I am going to count it as the divine workings of fate that Anne Waldman’s “Fast Speaking Woman” was the last poem on the list to be read this week. It had to be fate, not just the alphabet, because none of the other listings were alphabetized. Waldman just happened to be last. If her poem had been first, I never would have read any of the others. Because hers was last, I at least read the others each a time or two, not that I remember a word from any of them. After experiencing the snippet of “Fast Speaking Woman“, everything else faded to the soft hum of background noise, like bees settling in to a hive. Please excuse me if I slip into occasional effusive praise. Although this is probably supposed to be more academic as a close read, I really can’t help myself. This poem just blew me away!
I listened first. From the initial “I’m a shouting woman,” to the final “I’m talking!” in the spoken clip, Waldman weaves her magical spell around the senses. Her voice is steady, firm, full of purpose and passion. I thought at first that some of the words were random. Sun, late afternoon, clock, wind, white. Those words seemed to be used without rhyme or reason when I heard them the first time, so I listened again. And again. That’s when things started to take on a shape, to clarify, to crystallize. That’s also when I searched out a digital copy to be able to read as I listened.
Listening is how this poem is intended to be experienced, as Waldman often describes this work as a chant. In Rain Taxi Review, Eric Lorberer interviewed Waldman and she explained that “Orality goes with the description of poet in the primary sense when poetry was composed by people who didn’t read or write.” This is evident in the words chosen throughout the poem, as it is clear that Waldman took care to not only make the words fit in print, but her bigger goal was to make them flow when spoken.
The tone that Waldman sets feels like a cross between pronouncement and exaltation. Waldman proclaims herself as a sort of Everywoman, and her joyous tone allows, even encourages, the reader to get caught up with her. In creating the space for this infectious mood, Waldman insures that every woman that hears or reads this piece will be able to identify with it in some way.
Reading this poem is different than listening to it being read, or chanted. When reading, it is very long, and it almost feels overwhelming to consider consuming this poem in one sitting. The laundry list of descriptors, of adjectives, that Waldman uses to categorize herself seems almost unending. The feeling of overwhelm is soothed when listening though, at least for me. Something about the method of delivery, about chanting, practically lulls the listener into a state of calm acceptance. This is something Waldman knew, as she mentions in her book that “Chant is heartbeat. Chant is an ancient efficacious poetic practice,” (35). So while attempting to read the poem might be intimidating, experiencing it as Waldman intended, by listening, actually feels empowering.
One thing that helped as I read is that Waldman inserted a pause every few stanzas. There is the recurring idea of “water that cleans” that acts like a palate cleanser between verses. This brief interlude is repeated often, with intention, but never exactly the same. It serves almost as a way for the reader or listener to catch their breath, reflect on what was just shared, and prepare for a new direction. It reminded me of a call and response in some ways, a place to pause and remind the listener that this is almost a conversation.
While Waldman seems to speak to every woman, she is also seemingly speaking for every woman. By including so many varied explanations for what type of woman she is, she seems to invite all women, and maybe even all readers, to see themselves as part of this collective, as valued and valuable participants in this recounting of virtues. Waldman seems to be saying to women that while we may be very different in each of our own ways, those differences are part of our c strength. Instead of letting the ways that we differ separate us, Waldman calls us to recognize that we are different in many similar ways. I may not be exactly like Waldman, but we share enough attributes to recognize our similarities. Honestly, this has such a Buddhist feel to it, where the light in Waldman is seeing and recognizing the light in all other women, because “the light” is the same in all divine beings. After reading more about her life and her studies of Eastern philosophies, that actually makes a lot of sense. Namaste, Anne Waldman. Namaste, Everywoman.
Namaste.
Sources:
Lorberer, Eric. “An Interview with Anne Waldman.” Rain Taxi, Rain Taxi Review, 1 Aug. 2014, raintaxi.com/an-interview-with-anne-waldman/.
Waldman, Anne. “Waldman-FastSpeakingWoman.Pdf.” Indiana University of Pennsylvania, www.people.iup.edu/sherwood/Courses/ENGL766F05/Docs/secure/Waldman-FastSpeakingWoman.pdf. Accessed 25 Aug. 2024.
Great post! This sort of personal-critical appreciation works really well for this kind of blog post. I love your sense of the “cleansing” refrain and the effect it has on the audience and how it allows for a sort of graduate building-up. I also like how you describe the tone her as something between “pronouncement and exaltation.” There’s a powerful claiming of self, but also a powerful framing of that self in a cosmic sense. Comparing it to F’s “Dog” and K’s poem on enlightenment, I was struck by how important the particular here is. She doesn’t iron out the idiosyncrasies of self, but claims them and unumerates them and catalogues them. More like “Howl” in its allegiance to the particular. I also like your reflection on orality and chant. The question of poetic embodiment was so important for these poet–the sense of breath and voice especially. Thanks for sharing your enthusiasm with us!