Inflammatory Writ

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 :-)