Inflammatory Writ

The inflammatory writ is the rush of inspiration for writing. I think she is mocking how difficult it is to write something good (maybe she is being self-critical and the poetaster is herself?):

(she got inspired and begun writing) And all at once it came to me, and i wrote and hunched 'till four-thirty (but could not produce anything worth) But that vestal light, it burns out with the night in spite of all the time that we spent on it: one bedraggled ghost of a sonnet! (in comparison to others that do produce a lot. How do they do it?) While outside, the wild boars root without bending a bough underfoot- O it breaks my heart; I don't know how they do't.

I can't see any criticism on "modern writing", though

I think that this is by far the most self-explanatory of all Joanna's songs... but I'll go through what I read in it anyway, just because that's the nature of this site :-)

It's pretty much about writers' block: she calls herself the poetaster (though really she is far from it!), and this song is about the frustration of trying to create something magnificent with writing, and struggling to do so.

When she says "Your text that would incite a light 'Be lit'", I think it's a reference to Genesis 1:3 "And God said, 'Let there be light,' and there was light." Joanna's referring to just how powerful words can be (those words certainly were!), and how she seeks words that could explode and illuminate something equally unique and amazing into her audience; the reference is also fitting, since that was the first ever instance of creation, and her creativity seeks to fall into the same line. It seems, however, a uniquely divine feat to be able to create something out of nothing... it can be very hard, and that is the struggle central to the song.

"And what's it mean when suddenly we're spent? Ambition came and reared its head, and went." - this very simply talks about the desire to write, the ambition, and the fact that it can be fleeting. I know what it's like to have something I want to write about, but have the inspiration just stop when I get to it; when she says "Even mollusks have weddings,/ Though solemn and leaden/ But you dirge for the dead and take no jam on your bread/ Just a supper of salt and a waltz through your empty bed", she's lamenting the fact that EVERYTHING seems to be involved in some kind of celebration and procreation, at some level, but when it comes to her writing there is absolutely nothing: not even half-good work. The process seems more lacking in life and energy than does a mollusk... pretty depressing.

The next verse describes the first piece of action in the song, how she'd tried to write and had finally caught the wave of it, but that hadn't lasted long either... when morning came, there was less to show for it than she'd anticipated. "While outside, the wild boars root/ Without bending a bough underfoot/ O it breaks my heart; I don't know how they do't" - it's not like she's not thinking and feeling so many profound things, things she wishes to express... but, like the boars, they run around her mind and her experience but leave no footprints on her page, which remains terribly blank. It's one thing to be a clever and creative thinker, but projecting that into words is another thing altogether: it can be terribly stuck.

Okay, I'll admit that the last verse I have a bit less of a handle on... I'm not American so I'm less sure of the imagery and ideas. But I think it's practically saying that, so dejected with the failed attempt at excellent writing, she gives up. The song mocks that a little I think, as a warning against doing so but also an expression of how hard it is not to. The 'master' is the untouchable ideal that we've turned great novels into. I love this line: "... across the great plains, keening lovely & awful,/ Ululate the last Great American Novels/ An unlawful lot, left to stutter and freeze, floodlit" - the word 'ululate' means to howl or wail, like a strong wind almost, and for the novels to "stutter and freeze, floodlit" means for them to be so exposed and pulled to pieces by our scrutinous perusal and study: maybe we have put these classics on such a pedestal that to reach they now seem distant and unattainable - we put ourselves in a box we can't live up to. So we let the apostrophic (and imaginary) master intimidate us into running from the proper creative process, and the things unique to our generation's progress: focused too clearly upon the imagined end to formulate the means or have a realistic expectation.

With the last line, it can be read two ways. I think the way it is intended is "The fact that they didn't run brings them undying credit", which pretty much says "Just do it!"; but it could also say "They didn't run towards their undying credit", meaning that though the process was slow and involved, not something they could gain with a rush of inspiration and a quick pen, they ploughed their way through patiently and did come to reach pieces of writing that will always remain classics. As perfectionists, idealists, or just impatient people, we can forget that writing something good involves a process sometimes not unlike slowly moulding a formless piece of clay into something of worth, or making a painting layer by layer... regardless of whether the 'Muse' shows up at first or not. Anyway, I think this interpretation stretches the sentence too far and isn't what Joanna intended, but all the same it's interesting.

My only comment is that Joanna, if suffering from this crippling disability at the time, evidently found a very creative and productive exit from it... this song is great :-)

It is about a relationship.... A relationship with writing. The "lover" is writing. It's a fickle creature, as any writer knows. The references to love, such as "a waltz through your empty bed" refer to being abandoned by your muse. "Oh, where is your inflammatory writ Your text that would incite a light be lit"

Where is your ability to write something so powerfully emotive that it can induce passion in anyone who reads it?

"Our music deserving, devotion unswerving Cry "Do I deserve her?" with unflagging fervor Well, no we do not if we cannot get over it"

"Her" here means the muse, more or less. She's saying if you constantly worry about your inspiration leaving you ("do I deserve her?") or not being good enough to be a writer, you will never write anything of value ("Well, no we do not...")

"And what's it mean when suddenly we're spent And tell me true ambition came and reared its head and went far from you"

This is about the frustration of being suddenly inspired, and writing furiously, only to suddenly find you can't think what comes next. Inspiration comes in fits and spurts, and if you rely only on these moments of "ambition" we will never finish what we've begun.

"Even mollusks have weddings, though solemn and leaden But you dirge for the dead, and take no jam on your bread Just a supper of salt and a waltz through your empty bed"

I think this a description of how life is going on all around you, but you can't see it, because you're so depressed wishing your inspiration would come back. As I said before, the "empty bed" refers to being left without inspiration, alone.

"And all at once it came to me And I wrote and hunched 'till four-thirty But that vestal light, it burns out with the night"

I agree with others interpretation here: Suddenly inspiration does strike, and she writes and writes trying to capture it before it's gone, despite the inconvenience of the time at which it has come. Then by morning, the inspiration is gone and she's left on her own again.

In spite of all the time that we spent on it On one bedraggled ghost of a sonnet"

I think it's important here to note the meaning of "bedraggled": Overused, exhausted, worn out. She's been going over and over her writing, revising all the spirit out of it, leaving only a "ghost" of the emotion it once bore.

"While outside, the wild boars root Without bending a bough underfoot Oh it breaks my heart, I don't know how they do it So don't ask me"

I may be wrong, but I interpreted this verse as referring to the simple poetry and grace of living. It expresses her frustration at not being able to capture the grace of of the boars (not literally) in her writing- "I don't know how they do it, so don't ask me!" The boars have naturally mastered something she cannot even begin to grasp.

"And as for my inflammatory writ Well, I write it an I was not inflamed one bit Advice from the master derailed that disaster He said "Hand that pen over to me, poetaster!""

Here she finally learns not to rely on her inspiration; now she can write emotive poetry without being inflamed herself at the time. She learned from "the master" who helped her fix her "disaster" of a poem.

"While across the great plains, keen and lovely and awful Ululate the last Great American Novels An unlawful lot, left to stutter and freeze, floodlit But at least they didn't run, to their undying credit"

I must admit this verse mostly escapes me. I think Annelise's interpretation is pretty good. Listening to it again, I think maybe there shouldn't be an "and" between "keen" and "lovely"? So it should read "Keen lovely and awful". Keening is another term for a wailing, much like ululate, so that makes a bit more sense.

one of the commenters mentioned how he finds some of joanna's lines obscure to the point of meaninglessness and i have to agree. this is not necessarily a bad thing, or a claim made out of ignorance. joanna is definitely a poet in every sense. she uses tricky meter and relies on rhyme, when others just struggle to put their thoughts into words. this song is written in anapest, which means the stress falls on every third syllable. this is notoriously difficult to write, and relatively few anapestic poems are written. here's an example of what i mean from 3 different parts of the song, with the stresses capitalized:

-our MUsic deSERrving, deVOtion unSWERving cry "DO I deSERVE her?" with UNflagging FERvor -even MOLlusks have WEDdings, though SOLemn and LEADen -ulULate the LAST great aMERican NOVels

this meter typically gives that rollicking kind of feel to the poem that carries you along so quickly. because she's trying to fit her words to this pattern, this is why some strange ones always crop up in her writing (think ululate, bedraggled, unflagging from here and rangily, hydrocephalitic, dolorous from "emily"). "peach plum pear" is also written this way... we SPEAK in the STORE, i'm a SENsitive BORE... etc. as a writer, i can understand what it's like to write something that makes no sense but is beautiful to you. it's impossible to say that an abstract painting "makes sense" or "tells a story" or even that the artist's goal is clarity, but you can't argue that these paintings can be beautiful, ugly or inspiring.

all in all, joanna is an incredible writer. a lot of her writing has to do with the creative process, frustrations and writing itself, which is very unique and interesting too. i get the feeling inflammatory writ is no different.

as for the "Great American novels" bit, I think she is referring to the frustration that can result from the pursuit of perfection. The "great American novel" is something of a goal or an ideal for every American novelist. The previous lines suggest that she has given up... that her "disaster" was derailed... and by the "master" of all things. It would seem that the frustrating pursuit of perfection has caused her to give up.

Consequently, there is a wail from the last great American novels... perhaps a wail of disappointment. I think she conflates the novels and the novelists a bit in the last line, but unlike her, those novelists did not give up in the pursuit of putting just the right words to paper. And that is to their undying credit (the novelists, I assume she means)

i can't find words to describe her music...Joanna Newsom is just fantastic

her voice is so amazing on this song! just... suprising lol.

this song is a story about a lowly trying to writie a dazzling piece of literature.

reminds me of something medevial times maybe..

I am not a JN fan, but this song gets me. I love the line "Even mollusks have weddings, though solemn and leaden." It has the same effect as a very well-timed key change.

the last verse seems to me to be to be about finding inspiration in someone else's imagination. her inflamatory wit was written when she was 'not inflamed one bit' - so she has used the 'great american novels' to combat her own creative crisis. 'at least they didn't run' implies that because of their status as literature, the inspiration from them can be consistent.

inflammatory writ is written language that can inflame. it incites "a light be lit" in the sense that it causes a commotion. this song is about a relationship. she's addressing a love interest.

their relationship is suddenly spent. "waltz through your empty bed"? what else could that reference but being alone?

She spent all night writing her inflammatory writ - there's nothing about writer's block. their ~relationship~ was a bedraggled ghost of a sonnet. it's a metaphor. jeez.

the last verse is an insult to him, because he ran away. everyone knows the great american novels were full of characters like holden caulfield and gatsby - they were losers that were thrown in the gutter and beaten up and no one cared about. but at least they didn't run away from their problems, like her loser boyfriend - that's what made those characters great american heroes.

it's very subtle, yes, but so is most of her stuff.