with the archaeological poetics of Mercian Hymns. In doing so it demonstrates that Hill renovates his own excavatory strategies and thus his unearthing of particular sites can no longer be simply understood as conventionally archaeological and subsequently indicative of a trenchant chthonic nationalism. Instead this chapter argues that the poet’s renewed model of excavation, emerging as it does from concepts of erosion, deposition, and sedimentation, forges new possibilities for ethical dialogue between self and other through the mediating frames of both intimate and unknowable landscapes.
My contention is that as Hill transposes Celan’s abstract topography to that familiar ‘body of England’, he exposes the ostensible certainties of home and the self to the vicissitudes of sedimentary processes. Looking into these landscapes, home and abroad, Hill finds neither permanence written into the geological record, nor consolatory shards of history, but merely particles of ash, sediment and sand that attest to nothing but absences. Rather than
ventriloquizing either his own landscape of home, or European sites of trauma in a consolatory act of atonement for the dead, the arguments that I make
5 I borrow the term ‘ethics of pity’ from A. T. Nuyen, ‘Lévinas and the Ethics of Pity’,
International Philosophical Quarterly, 40.4 (2000), 411–421. Nuyen argues that ‘pity’ offers a
phenomenological approach to morally grounding Levinasian ethics. Despite its association with derision or contempt, ‘pity’ he suggests is in fact closer to ‘piety ‘(Latin pietas) meaning
‘dutifulness’, which implies feeling of responsibility and desire to ‘substitute oneself’ for an other who is suffering. More significantly, in respect of Hill’s poetry, ‘pity’ is a concern of ethics when: ‘The pitier realizes that the responsibility to stop the suffering cannot be discharged, that the desire to do so cannot be satisfied, that all that can be done is to suffer the suffering of the pitied’ (p. 418).
6 For a discussion of Hill’s ‘Two Chorale-Preludes’ in Tenebrae (1978) see E. M. Knottenbelt,
Passionate Intelligence: The Poetry of Geoffrey Hill (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1990). Jeffrey
Wainwright provides a brief discussion of Hill’s reference to Celan’s atemwende (‘breathturn’) in
Orchards of Syon. See Wainwright, Acceptable Words: Essays on the Poetry of Geoffrey Hill
suggest that Hill’s appropriation of Celan’s ‘science of sediment’ is always caught between the necessity of voicing responsibility and the impossibility of ever speaking with or on behalf of the dead who remain unlocatable. The first section evaluates the critical debates surrounding Hill’s archaeological poetics and the associated charges of recalcitrant nationalism and reactionary nostalgia that accrue to his work.