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Showing posts with label Imagism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Imagism. Show all posts

Thursday, September 1, 2022

Visions of Vorticism: Wyndham Lewis and Ezra Pound

 

Vorticists at the Restaurant de la Tour Eiffel: Spring 1915 (1961-62) by William Roberts. Representing Cuthbert Hamilton, Ezra Pound, William Roberts, Wyndham Lewis, Frederick Etchels, and Edwatd Wadsworth.

  


     Like other self-conscious schools of twentieth century modernism, Vorticism was imprecisely defined by its inventors, inevitably then producing work of considerable variety.   Though the concept of the vortex had been first used by Ezra Pound to refer to some contemporary art and poetry, suggesting the site of the greatest concentration of energy, the idea of a Vorticist movement emerged publicly with Wyndham Lewis’s Blast in 1915 and the show at the Doré Galleries in London the same year. [1]  With an eye on being the most avant-garde of the avant-gardes, Lewis had sought to distinguish himself from recognized schools, maintaining the superiority of his own version of the geometric designs of Cubism, encouraging abstraction energized by a certain modern dynamic sometimes labeled “hard-edged,” resembling Futurism with an interest in industry and violence.   Lewis’s own art and that of others who exhibited as Vorticists – the original show included Lewis, Jessica Dismorr, Henri Gaudier-Brzeska, William Roberts, Helen Saunders, Frederick Etchells, and Edward Wadsworth [2] -- combined Cubist fragmentation of reality with imagery derived from the machine and the urban environment.  The idea of Vorticism itself adds little to understanding of the works from that show or of Pound’s poetry of the time.  Lifting the banner of a militant movement, however, l did provide an arena for avant-garde posturing by both Lewis and Pound, entertaining in itself, but shedding limited light on their art.   

      The investigation into the question of to what extent, if any, these artists constituted a coherent group would seem to depend primarily on their adherence to the principles of Vorticism.  As it happens, the same year of the Vorticist exhibition, Lewis published a manifesto in his journal Blast. [3]  The reader might be baffled to find virtually no reference to visual art in this document.  Its attention-getting typography reinforces the notion of volume implied by the publication’s title, but the shouting does not seem to add up to much of a program.  The emphasis is rather on playing the bohemian viva voce, satirizing the priggish and the sentimental, the conventional and the bourgeois, while claiming for England (and in that way for himself) the leadership of modern art.  Lewis here constructs a persona by taking center stage to enact the role of the modern artist.

     There are artistic references, all polemical, in the series of declarations opening the inaugural and penultimate issue of Blast titled “Long Live the Vortex!”  Bearing the banner of the avant-garde holds for Lewis a critical significance.  Due to the value he places in novelty, he declares that “education (art education and general education) tends to destroy the creative instinct,” though his own theory remains obscure, apart from a commitment “to destroy politeness, standardization, and academic, that is civilized, vision” and to express “vivid and violent ideas.”  He arbitrarily claims that “great artists in England are always revolutionary, just as in France any really fine artist have [sic] a strong traditional vein.”  Precisely what this might mean is unexpressed, except that Vorticist art must engage “the Reality of the Present,” shaped by the artist acting as an individual.

     With a self-conscious deprecation of realism, he maintains that Vorticism means to appeal to “every class and description of people, TO THE INDIVIDUAL” in spite of the fact that he is well aware that the overwhelming majority of the populace will never hear the word.  He emphasizes this vague universality, concluding with the summary statement: “Blast presents an art of individuals,” a proposition acceptable to most Romantic and post-Romantic critics.  In an equally ill-defined clue to the identity of Vorticism, he anticipates Surrealism, saying “WE NEED THE UNCONSCIOUSNESS OF HUMANITY – their stupidity, animalism, and dreams.” [4] 

     Whatever this may mean, he fears that his movement might be confused with Futurism which he repeatedly condemns as “sensational and sentimental,” no advance at all, but merely “the latest form of Impressionism.”  His own predilections for fascism made him no more sympathetic to Mussolini’s cheerleader.  He ridicules the Italian’s interest in industrial and mechanical imagery, saying “Marinetteism” [sic] amounts to nothing but “Automobilism.”  His rivals, though somewhat similar to Lewis to outsiders, are not to him even second-rate; they are contemptible

     Lewis compensates for the fact that Vorticism may seem to some a splinter of a faction by jauntily speculating on the pillars of society becoming Vorticists: Lloyd George, shortly to become prime minister, Lady Mond, Baroness Melchett, and perhaps even the king.  The effect of the suggestion, of course, is to emphasize its unlikeliness and thus to highlight Lewis’s counter-cultural credentials.

     “Long Live the Vortex!” is followed by a lengthy manifesto, or series of manifestoes.  The first eighteen pages are a compilation of blessings and curses of things English and French, an amusing and typographically spectacular definition, I suppose, of Lewis’s specific individuality.  Much of this content is satirical or otherwise humorous, though certain significant patterns emerge.  English wet weather and politeness are both rather predictably condemned, but so are England’s “socialist-playwright” and “tonks.”  Considering France he curses “gallic gush,” the Arc de Triomphe, and France’s status as a “Mecca for Americans” and for many an “amative German professor.”  The years 1837 to 1900, the period of “bourgeois Victorian vistas” are denounced as a whole, though he blesses Britain’s “seafarers” expressing particular fondness for their “restless machines.”  Having blasted “humour” in one section, he returns to bless it a few pages later.  In England the “art-pimp” is blasted though with no description by which he might be identified, while in France a similarly mysterious “bad music” is condemned.  The reader is clearly dealing with a self-identified enfant terrible, more eager to provoke than to present a new view of artistic practice.  The address of Blast is, after all, the Rebel Art Centre, implying that the most important element in Lewis’s Vorticist program is rebellion.

     A seven-part document titled “Manifesto” follows.  Part I sheds little new light on artistic practice, but rather aims to evoke and destroy dualities in the same pronouncements.  This principle is restated in several forms.  The first item says “Beyond Action and Reaction we would establish ourselves.”  Next, starting from “opposite statements of a chosen world,” the Vorticist wishes to set up a “violent structure” between the extremes.  Thus “we discharge ourselves on both sides.”  Etc.  What this might mean in terms of practice or connoisseurship remains obscure.

     Perhaps in illustration of this dialectic, Lewis proceeds, after establishing England’s reputation as “anti-artistic,” to assert that this is the very reason “why England produces such good artists.”   Hints of appropriate subject matter emerge as “the Art-instinct is permanently primitive,” finding “stimulus” in a chaos of imperfection, discord, etc.,” a “savage” wholly unlike any “Futurist individual of Mr. Marinetti’s limited imagination.”  The modern artist will derive material from “this enormous, jangling, journalistic fairy desert of modern life” as artists of the past had been inspired by nature.   In spite of the world’s being “a fairy desert,” Lewis laments the passing of fairies and offers a somewhat premature elegy for the Spanish bullfight.  Fruitful imaginative resources, “springs of creation,” remain, however, characterized by “mysticism,” “gladiatorial instincts,” and “blood and asceticism.” 

     Shakespeare embodies a certain British “mysticism, madness, and delicacy” uniting comedy and tragedy.  Lewis indulges in his peculiar version of chauvinism by claiming that the “Modern World” as a whole is due to “Anglo-Saxon genius,” making the English the natural practitioners of the imagery of “machinery, trains, steamships” “buildings, bridges, and works.”  They are “the inventors” of modern “bareness and hardness,” and the enemies of “Romanticism,” while the similar modernism of the Futurists is to him spurious, “romantic and sentimental,” nothing but “gush.”  The tone of the journal is clear from the next feature, poetry from Ezra Pound, beginning with his “Salutation the Third” which opens, “Let us deride the smugness of ‘the Times’:/ GUFFAW!”

     Apart from his considerable brio in presenting an individualistic catalogue of preferences somewhat resembling the lists of the hip and the non-hip Norman Mailer compiled for the Village Voice and his generalized bad boy persona the reader may yet wonder just what a Vorticist work of art looks like.  The show at the Doré Gallery perforce answered that question and, in Lewis’s “Note for Catalogue” [7] of the exhibition, he let the cat peek just a bit out of the bag.  He opens with an adroit faux naïf use of passive voice, referring to “painters, to whom the name Vorticist has been given” (as though he and Pound had not concocted the movement).  He has not dropped his rivalry with Marinetti, referring to the “fuss and hysterics of the Futurists,” but he is now at pains to distinguish himself from another rival as well, Picasso in whose work he finds “passivity” (Lewis used all capitals) in contrast to Vorticist “activity.”  To him Picasso is a “dressmaker” who simply “matches little bits of stuff he finds lying about. He puts no life into the pieces of cloth or paper he sticks side by side, but rather contemplates their beauty.”

      The heart of Lewis’s remarks in this introduction to the exhibition, however, stresses abstraction rather than dynamism.

The impression received on a hot afternoon on the quays of some port, made up of the smell of tar and fish, the heat of the sun, the history of the place, cannot be conveyed by any imitation of a corner of it. The influences weld themselves into an hallucination or dream (which all the highest art has always been) with a mathematic of its own.   

He criticizes naturalistic or academic painting the goal of which is what was later called photorealism, concluding that abstraction is the only adequate method of conveying his vision.  His whimsy has not altogether departed.  He suggests that if advertisements were abstract “the effect architecturally would be much better, and the Public taste could thus be educated in a popular way to appreciate the essentials of design better than picture-galleries have ever done.”  As a final caprice, he implies that Vorticism is a contribution to the British war effort in contending against German Kultur.  In terms of actual Vorticist characteristics, gallery-goers are offered only in fact abstraction as a kind of higher symbolism and the idea of energy.

     While Blast had been primarily a counter-cultural entertainment, an irreverent eruption making considerable noise while shedding little light, the exhibit allowed Lewis to define the “movement” with bit more specificity.  Today descriptions of Vorticist art generally limit themselves to prescribing “hard-edged abstraction” allied on the one hand with Cubist forms and on the other with Futurist themes. 

     The movement’s other parent, however, was Ezra Pound whose primary concern was literary.  Pound argues in his essay “Vortex” [8] for a sort of abstraction in literature as well as visual art, quoting with approval Pater’s line that “all arts approach the conditions of music.” He elaborates.

It is no more ridiculous that a person should receive or convey an emotion by means of an arrangement of shapes, or planes, or colours, than that they should receive or convey such emotion by an arrangement of musical notes.

 For him consciousness is “the primary pigment,” and the artist is reproducing a state of mind, not an observed external scene.  Just as poetry tends toward the pleasures of music, music answers and, to him, “music, sheer melody, seems as if it were just bursting into speech.”  Everything is symbolic.  “The vorticist relies not upon similarity or analogy, not upon likeness or mimicry.”  Realism is a “secondary application”

     In Pound’s Vorticist poetry prettiness, too, is not the focus. 

Since the beginning of bad writing, writers have used images as ornaments. The point of Imagisme is that it does not use images as ornaments. The image is itself the speech. The image is the word beyond formulated language.

In accordance with Pound’s admiration for craft, the primary aim for him is formal, a value highlighted by his claim (which he immediately moderates) that “Lewis is Bach.” 

Music was vorticist in the Bach-Mozart period, before it went off into romance and sentiment and description. A new vorticist music would come from a new computation of the mathematics of harmony, not from a mimetic representation of dead cats in a fog-horn, alias noise-tuners.

     Far from dropping Imagisme for Vorticism, he built on its foundation.  Far from being left behind, the image generates the vortex.  For him “THE IMAGE IS NOT an idea,” and presumably not mere decoration either. He characterizes it using formal terms, beginning with the word vortex itself.  To Pound the vortex is “a radiant node or cluster.”  His images are meant neither to be symbols requiring decoding nor decorative elements, but rather vortices, formal patterns “from which, and through which, and into which, ideas are constantly rushing.”  Even the sort of images he admired in East Asian poetry become, through this lens, vorticist nodes of activity in spite of their apparent stillness.   Rhythms alone are, like music, capable of communicating anything.  “I believe that every emotion and every phase of emotion has some toneless phrase, some rhythm-phrase to express it.”

     Physicists in the early twentieth century found, upon close examination of material reality, that its apparent solidity conceals teeming activity and extraordinary potential energy on the subatomic level.  At the time of Vorticism scientists were beginning to dig deeper yet, uncovering first the mysteries of relativity and then those of quantum mechanics.   By analogy the Vorticist claimed to be likewise looking into the very essence of things. 

     Pound, then, argues for the formal values of abstraction while maintaining a practice of imagism, asserting what to him  are essentially artistic values against thematics.  He republishes his principles of Imagism which have now become principles of Vorticism as well. [9] He aspires to pass beyond the mild beauty of the picturesque, beyond the appeal of the concrete specific, to reach a glimpse of the tumultuous, sometimes awe-inspiring energy of the vortex.   He repeats at the same time Lewis’s conviction that Vorticism must be altogether au courant, in the very forefront of innovation.  “Vortex is the present, the moment of the creation of the future.”

     To visualize Vorticism as the central modern art movement he situates it among others, Marinetti, Picasso, and Kandinsky in particular.  He declares defiantly that Marinetti “did not set on the egg that hatched me,” he disparages Marinetti’s Futurism as merely “a sort of accelerated  impressionism.”  For him all non-Vorticist work, “every work that is not poised in this whirlpool” [i.e., the vortex) “is a corpse”.

     On the other hand he admires the artists most associated with abstraction and Cubism, Kandinsky and Picasso, and is willing to accept descent in their lineage.  “Picasso, Kandinski, father and mother, classicism and romanticism of the of the [Vorticist] movement.”  In associating Picasso with a sort of “classicism,” he may have been recognizing the tendency toward poised serenity in composition of many of Picasso’s Cubist work during the World War I period even before what art historians often label his ”classical” phase. 

     To Kandinsky he attributed the principle that content is quite irrelevant.  “An artist should have just as much pleasure in an arrangement of planes or in a pattern of figures, as in painting portraits of fine ladies, or in portraying the Mother of God as the symbolists bid us.”  This insistence on abstraction is shared by Lewis and Pound and is perhaps the chief discernable principle of Vorticism. 

     The documents here analyzed preserve the idea of the movement, though Lewis’s visual works might well be subsumed under other labels.  Vorticism is ever elusive since it “never presented a coherent point of view.” [11]  A critical article wonders “on what basis we can call any work of art ‘Vorticist,’” adding  “It is difficult to imagine any sentence as an example of the Vorticist style, or any visual style in painting.”  A description of Vorticist work might be equally applied to paintings by Kandinsky or Picasso or, indeed, to “most of the paintings created between 1907 and 1915 by the avant-garde.”   Vorticist poetry seems to be in an even worse case.  Even when looking at Pound’s own work, the Vorticist character “remains elusive.” [10]  another investigator says that, in general, Vorticism “failed miserably,” and “left no permanent traces on  Western styles of art.”   “If few understood it then,” the writer concludes, “it is even more obscure now.” [12]

     Vorticism, though occasioned perhaps more by Lewis’s break with Roger Fry’s Omega group and Pound’s rambunctious free-lance troublemaking than by theoretical considerations, enjoyed a brief efflorescence.  At its crest, though, the movement had little to distinguish it from the longer-lived trends of Imagism and Cubism.  Vorticism’s founders, much as they looked down upon Marinetti, shared with him a noxious politics that has discouraged discipleship.  Yet for a time Vorticism seized the spotlight of the art world, though this most often meant attracting scorn.  The Daily Mail commented that “Almost any child between the ages of eight months and three years can be a first rate Vorticist if it is given some lightly coloured paints, bottle of blacking and mama’s new white tablecloth.” [13]  Such philistinism is by no means entailed by a critique of Vorticism.  Lewis’s pictures and Pound’s poems retain a lasting value and Blast will remain a marvel, a pyrotechnic display that energizes and amuses still after more than a hundred years, a reminder of a time when the Bohemian avant-garde still possessed the power to shock and, with that sometimes, to stimulate thinking.    

 

 

1.  This was followed by a New York show at the Penguin Club the same year1915.  The group then lost coherence, though elements recoalesced as Group X (which exhibited in 1920).  Since then, major shows focusing on Vorticism as a historic phenomenon, first at the Tate in 1956, and since at the Estorick Collection in 2004, and again at the Tate in 2011. 

2.  Others of the circle included Lawrence Atkinson, Cuthbert Hamilton, and Sir Jacob Epstein.

3.  Though the manifesto bears eleven signatures, it is thought to have been written by Lewis.

4.  Capitals in the original.  Following this statement, however, Lewis’s capitalization seems impressionistic and improvisatory, guided by design more than content.  To avoid an unpleasantly busy page, I shall silently return other cited phrases to conventional capitalization. 

5.  Reprinted in Advertisements for Myself, p. 364-6 where the reader learns that “Schrodinger’s model of the atom,” “differential calculus,” and Catholic things are hip, while  “Bohr’s model of the atom,” “analytic geometry,” and what is Protestant are square. 

6.  Whether another critic might deem “Les Demoiselles d'Avignon” passive may seem dubious, though many of the artists’ Cubist works are serenely composed and he was shortly to enter what art historians call his neo-classical period.

7.  Available online at https://exhibitions.univie.ac.at/exhibition/724.

8.  “Vorticism,”  The Fortnightly Review, September 1914.  Available at https://fortnightlyreview.co.uk/vorticism/.

9.  “A Few Don’ts by an Imagist,” Poetry Magazine,z March 1913. 

10.  William C. Lipke and Bernard W. Rozran, “Ezra Pound and Vorticism: A Polite Blast,” Wisconsin Studies in Contemporary Literature Vol. 7, No. 2 (Summer, 1966).

11.  Arthur J. Sabatini, “Vorticism Revitalized,” Journal of Modern Literature, Vol. 38, No. 4 (Summer 2015).

12.  Herbert N. Schneidau, “Vorticism and the Career of Ezra Pound.”  Modern Philology, Vol. 65, No. 3 (Feb., 1968).

13.  Quoted in  Andrew Thacker “Blasting Beyond Britain,” Fortnightly Review, August 24, 2011.

Sunday, September 1, 2019

Lola Ridge as Agitprop Modernist



     I have elsewhere argued that aesthetic judgments are entirely independent of moral values or other thematic considerations. Were we to eschew books written by those who believed in slavery, we would lose Plato. If Roman Catholicism were deemed a superstition occluding any clear view of the world, Dante must be discarded. If sexism, racism, or class prejudice made an author unreadable, the library shelves would hold very little.
     This conviction, which I believe I share with Marx and Engels, has estranged me from writers with whom I carry protest signs, but who think the correct political line an enhancement to a work of literature and its absence a disqualifying failing. Such assumptions are to me little different from the philistine notion that authors thought to be free-living can produce nothing of worth, while those with exemplary lives are likely to produce exemplary work. How silly.
     The historical fact remains that McCarthyism and its predecessors and followers not only handicapped American society to the extent that we still lag behind all other developed nations in most measures of social welfare, it also led to the elimination of dozens of writers worth reading. In fact as artists writers identified with the left need have little else in common. Perhaps the most apparent division is that between those who identified with Modernism with its frequent fragmentation and obscurity and those who aimed at a fully proletarian art, immediately clear to the uneducated as a catalyst for social change. Since the leftist intellectuals of the era were such a heterogeneous lot, few aesthetic generalizations about the movement are possible.
     Lola Ridge is among those whose reputations diminished almost to the vanishing point before enjoying renewed attention in recent years. Her prominence in both avant-garde literary circles and in the radical socialist movement is evident from her associations with periodicals. She published in Emma Goldman’s Mother Earth and served as poetry editor for the revolutionary journal The New Masses. She published in Alfred Kreymborg’s Others and edited Harold Loeb’s Broom, but also appeared in and edited major magazines such as Poetry, New Republic, and The Saturday Review of Literature. She embraced poverty even after achieving considerable celebrity. Rexroth’s line in “Thou Shalt Not Kill” is the simple truth: “Lola Ridge alone/ In an icy furnished room.” By 1999 a critic could describe her as “now forgotten,” [1] yet at the time of her death in 1941, she was celebrated by the New York Times and Publishers Weekly as one of the country’s most important poets.
     Much recent comment on Ridge has focused first on the decline of her reputation. While her revival is well-deserved, it seems that much of the rebirth of interest in her work in the last few decades is inspired by the same non-aesthetic criteria often blamed for her eclipse; that is, her radical themes and her gender.
     She attempted to combine her straightforward commitment to left-wing causes, arising from her own unimpeachably proletarian life experience, with the tenets of the artistic experimenters of her day whop dealt in Imagism, fragmentation, indirection, and ambiguity. How these two elements combine, how impressively they collide or harmonize is likely to determine the reader’s reaction to Ridge’s oeuvre. The polarity emerges as early as Ridge’s breakthrough publication, “The Ghetto.”
     The first section of “The Ghetto” includes a line that echoes Pound’s celebrated “In a Station of the Métro,” which had been published five years earlier comparing the faces of passers-by to fallen flower petals. Ridge writes “Herring-yellow faces, spotted as with a mold, / And moist faces of girls/ Like dank white lilies.” The Lower East Side residents are beautiful like flowers yet afflicted with mold. The force hostile to their lives is then figured as oppressive heat “like a great beast.” The heat in Hester Street, “Heaped like a dray/ With the garbage of the world.” The apparently helpless distress of Hester Street resembles (and includes) “infants' faces with open parched mouths that suck at the air as at empty teats.” In its fragmentary, associative technique the poem was aesthetically au courant in 1916, the year of its publication.
     In the following image, however, the agitprop themes take priority. The “young women” moving about the neighborhood are, it seems, all attending “forums and meeting halls,” presumably organizing to end capitalism. In this aspect they overcome the monster of their circumstances represented by heat and become themselves “surging” and “indomitable.” They are suddenly unburdened, “their heads are uncovered to the stars,” calling out “with a free camaraderie,” as though they had never suffered. While these terms certainly may describe the attitude of a worker who has realized the basis for exploitation, they are less likely to characterize an entire neighborhood. Can this newfound self-consciousness render the immigrants unconquerable and free-spirited?
     In the mythic role of “the people” or “the masses” “their eyes are ancient and alone.” They are a timeless presence, enduring everything as Ma Joad says of “the people” in her famous speech in Grapes of Wrath: “But we keep a-comin’. We’re the people that live. Can’t nobody wipe us out. Can’t nobody lick us.” Thus the working class gains in theory a positive prognosis that may or may not obtain in history, even if soi-disant scientific socialists think the development from capitalism to socialism is inevitable. Failing to fall in line may gain an individual the title of “defeatist.” [2] The reader may suspect that Ridge has strayed from impressionist Imagism into a tendentious program.
     The next section (II) describes the persona’s room sublet from a working class family in the most specific and personal terms. Though unmentioned, the larger strictures of American capitalism remain always in the background. She observes the piety of the senior Sodos with sympathy but not unanimity. To her Mr. Sodos’ devotions amount to nothing more than “a broken whinnying/ Before the Lord's shut gate.” The persona’s sympathies lie instead with Sadie whom she calls “pagan” and presumably others of the younger generation among whom it was not uncommon to abandon their parents’ Old World traditions. [3]
     She may be inherently something of a free spirit, but Sadie’s life is nonetheless dominated by her work in a sweatshop where “all day the power machines/ Drone in her ears” and “all day the fine dust flies.” Her misery reanimates the heat monster which “like a kept corpse - /Fouls to the last corner.” She has twice been injured “to the bone,” and must caution her fellow-workers not to be too productive for fear of “again” being cut in hours or pay. She is, in fact, an exemplary radical, educating herself with “those books that have most unset thought,” and speaking at protest meetings, “her lit eyes kindling the mob.”
     Ridge was, however, no Stalinist, but instead an anarchist, an associate of Emma Goldman whom she applauded as a “mountain” and an organizer for the Ferrer Association. [4] Her heroine Sadie is also something of a bohemian, dancing “madly” at festivals and welcoming a “Gentile lover, that she charms and shrews” at whom her mother casts “narrowed eyes.” Sadie’s reading is perhaps overmatched by her upstairs neighbor Anna whose “mind is hard and brilliant and cutting like an acetylene torch,” though she works “in a pants factory.” She reads “psychology, plays, science, philosophies,” though only just studying English. This remarkable woman defies gender expectations, neglecting her appearance, she “covets nothing” and “would share all things/ Even a lover.”
     Though the working-class movement was substantial and genuinely radical in Ridge’s day, the number of believers in free love was miniscule. Here again the idealized picture of the dawning of revolutionary consciousness among the poor ill-fits the uncompromising realism of the setting, constructed of such details as “the keen draught blowing up the empty hall” and through the transom.
     In the third section the sharply observed details of tenement life are foregrounded with only the most discreet hint of the imagined glory of a socialist potential. “The sturdy Ghetto children” are happily waving flags at a patriotic parade. They possess considerable élan vital, “prancing,” “lusty,” the promise of the rising generation. As though in proud if unconscious Promethean rebellion, they shake “little fire sticks” at the night, “unafraid.” In contrast to these figures of hope Ridge embodies the effects of generations of oppression by capitalists and anti-Semites in “a small girl” who “cowers apart.” Confused and afraid, she is unable to appreciate the gift of an orange. Her eyes have the glow/ Of darkened lights.” Anxious rather than excited by the occasion, she dashes off to take refuge in the night, afraid. Her eyes are bright but shrouded, “like hooded lights” “out of the shadow of pogroms.” Though it is likely to be the observer, not the child, who recalls of the persecutions of the Old World, the cowed look of the underclass is authentically drawn.
     The fourth section again reproduces the pattern. The first section is a rich catalogue celebrating the lives of the immigrants as a lovely “tapestry” (though a “motley” one) or a pattern “in stained glass” (albeit “shivered”). “All the colors out to play,/ Jumbled iridescently...” The chaos clearly possesses a kind of beauty.


Calicoes and furs,
Pocket-books and scarfs,
Razor strops and knives


Ridge’s list turns from pickles to ornaments: beads, ribbons, and feathers, indicating the people’s joie de vivre, and then to an even more emphatically positive image: a vision of babies with their mothers “making all things right.” With all the crowds and activity Grand street is “like a great bazaar,” resembling also a decorated parade float or a “crazy quilt/ Stretched on a line.” Each of these suggests a joyful affirmation of life in its intoxicating diversity.
     However, Ridge follows these images of hope and fecundity with a turn toward darker notes beginning with the word “but.” She proceeds in stages.


But nearer seen
This litter of the East
Takes on a garbled majesty.


The word “but” signals the poet’s alteration of tone. “Majesty” remains, but it is now “garbled.” The phrase “litter of the East,” while suggesting Eastern European origins, poverty, and crowding, might have come directly from nativist propaganda. The market stalls display “glitter and the jumbled finery” in an ambiguous “dissolute array,” but they also suggest something “faded” and “decomposing.”


The richest image marks another transition.
Like an ancient tapestry of motley weave
Upon the open wall of this new land.


     The people’s beauty is implied by the word “tapestry” but the qualification “motley,” economically indicates their heterogeneous character and suggesting (for instance in the phrase “motley crew”) their penury. Their appearance here is accidental; they have been “flung” to survive as best they can. Though stemming from “ancient” cultures, they are in a new and unpredictable context.
     The contrast is illustrated by the following portrait.


Here, a tawny-headed girl...
Lemons in a greenish broth
And a huge earthen bowl
By a bronzed merchant
With a tall black lamb's wool cap upon his head...


     These sharp distinct images, it emerges, serve the same bipolar opposition that has run throughout the poem. The young “tawny-haired” woman has little in common with the swarthy merchant whose mind is fixed on business alone. (In fact, he resembles anti-Semitic stereotypes.) The older generation is also represented by another stall-holder, a pious and scholarly man who is mocked by the younger Jews as well as being roughly ousted by the police. He is, however, a “rock,” due to his faith in “the wisdom of the Talmud.” He is another timeless or “ancient” figure.
     By contrast a “young trader,” less of a traditionalist, seems a precursor of modern marketing as he sells “the notions of the hour,” rather like a television pitchman. This man dreams of building a skyscraper, an accomplishment doubtless achieved by more than one man who started as a pushcart vendor.
     In the sixth section the persona in her “little fifth-floor room” sees the stained walls and cockroaches of her shabby quarters. Her neighbors are weak and poor and often ailing. They are described here with adjectives such as “stooped,” “futile,” and “slack.” Even the parrot is “frowsy,” but it repeatedly calls out the word “Vorwärts!” reminding the reader that out of squalor liberation may emerge. Vorwärts, meaning “forward” in both Yiddish and German might signify progress in general, but it is here specific to the economic struggle. The word was most familiar to Ridge’s readers as the name of the popular Yiddish socialist daily, a journal that survives today. The Forward was a neighborhood institution, founded in Walhalla Hall just around the corner from Hester on Orchard Street.
     The fires of life and potential rebellion within still burn, their persistence signified by lighting Shabbat candles, in Yiddish called licht bentschen or "light praying" or licht tsinden, "light kindling.” The ritual meaning of their fires is displaced in section VII in which a fiery revolutionary spirit becomes explicit in a depiction of a clandestine anarchist meeting. In this gathering of the most collective of theorists she finds instead “egos out of the shell,” trying to prevail against each other with words, practicing with pride if imperfectly their new-found intellectual skills in debates with each other. [5] They may seem unlikely intellectuals, these “little squat tailors with unkempt faces,” In a partial rationalization of individualist/collective conundrum one “garbles,” Max Stirner, the anarchist of egoism who thought no imperative exists except the pursuit of self-interest. Here men (and a few women) charge ever forward; the only ancient element is their suffering, the “world-old want in their eyes.” Their absurdities are understandable as they are “yet in the primer” and their leader a mere “lank boy with hair over his eyes.” Yet they follow a glorious vision.


The great white Liberty,
Trailing her dissolving glory over each hard-won barricade -
Only to fade anew...


     For this reason their efforts in this “secret meeting in this shut-in room” are blessed and the room’s emptiness, which at first resembled a “barn” is now “bare as a manger,” recalling Christ’s poverty.
     In spite of this conflation of the political and the religious, this seems more a sketch from life than an intrusion of vulgar “socialist realism.” The radicals are portrayed without unrealistic idealization. Their self-contradictions and their absurdity are clear. Here Ridge’s Imagist practice again prevails over the reductive temptations of a political line.
     In Part VIII she situates the entire scene in “cramped ova” where once again the opposition arises between the world’s harshness with its “travails, immolations, cataclysms, hates,” and the beautiful babies “like little potted flowers.” The men’s eyes may be “heavy and dimmed,” but they retain a vision of the moon “lolling on the coverlet... like a woman offering her white body.” The same sensual moon is meanwhile making the nipples of the young girls “tingle and burn.” Eros, it seems is the dynamo that powers these “young lovers” and not an end to exploitation. They can hear life “calling its new Christs” “like a word molten out of the mouth of God.”
     A lovely phantasmagoria descends with the night and a delicate loveliness descends over the ghetto.


Lights go out...
And colors rush together,
Fusing and floating away...
Pale worn gold like the settings of old jewels...
Mauves, exquisite, tremulous, and luminous purples
And burning spires in aureoles of light
Like shimmering auras.


     Part IX continues the affirmative celebration of the life of the street and of life in general without entailing a specific political end. The viewpoint returns to its center, the tenement room occupied by the persona. The delicate beauty of the scene is now paramount.


Without, the frail moon
Worn to a silvery tissue,
Throws a faint glamour on the roofs,
And down the shadowy spires
Lights tip-toe out...
Softly as when lovers close street doors.


     Again Hester Street is characterized as a woman, though suffering has not vanished as a subtext; the neighborhood is “a forlorn woman over-born.” “The Ghetto” concludes with a paean to “LIFE!,” with Ridge’s emphatic capitalization and exclamation point. Likely influence by Bergsons’s élan vital. Here “the black and clotted gutters” are simply another detail like the “Sweet staccato/ Of children's laughter.” The spectacle of commerce is from this perspective a musical interchange of energies. The replacement of the old with the new seems a part of the great symphony of reality.
     The poem ends with the incorporation of suffering (“bloody,” “bitter”) into this majestic and beautiful depiction, including an explicit reference to Christ’s Passion implying that the redemptive trials of the workers will yet result in their redemption.

Bartering, changing, extorting,
Dreaming, debating, aspiring,
Astounding, indestructible
Life of the Ghetto...

Strong flux of life,
Like a bitter wine
Out of the bloody stills of the world...
Out of the Passion eternal.


     “The Ghetto” is built on a number of bipolar oppositions, set against one another in swinging Whitmanic lines. Thematically the most important is the old and the new, a natural reflection of the immigrant experience. This appears as the contrast between religious faith and secularism, with its choice of individualistic commerce and collective struggle. In association with these themes, significant image systems play off moist against fiery and dark against light. Surely the opposition between those who believe they glimpse the possibility of a better life and those focused on improving their lot under present conditions is as legitimate and workable a structural element as these (or others such as male/female or hot/cold that play a role in the poem).
     There can be no doubt that the contrast of the revolutionary with the traditional was a prominent part of Hester Street life in the early twentieth century. It is difficult to realize now that there were at the time of the publication of “The Ghetto” and for thirty years thereafter neighborhoods in which communism and anarchism were commonplace. “It was life, the only life I ever knew, and it was alive. Intense, absorbing, filled with a kind of comradeship I never again expect to know…. We literally felt we were making history.” [6] Though Ridge may strike current readers as falsely including the question of revolution among the daily concerns of New Yorkers, this is due to historical short-sightedness.
     Art excels at ambiguity, mystery, and paradox whereas political commitment must for tactical reasons suppress ambivalence and uncertainty. For this reason tendentious works can be reductive. In Ridge, though, the poetry leads. Her lyrically beautiful images are the most prominent feature of her text. She is faithful to her impression of experience, with only an occasional hyperbole suggesting special pleading. Her anarchist notion of the possibility of human freedom serves a spiritual as well as an economic end. Revolution is in fact only a part of a larger opposition between the old and the new that oscillates in the Lower East Side ghetto in harmonic association with other tensions. If readers do not fault Aristophanes or Dante for detailing the struggles of their own times , making no secret of their own partisan positions, they need not shrink from Americans whose causes seem to them passé . Those to whom anarchists seem silly or Communists wicked as well as those who wish their art to conform to one ideology or another have a good deal in common. Those concerned with poetry will be content with the rhythms and the images.





1. Nancy Berke, “Ethnicity, Class, and Gender in Lola Ridge's ‘The Ghetto,’" Vol. 16, No. 1, Discourses of Women and Class (1999), pp. 70-81. Revaluations include Terese Svoboda’s biography Anything that Burns You and Louise Bernikow’s discussion in A History of Twentieth-Century American Women's Poetry.

2. I myself was so labeled by a militant organization many years ago, though I thought my own analysis as radical as theirs.

3. In the decade to follow, this sort of generational conflict became the theme of popular works such as Abie’s Irish Rose and The Jazz Singer.

4. The phrase appears n her poem titled “Emma Goldman.” The association between radicalism and looser morality is by no means constant outside of anarchism. Vivian Gornick recalls her parents advising her to date only Communist boys as they would more predictably treat her with “respect.”

5. The American left has often repeated the story of factions turning on others, more easily defeatable than the ruling class, with whom they might better form a popular front. In this it resembles the splits of religious sects.

6. Paul Levinson, quoted in Vivian Gornick’s The Romance of American Communism.