"The Lie" by Anne Waldman - A review

Here's my winning submission for the Jaipur Literature Festival @Colorado. A review of the poem 'Lie' by Anne Waldman

The Lie

by Anne Waldman B.

Art begins with a lie

The separation is you plus me plus what we make

Look into the lightbulb, blink, sun's in your eye

I want a rare sky

vantage point free from misconception

Art begins with a lie

Nothing to lose, spontaneous rise

of reflection, paint the picture

of a lightbulb, or eye the sun

How to fuel the world, then die

Distance yourself from artfulness

How? Art begins with a lie

The audience wants to cry

when the actors are real & passionate

Look into footlight, then feed back to eye

You fluctuate in an artful body

You try to imitate the world's glory

Art begins with a lie

That's the story, sharp speck in the eye.

We engage ourselves in creating and appreciating art. Do we ever try to see the truth that is altered by it, the truth that lingers beneath the surface?

As Anne Waldman writes in her poem ‘Lie’, there are different perspectives to seeing something, namely, my perspective, your perspective and what is captured within an art. So even before the execution of art the lie has already been decided upon. It is as if when one stares at a light bulb and can see only the light emanating, but not its source. 

                                                                                                                                

Anne throws light through her poem on how a work of art should be rare and true. It should be what the eyes perceive, the initial image, and not what the mind creates. We see only a reflection of the source, and what we insert is what the mind creates, regardless of whether the source is a light bulb or the sun.

The poetess throws light upon how art based on light might blind people from seeing the truth behind it and how the artist easily helps them see what they want to see. So reality is always better than art. When the actors enact on stage, the audience is aware of the masks donned by them, but still they express their emotions freely, for they prefer it to reality.

Anyone can try and imitate, but in the end it is all a lie. It is as if the mask is only a temporary relief because truth tend to resurface when the least expected. This poem for me has a strong resemblance to the hero Stephen Dedalus in 'the portrait of artist as a young man' by James Joyce. The epiphany that leads Stephen to change his perception seems to be the gist of this poem.  Anne Waldman has stated what we all know of art and life, and how the two differ, but we tend to turn a blind eye to the truth.

This poem has inspired me to write a few words of my own on art.

Art or Lie?

I had seen the artist

in a frenzy

moving his hand

stroke after stroke

the easel filling with shades.

And a child

straining to be still

restraining its movements

for it is to be done

to ease the hunger.

I had seen her desperation

the fake smile

the unshed tears

the soiled attire

as poverty smiled at me.

Today I see the work displayed

claimed among the best

portrays a happy child

with an innocent smile

gone are the feelings

and the strain on her face

No more is she

the poorly clad child

and my heart cried

for, 'art begins with a lie'.