Throughout his life, Cage created a great deal of written work, both academic essays and more artistic writing. Perhaps his favourite form of artistic writing was the mesostic, a poetic form that he used frequently from the late 60s until his death.
This is, as the title suggests, 36 mesostics, both about and not about Marcel Duchamp. Although it was originally a written work, it has been performed as music. Cage blurred the line between his music and writing by giving frequent musical performances of his poetry and prose. In the case of mesostics I find this somewhat problematic because they have an essential visual element: the central vertical "spine" cannot be communicated when speaking them (well, I guess you could say it before or after the poem proper, but you still wouldn't be able to see how all the lines fit together). And in any case, they simply *look* wonderful... you lose a lot of their charm and beauty by translating them into sound. This excerpt from 36 Mesostics is a good example of how even the most mundane statements are infused with a subtle grace when presented in the mesostic form:
inviteD
oUt
he'd Cut
the evening sHort.
At
hoMe
he'd suggest we stay uP later.
So I think mesostics should ideally be read, not heard. As a poem, 36 Mesostics is extremely impressive. Many of Cage's poems were written, like his music, by the use of chance operations - often resulting in uncompromisingly experimental writing that had only the barest resemblance to the English language. However, no chance was used here (except perhaps in determining the order of the mesostics). Hence this is a good example of Cage's skill as a more conventional poet. Here's a lovely excerpt:
since other Men
mAke
aRt,
he Cannot.
timE
is vaLuable.
Or consider this reflection on Duchamp's death, the penultimate mesostic of the set. To me, this is one of the most moving passages about death and loss ever written; its poignance is matched only by its simplicity and brevity. Its impact is particularly powerful as it comes after several mesostics about rather more humdrum, day-to-day things:
questions i Might
hAve
leaRned
to ask Can
no longEr
receive repLies
At their best, mesostics are like haikus: highly constrained writing that can highlight the beauty in the apparently mundane, or express profound feelings and experiences in a strikingly simple way. 36 Mesostics is a wonderful poem that demonstrates both of these virtues.
It is also, at least on the recording that I'm listening to, a fairly interesting piece of music, though I'm not sure how many, if any, of the musical elements were actually composed by Cage (I think he only wrote the words). It's performed by two voices, Paul Hillier and the minimalist composer Terry Riley, who each take turns reading the mesostics. Hillier sings in an exaggerrated baritone that evokes medieval monastic music (which is unsurprising, given that this is on the same CD as the performance of Litany for the Whale that I reviewed yesterday), and which is subjected to various kinds of electronic manipulation.
This makes for a rather amusing performance for several reasons. First, because so many of his lyrics are so banal - it tickles me to imagine a medieval monk singing, with all the gravity and sincerity he gives to his religious songs, lyrics like "crême fraiche followed by three kinds of potatoes" and "they told me someone who had a problem engaged him in a discussion of it". Second, because the electronic effects are sometimes a little ridiculous. For example, in one of his parts, we hear a copy of his voice that's had its pitch shifted upward, so it sounds all high and squeaky. And finally because all of this is at jolting variance with Terry Riley's totally straight, unprocessed, spoken-word readings.
Although I still think that 36 Mesostics works better on paper, this performance is a lot of fun, and at only 11 minutes (yes, only 11 minutes... plenty of Cage compositions go on far longer than 11 minutes) it doesn't overstay its welcome. Whenever Cage performed his mesostics, he would usually just read them out straightforwardly. This creative interpretation is far more engaging.
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