“They seem to think they have something to say…I wish they’d get tired of tuning and play.”
-R.T. Smith, “Doc Watson on the Cicada Concert”
The first thing that stands out to me in the appearance of music in Southern poetry is not its individual significance, but rather the way it amplifies the importance of other themes. In “Doc Watson on the Cicada Concert,” R.T. Smith uses sound to project the importance of nature in Southern life.
One could easily argue that cicadas chirping hardly constitutes music, but that in itself is part of what makes this poem so Southern. The music of the South is not found in Opera Halls. Southern music isn’t played on French horns. We’d try to rename them “Freedom horns.” Southern music doesn’t strive to be great in the classical sense. Southern music is about flair, emotion, and expressions. When the Devil goes down to Georgia, he isn’t advertising violins of gold. There’s a certain practicality and simplicity that makes Southern music what it is. While classical music strives for a near robotic perfection in its performers, the South values emotion, humanity, and reality.
R.T. Smith’s poem is an example of writing what you know. Music should evoke something within its listener; it should him or her feel something. To me, the cicada concert provides familiarity. It’s the background music to so many memories of anyone who’s ever lived in the rural south. One thing that stands out to me throughout Southern poetry is a certain feeling of collective ownership in the South. This ownership yields a certain pride. These musicians may not be performing in Carnegie Hall, but they represent our music. It’s a music that, much like the South as a whole, can’t always be understood by someone who didn’t grow up surrounded by it. It’s another way of saying, “You can keep your violins; we’ve got fiddles.” With this mindset, it isn’t difficult to see the cicadas as musicians.
"XXVIII" of Stacey Lynn Brown’s Cradle Song perhaps says it best:
When New Orleans musicians
inherited instruments
left over from the Civil War,
Dixieland Jazz was born.
There’s a certain pride in taking something designed for one purpose and making it your own. The musical nature of these instruments isn’t Brown’s sole focus. She describes how they were “called to testify.” I think this is more symbolic than just drawing attention to the importance of religion in the South. There’s a hint that being Southern is a bit like being a part of a religion. You are a part of a larger collective being and these instruments are being converted and welcomed into the church.
In a lot of ways, music is used as a theme in Southern poetry in the same way that it is used as an expressional medium. The meaning and value are not in the simple fact that it is music, but rather in the message being conveyed. “Doc Watson on the Cicada Concert” isn’t just about insects chirping. It’s about the importance of nature in Southern life and its value to the collective Southern identity.
"XXVIII"
I have to point out that Sean is recapitulating my posts about nature in that the animals and countryside of the South is integral to a Southerner's self-image. I love the references here, relating the Civil War and cicadas and the idea of "Freedom horns". It really captures the sense of music in the south and how relevant it is in the poems of the South. And I especially agree with the fact that Southern poets are determined to write what they know. The fact that the land and experiences are so reminiscent of each other and so repeated in most of the works we've read this year really validates this suggestion. As it supports our supposition that there are (at least) four major patterns in Southern poetry.
ReplyDelete