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Abstract： Theories of reading need to move from a series of fixed methodologies toward a practice of mobile， pragmatic readings that encourage frame shifting， echoing Kyoo Lee’s discussion of the reader as “InOutside.” This paper extends Marjoire Perloff’s practice of “microreading” and “microwriting” by giving examples of both. It also takes up a critique of professionalized writing in the literary academy. “Paradigma” is an invented portmanteau word， which combines “paradigm” and “enigma.”
Key words： frame lock; frame analysis; microreading; microwriting; InOutside; pragmatism
Author： Charles Bernstein is the winner of the 2019 Bollingen Prize for American Poetry， the major U.S. prize for lifetime achievement. He is the author of Near/Miss （University of Chicago， 2018）， Pitch of Poetry （Chicago， 2016）， Recalculating （Chicago， 2013）， and Attack of the Difficult Poems： Essay and Inventions （Chicago， 2011）. Bernstein is Donald T. Regan Professor， Emeritus， of English and Comparative Literature. He is member of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences.
標题：范式之谜
内容摘要：阅读理论需要从一个固定的方法论系统转向一种灵活而且实用的阅读实践，促进结构变化，以此回应李圭关于读者作为“局内/外人”的讨论。本文通过案例分析，拓展了玛乔瑞·帕洛夫关于微阅读和微写作实践的理论，并对文学学术界的职业化写作进行了评述。本文中使用的“paradigma”一词是临时创造的一个混成词，由“范式”（paradigm）与“迷”（enigma）两个词合并而成。
关键词：结构锁;结构分析;微阅读;微写作;局内/外;实用主义
作者简介：查尔斯·伯恩斯坦，美国艺术与科学院院士、美国宾夕法尼亚大学英语文学和比较文学荣休讲席教授，著有《接近/错过》（2018），《诗歌的音高》（2016）、《重新算计》（2013）、《艰涩诗歌的进攻：创新文集》（2011），2019年获得伯林根美国诗歌终身成就奖。
A specter is haunting the literary academy： the growing discrepancy between our most advanced theories and institutionally encoded proscriptions on our reading， writing and teaching practices （Bernstein， “Frame Lock” 90）. —This is how I put it twenty year ago in My Way： Speeches and Poems， published by the University of Chicago Press in 1999.
In My Way， I diagnosed the problem as “frame lock，” a kind of logorrheic lock jaw， or sandy mouth， or bullet-with-the-baby-not-just-quite-then-almost-out-of-reach， as a mood swinging under a noose of monomaniacal monotones， the converted preaching to the incontrovertible， the guard rail replacing the banisters， stairs， stories， elevation， detonation， reverberation， indecision， concomitant intensification system.
Frame lock， and its cousin tone jam， were， and， alas！， remain the prevailing stylistic constraints of the sanctioned prose of the profession. No matter that the content of an essay and its theory of reading –– may interrogate the constructed unity of a literary work or a putative period; may dwell on linguistic fragmentation， demolition， contradiction， contestation， inter-eruption; may decry assumptions of totality， continuity， narrative progression， teleology， or truth and may insist that meaning is plural， polygamous， profligate， uncontainable， rhetorical， slippery or sliding or gliding or giddy and prurient. The keepers of the scholarly flame， a touch passed hand to hand and fist to mouth by generations of professional standard bearers and girdle makers， search committees and admissions officers， editors and publishers， maintain， against all comers， that the argument for this or that or the other must maintain appropriate scholarly decorum. Theory enacted into writing practice is suspect， demeaned as unprofessional. But that is because theory so enacted ceases to be theory—a body of doctrine—insofar as it threatens with poetry or philosophy. Theory， prophylacticly wrapped in normalizing prose styles， is protected from the scourge of writing and thinking as active， open-ended， and investigatory. The repression of writing styles in the literary academy is enforced by the collusion of scholars， theorists， administrators and editors across the spectrum of periods and methodologies.
So no matter how radical is our theory of reading， without a commensurate practice of writing， it comes up empty.
Professionalism and career advancement are the bogeymen of frame lock. Dissertations must not violate stylistic norms because that might jeopardize our young scholar’s future. “Let them be radical in what they say but not in how they say it.” – Such is the pragmatic， and characteristically self-fulfilling， argument that is made. The point here， as in most initiation rites， is to be hazed into submission， to break the spirit， and to justify the past practice of the initiators. Professionalization is the criterion of professional standing but not necessarily professional values; nor are our professional writing standards at or near the limits of coherence， perception， edification， scholarship， communication， or meaning. Underneath the mask of career-minded concessions to normalcy is an often-repressed epistemological positivism about the representation of ideas. While the philosophical and linguistic justifications for such ideational mimesis—for example the idea that a writing style can be transparent or neutral—have been largely undermined， the practice of ideational mimesis is largely unacknowledged and， as a result， persists unabated.
In order to explore unsanctioned forms of scholarly and critical writing， graduate students and new faculty need to be protected against the arbitrary enforcement of antiquated stylistic constraints. Yet even those in the profession who are sympathetic to these new—and indeed not-at-all new—reading and writing forms may believe that one’s initial professional work should be stylistically orthodox， with innovations considered only in later work. This argument is akin to the idea that art students should first learn anatomy and figure drawing before they embark on more expressionist or abstract work. As a generalization， there is no merit to this argument （while of course specific individuals may benefit from different experiences）. Younger scholars and critics are most likely to bring energy and enthusiasm to their writing， to open up new paths， to push the boundaries of the possible; once channeled into frame lock， more often than not they get stuck in its claustrophobic confines. And young scholars who are not supported for taking new directions often drop out， or are forced out， of the profession： a loss of talent that our universities cannot afford. ***
Erving Goffman’s counterintuitive idea of reading， formulated in Frame Analysis， is that an “event” （including an art “object”） does not speak for itself but is recognizable only by its frame or context.① For this reason， the discussion about an event can exceed the duration of the “event” itself. An event， or work of art， like a dream， may elicit multiple—incommensurable or discrepant—frames. Some frames are sticky， become stigma. Frames are cued or keyed， and， for Goffman， what is out-of-frame is often （in the end） most significant： what is is defined by what it isn’t.
Goffman’s frames are related to ideology （in Louis Althusser’s sense） and also to “metaphors we live by” and categories （in George Lakoff’s sense）： frames are the lens， the language， through which we perceive/value.② Think of how Wittgenstein proposes the fundamental nature of “seeing as” in Philosophical Investigations.③I take up Goffman’s framing in the final “pataquerical” essay in my most recent essay collection， Pitch of Poetry （University of Chicago Press， 2016）.
“Frame lock”––which is the title of an essay in My Way： Speeches & Poems—is a term I base on Goffman’s Frame Analysis. As applied to prose， it can generally be characterized as an insistence on a univocal surface， minimal shifts of mood either within paragraphs or between paragraphs， exclusion of extraneous or contradictory material， and tone restricted to the narrow affective envelope of sobriety， neutrality， objectivity， authoritativeness， or deanimated abstraction. In frame-locked prose， the order of sentences and paragraphs is hypotactic， based on a clear subordination of elements to an overriding argument that is made in a narrative or expository or linear fashion. In what might be called the rule of the necessity of paraphrase， the argument must be separable from its expression， so that a defined message can be extracted from the text. To this end， arguments must be readily glossable and indeed periodically reiterated self-glosses are used as markers to enforce interpretative closure.
With the proliferation of frames of interpretation （reading practices） over the decades， a menu of methodological choices is available to the young scholar. In a campus version of the dating game， our initiate may attend a series of seminars， each promising the satisfactions of its newly rejuvenated， comprehensively restyled， and radically overhauled approach. One frame of interpretation beckons with its production of detail and cultural difference， another allures with its astounding solutions， while the sociality of a third seems magnetic; in contrast， the social responsibility of a fourth is compelling， while the ultimate sophistication of a fifth is irresistible. Finally， uber alles， the retro chic of rejecting any and all the new frames of interpretation is always in style， always a good career move—and the fast track for getting quoted in national media. After a period of flirtation with several of these approaches， our neophyte （the neophyte within each of us） makes a commitment to one primary frame. The marriage is consummated in the act of being announced.
Of course， a newly chosen frame of interpretation （reading frame） may replace an older one; indeed divorce and remarriage are as inevitable as new consumers in a market economy. Serial monogamy is typical， as long as the series doesn’t get very long; breaking frame is suspect. For the crucial ingredient of frame lock is consistency， sticking to one frame at a time. When flames are jumped， the new frame must appear to replace the old， which is best publicly stigmatized as damaged goods， so much youthful idealism or false consciousness or lack of rigor. This is called keeping up or advancing with the field.
Our profession—again， now as much as 20 years ago—too rarely addresses the conflict between inquiry and job-search marketing in which one’s work is supposed to be easily summed up， definable， packaged， polished， wrinkles and contradictions eliminated， digressions booted. Insofar as we make hiring decisions using these criteria， insofar as we train graduate students to conform to such market imperatives， insofar as we present our own writing and scholarship and evaluate each other’s along these lines， then the demands of our work—teaching， research， encouraging creativity—will be severely compromised. Professionalization need not be antithetical to our work as educators and writers and searchers， but in itself professionalization offers no protection against the emptying of those values that many of us would espouse for our work.
Goffman’s analysis of frames is valuable for understanding the institutional nature of all forms of communication. In particular， frame analysis can help elucidate disputes over the curriculum in terms of both interdisciplinarity and core （or required） courses.
By their nature， frames focus attention on a particular set of features at the same time as they divert attention from other features that Goffman locates in the “disattend track.” Frames frame reading. A traditional， or frame-locked， curriculum is designed so that each of its elements fits within a single overall scheme. Like the fourth wall in an old-fashioned play， the curricular frame is neither questioned nor broken. Even as curricular content （the canon） is challenged and reconstituted， the new material tends to be reframed within revised disciplinary boundaries. In contrast， anti-lock syllabi—and approaches to reading suggested by Kyoo Lee and Marjorie Perloff—emphasize a performative and interdisciplinary approach that may undercut the passive learning patterns that currently cripple many of our educational efforts. Indeed， this is purpose of Lee’s “InOutside.” The process of locating disattend tracks， and bringing them to the center of attention， can be understood as not only a primary pedagogical aim but also a central project of much modernist and contemporary art. Within text-bound literary studies， the disattend track may include such features as the visual representation of the language as well as its acoustic structure. Moreover， a work may best be discussed within a context that not only includes its historical or ideological context， but also its interdependence on contemporary painting， theater， or music， not to mention the “popular” arts of the period. The idea that works of literature can be studied in isolation from the other arts， a founding idea of the discipline of English literary studies， may simply be mistaken. Certainly， the very limited aesthetic consciousness of college graduates would support the proposition that current approaches are misguided. Basic remodeling is necessary.
Not only our subjects， but also our methods， need to be addressed from an interdisciplinary perspective. In much of the discourse coming out of English departments， the art of writing has been relegated to the disattend track. To insist on the art of writing is， ironically， to press the need for interdisciplinarity within a field bisected against itself. To call for greater interaction between literary studies and the literary arts is to call literary studies back to itself.
***
The university environment is not just nonpoetic， which would be unexceptional， but antipoetic. And this situation has remained constant as we have moved from literary studies to the more sociologically and psychoanalytically deterministic approaches to cultural studies. At the same time， the university is perhaps the only one among many anti-poetic and anti-philosophic American institutions that will entertain its antipathy to the poetic and the philosophic as a significant problem， and it is this approach that I think becomes more possible in the age of cultural studies.
Within the academic environment， thought tends to be rationalized—subject to examination， paraphrase， repetition， mechanization， reduction. It is treated： contained and stabilized. And what is lost in this treatment is the irregular， the nonquantifiable， the nonstandard or nonstandardizable， the erratic， the inchoate. （Is it just a mood or sensibility I'm talking about， and if that’s it， can mood be professionalized？） Poetry is turbulent thought， at least that’s what I want from it， what I want to say about it just here， just now （and maybe not in some other context）. It leaves things unsettled， unresolved—leaves you knowing less than you did when you started， in other words， “InOutside.”
Here， then， is my thesis： There is a fear of the inchoate processes of turbulent thought （poetic or philosophic） that takes the form of resistance and paranoia. A wall （part symbolic， part imaginary） is constructed against the sheer surplus of interpretable aspects of any subject. You fix upon one among many possible frames， screens， screams， and stay fixed on that mode monomaniacally. Such frame fixation is intensified by the fetishizing of dispassionate evaluation not as a critical method but as a marker of professional competence and a means of enforcing a system of ranking.
In theory， the proliferation of frames of interpretation （feminist， psychoanalytic， grammatologic， economic， sociologic， Romantic， historical materialist， new critical， reader-response， canonic， periodic） is a positive development. In practice， the incommensurability among these frames has led to a balkanization of theory. The normalizing tendency， resisted by some of the most resourceful practitioners of cultural and literary studies， such as Lee and Perloff， is to elect one interpretive mode and to apply it， cookie-cutter-like， to any given phenomenon. On the one hand， this can be defended on scientific or religious grounds， and， on the other hand， as a form not of faith or positivism but of specialization.
***
Frame fixation bears a family resemblance to aspect blindness， as described by Wittgenstein in part two of Philosophical Investigations， where the single figure that can be interpreted as a duck and a rabbit is discussed. Different contexts may suggest the appropriateness of particular interpretive systems， some of which may then seem determining. That is， once viewed through a particular frame， it becomes difficult to recognize alternate readings. A gaze freezes into a stare; only one aspect of an ambiguous figure is visible. The projection overwhelms the text without exhausting the work.
***
To say that the literary academy is antipoetic is not to say poets or literary artists are the sole repository of the poetic.④ This would be to split the aesthetic and philosophic from other forms of cultural activity when it is just this splitting—splintering—that is the problem. The poetic is not confined to poetry but rather is embedded in all our activities as critics， teachers， researchers， and writers， not to mention citizens. When we use figurative language， which is just about whenever we use language at all， we are entangled in the poetic realm. Whenever we choose one metaphoric or trope-ic system of interpretation we make aesthetic choices， moral judgments. Poetry is too important to be left to poets， just in the way that politics is too important to be left to politicians or that education is too important to be left to educators; though poets， politicians， and educators may exercise a valuable function when they elucidate how poetry， politics， and learning can be hyperactivated in everyday life. Our political and academic culture of imposed solutions at the expense of open-ended explorations， of fixed or schematic or uniform interpretive mechanisms and political platforms versus multiple， shifting， context-sensitive interventions， splits off the “bad” poetic from “good” rigor and critical distantiation. Such splitting eclipses reason in its uncontained denial. Out of fear of the Dark， we turn our back to the lights we have at hand， in hand.
***
My motto， from Attack of the Difficult Poems （University of Chicago， 2011） might well have been： Signifying practices have only art from which to copy.
***
Attack of the Difficult Poems was published ten years ago. I take up again the possibility of radical reading and writing practices， what I call， in a term coined by Jed Rasula， “Wreading，” which relates both to Lee’s “InOutside” and Perloff’s “microreading/microwriting.” I anticipate the challenge of Lee and Perloff， in particular， in “A Blow Is Like an Instrument”：
The arts and sciences of this century have shown that deductive methods of argument—narrow rationalizing —hardly exhaust the full capacity of reason. Induction and discontinuity are slighted only at the cost of slighting reason itself. There is no evidence that the conventional expository prose that is ubiquitous output of the academic profession produces more insights or better research than nonexpository modes. There is no evidence that a tone of austere probity rather than tones that are ironic or raucous furthers the value of teaching or inquiry. It may be true that standard academic prose permits dissident ideas， but ideas mean little if not embodied in material practices and， for those in the academic profession， writing is one of the most fundamental of such practices. Writing is never neutral， never an objective mechanism for the delivery of facts. Therefore the repression of writing practices is a form of suppressing dissidence—even if it is dissidence， I would add， for the sake of dissidence.
So while my attitude to the academic profession is highly critical， I want to insist that one of the primary values such a profession can have results from its constituents challenging authority， questioning conventional rhetorical forms， and remaining restless and quarrelsome and unsatisfied， especially with the bureaucratizing of knowledge that is the inertial force that pulls us together as a profession. Which is to say： The profession is best when it professionalizes least. As negative as I am about the rhetorical rigidity of the academic profession， comparison with journalism， corporate communications， or technical writing will show that these other professions police writing styles far more completely than the academic profession. That is why it is vital to raise these issues about rhetorical and pedagogic practices： because universities remain among the few cultural spaces in the U.S. in which there is at least a potential for critical discourse， for violation of norms and standards and protocols， in which an horizon of poetics remains possible. （22） ***
At the State University of New York， Buffalo， I co-founded Poetics Program in 1991 with Robert Creeley. The program has its roots in the formation of the English Department at Buffalo in the early 1960s by Albert Cook. Cook had the idea that you could hire literary artists to teach not creative writing but literature classes， and in particular literature classes in a Ph.D. program. It was with this in mind that he hired Creeley， Charles Olson， and others; it marked a decisively other path from far more prevalent graduate （usually M.A. and M.F.A.） “creative writing” programs that emerged at the same time.
By formalizing this concept in the early 90s， shortly after Howe and I came to UB， we were suggesting an alternative model for poets teaching in graduate， but also undergraduate， programs. The Poetics faculty teaches in the English Department’s doctoral program， supervising orals and directing scholarly/critical dissertations， even if our license to this is more poetic than formal. A frequent question I get from students applying to the program is whether they can write a creative dissertation. I always do a double take： “I hope it will be creative， but it can’t be a collection of poems or a novel.” For the fact is that Poetics students have the same requirements as all other graduate students and are admitted by the same departmental committee. And while we encourage active questioning of the conventions of critical and scholarly writing， we remain committed to the practice of poetics as something distinct from， even though intersecting with， the practice of poetry. The implications of this perspective are perhaps more pragmatic， not to say programmatic， than theoretical： while the “creative writing” approach at universities often debunks the significance of critical reflection， sometimes pitting creativity against conceptual thinking， the Poetics Program insists that scholarship， historical research， and critical writing are at the core of graduate education.
This is not to say that a Ph.D. program is appropriate for most poets. I tend to discourage people who ask my advice from pursuing this degree at any institution， partly to ensure that they have considered the limitations of the academic environment in terms of artistic freedom， compensation， and future employment. But if this is the choice they make， it is likely because they want to be teachers， editors， and writers and where their writing is as likely to be criticism or poetics as poetry. The Poetics Program was fully integrated into the English Department， presenting seminars and sponsoring events within that context， even while marking such offerings as our own. We also provide modest funding to students to publish magazines and books （print and electronic） as well as to organize their own poetry readings， talks series， and conferences： over the past decade， this has resulted in dozens of magazines， scores of books， and numerous visitors， not to mention the web site we created， the Electronic Poetry Center， created by Loss Peque?o Glazier， the first major poetry web portal.
While many doctoral programs in English expect students to choose between being poets and scholars， we suggested that the one activity may enhance the other， for those so inclined. The poets， as I’ve suggested， did their poetry and their editing on their own： it informed their graduate work but is never the explicit content of it. And， equally significant， the Poetics graduate students form a vital community among themselves， where their shared interest in criticism and scholarship， poetry writing， and teaching make for an active bond. As it turns out， this mix seems to produce Ph.D.s who are eager and well qualified to teach literature as well as writing.
While poetics suggests a long history of laws of composition， the Poetics Program stressed poiesis—the actual making or doing： poetry as process. Every doing carries the potential of something new， emergent， something not already predicated by poetics. Practice overtakes theory， practice changes theory. And not just writing practice， but performance practice， from poetry reading to talks and lectures to teaching.
***
Reading is a plural event.
I’ve specialized in creating books that contain works， poems and essays， that cannot be read in one way. They defy not only a unified theory but， sometimes， even the semblance of plain sense （and at other times offer the palpable semblance of sense， unmoored from rational explanation）. I like to think the relation of one work to the next in one of my books is comparable to the twisting， inside-out movement of a M?bius strip. Reframing is the reader’s response， at least if the reader wants to take the ride offered for the sheer hell of it， which turns out to be for the sheer heaven of it too.
Most critical theories operate on the replacement model， mandating an ever revisionist framing of the critical paradigm for reading， with a built-in obsolescence of 5 to 10 years： close， distant， symptomatic， surface， deep， affective， impersonal， political， psychoanalytic， linguistic， sociological， nationalist， transnational， pessimistic， optimistic， projective， historical， formal， and so in. All those frames of reading come into play in reading one of the Henry James passages Marjorie Perloff mentions in her essay “Microreading/Microwriting” ⑤. And， indeed， Perloff is exemplary in her advocacy of a mobile， pragmatic rather than axiomatic， approach to frames. Jerome McGann， Johanna Drucker， Leslie Scalapino， Susan Stewart， Tracie Morris， and Thomas McEvilley. Kyoo Lee takes up this challenge in “A Close-Up： On U the Reader InOutside”⑥. All these follow on work as discrepant as Michel Foucault， Roland Barthes， Thelonious Monk， Deleuze/Guattari， Mel Brooks， Erving Goffman， Arakawa/Gins， George Lakoff， Shulamith Firestone， John Berger—which in turn follow the Lucretian lead of Dickinson， Stein， Wittgenstein， and Benjamin. Or such have been the models I have written about. L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E （the name of the magazine I co-edited between 1978 and 1982） was an invitation to read with and through a multripillocation of frames， “InOutside” in Lee’s sense. It’s that multiplicity that makes the work still largely repugnant to official verse culture， no matter the exceptional （and welcome） exceptions. Poems， the kind of poetry I want， use reframing as a process. They allow readers （Lee’s “U”） to shift frames “InOutside” without settling onto an individual one. Jackson Mac Low called this “reader-centered writing” because it puts the reader， not the poem， in the driver’s seat. This doesn’t mean the poem isn’t a well-wrought submersible. But in this kind of poem， readers navigate through the textual waters， actively not passively： they earn their reading. Or indeed， as Perloff and Lee remind us， “listening，” since the audiotext of a work presents a whole new of frames， which is to say possibilities， for the reader/listener.
***
Recently， I had a poem accepted by a hyper-mainstream publication. I was glad for that as my work is often unwelcome at such places. A few weeks later a young assistant editor sent me a proof with dozens of changes. I would have been less disappointed if the magazine had queried before making the changes. I had to backtrack through the poem and hand correct each of the unauthorized alterations. House Style at this place trumps author’s choices and I must have been the rare author to object. My 101 became one-hundred-one （I wanted the numeration to seem wonkish）. In other cases， the editor changed my wording from sharp and particular to bland. “Sudden move” became “sudden moves”; a man appearing with a sudden gift was changed to sudden gifts. “Orient Eastward” lost its caps， losing the sense of Orient and East both. I stetted most of the changes. Even so， on the third round， the earnest assistant editor told me that the chief editor had asked that I please be consistent in how I capitalize “dark matter，” as I had it both capped and Lower Case. They were concerned readers would think the editors had made a mistake. Their professional competence would be questioned. I just couldn’t write another email saying I intend my Inconsistencies， that they are the heart of my Dark Matter. I didn’t want to put them in harm’s way.
And indeed， this response to Lee and Perloff was rejected， after being solicited， by Theoretical Studies in Literature and Art， because it did not follow their idea of professional decorum. Just my point about the sort of clueless， frame-locked editorial practices that are as theoretically misinformed as they are aversive to both art and literature. I remember in Marjorie Perloff’s first review of my work， a crucial introduction to L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E poetry in 1984：
Charles Bernstein takes this sort of word play a step further， almost to the point of unintelligibility. In “The Sheds of Our Webs，” neologisms abound： “a lacrity，” “sumpter” （“marshy” or “low-lying” on the model of “sump”？）， “plentitude.” More important; grammatical position is frequently ambiguous： is “sheds” a noun or gerund （“sheddings”）？ “Abandon skirts” a verb followed by its direct object or a subject—verb clause？ “Tender” a verb or adjective or noun？ There is no way to be sure， especially since many of the words in ambiguous syntactic position are homonyms. （Perloff， “The Word as Such” 16.）
That’s “microreading/microwriting” in action. Thirty-five years later， and after a lifetime of being known， if not notorious， for my ideosyncratic [sic] approach to style， I can still get a bright young editor’s puzzled response. If such smart folks don’t know how to read poetry and see THOU SHALT NOT at any slight wandering from convention， then there is no hope.
And that is why， and how， reading matters.
***
Or as it put it in My Way：
I open the door and it shuts after me. That is， the more I venture out into the open the more I find it is behind me and I am moving not toward some uninhabited space but deeper into a maelstrom of criss-crossing inscriptions. The open is a vanishing point—the closer I get to it the greater the distance from which it beckons. And I begin the journey again. （Bernstein， “The Revenge of the Poet-Critic” 17.）
Notes
① See Erving Goffman， Frame Analysis： An Essay on the Organization of Experience （Boston： Northeastern UP， 1986）.
② See George Lakoff and Mark Johnson， Metaphors We Live By （Chicago： U of Chicago P， 1980）.
③ See Ludwig Wittgenstein， Philosophical Investigations （4th edition）; trans. G. E. M. Anscombe， P. M. S. Hacker， and Joachim Schulte; eds. P. M. S. Hacker and Joachim Schulte （Walden， MA： Blackwell， 2009）.
④ See Charles Bernstein， “What’s Art Got to Do with It” in My Way， 36-51.
⑤ See Marjorie Perloff， “Microreading/Microwriting，” PN Review 46：1 （2019）， 249.
⑥ See Kyoo Lee， “A Close-up： On U， The Reader InOutside，” Theoretical Studies in Literature and Art 39.3 （2019）： 160–68.
Works Cited
Bernstein， Charles. “A Blow Is Like an Instrument.” Attack of the Difficult Poems. Chicago： U of Chicago P， 2011. 7-26.
---. “Frame Lock.” My Way 90-99.
---. My Way： Speeches & Poems. Chicago： U of Chicago P， 1999. 90-99.
---. “The Revenge of the Poet-Critic.” My Way. 3-17.
Perloff， Marjorie. “The Word as Such： L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E Poetry in the Eighties.” In The Dance of the Intellect： Studies in the Poetry of the Pound Tradition. Cambridge， UK： Cambridge UP， 1985. 215-38. Originally published in American Poetry Review 13.3 （May-June 1984）： 15-22.
責任编辑：四维
Key words： frame lock; frame analysis; microreading; microwriting; InOutside; pragmatism
Author： Charles Bernstein is the winner of the 2019 Bollingen Prize for American Poetry， the major U.S. prize for lifetime achievement. He is the author of Near/Miss （University of Chicago， 2018）， Pitch of Poetry （Chicago， 2016）， Recalculating （Chicago， 2013）， and Attack of the Difficult Poems： Essay and Inventions （Chicago， 2011）. Bernstein is Donald T. Regan Professor， Emeritus， of English and Comparative Literature. He is member of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences.
標题：范式之谜
内容摘要：阅读理论需要从一个固定的方法论系统转向一种灵活而且实用的阅读实践，促进结构变化，以此回应李圭关于读者作为“局内/外人”的讨论。本文通过案例分析，拓展了玛乔瑞·帕洛夫关于微阅读和微写作实践的理论，并对文学学术界的职业化写作进行了评述。本文中使用的“paradigma”一词是临时创造的一个混成词，由“范式”（paradigm）与“迷”（enigma）两个词合并而成。
关键词：结构锁;结构分析;微阅读;微写作;局内/外;实用主义
作者简介：查尔斯·伯恩斯坦，美国艺术与科学院院士、美国宾夕法尼亚大学英语文学和比较文学荣休讲席教授，著有《接近/错过》（2018），《诗歌的音高》（2016）、《重新算计》（2013）、《艰涩诗歌的进攻：创新文集》（2011），2019年获得伯林根美国诗歌终身成就奖。
A specter is haunting the literary academy： the growing discrepancy between our most advanced theories and institutionally encoded proscriptions on our reading， writing and teaching practices （Bernstein， “Frame Lock” 90）. —This is how I put it twenty year ago in My Way： Speeches and Poems， published by the University of Chicago Press in 1999.
In My Way， I diagnosed the problem as “frame lock，” a kind of logorrheic lock jaw， or sandy mouth， or bullet-with-the-baby-not-just-quite-then-almost-out-of-reach， as a mood swinging under a noose of monomaniacal monotones， the converted preaching to the incontrovertible， the guard rail replacing the banisters， stairs， stories， elevation， detonation， reverberation， indecision， concomitant intensification system.
Frame lock， and its cousin tone jam， were， and， alas！， remain the prevailing stylistic constraints of the sanctioned prose of the profession. No matter that the content of an essay and its theory of reading –– may interrogate the constructed unity of a literary work or a putative period; may dwell on linguistic fragmentation， demolition， contradiction， contestation， inter-eruption; may decry assumptions of totality， continuity， narrative progression， teleology， or truth and may insist that meaning is plural， polygamous， profligate， uncontainable， rhetorical， slippery or sliding or gliding or giddy and prurient. The keepers of the scholarly flame， a touch passed hand to hand and fist to mouth by generations of professional standard bearers and girdle makers， search committees and admissions officers， editors and publishers， maintain， against all comers， that the argument for this or that or the other must maintain appropriate scholarly decorum. Theory enacted into writing practice is suspect， demeaned as unprofessional. But that is because theory so enacted ceases to be theory—a body of doctrine—insofar as it threatens with poetry or philosophy. Theory， prophylacticly wrapped in normalizing prose styles， is protected from the scourge of writing and thinking as active， open-ended， and investigatory. The repression of writing styles in the literary academy is enforced by the collusion of scholars， theorists， administrators and editors across the spectrum of periods and methodologies.
So no matter how radical is our theory of reading， without a commensurate practice of writing， it comes up empty.
Professionalism and career advancement are the bogeymen of frame lock. Dissertations must not violate stylistic norms because that might jeopardize our young scholar’s future. “Let them be radical in what they say but not in how they say it.” – Such is the pragmatic， and characteristically self-fulfilling， argument that is made. The point here， as in most initiation rites， is to be hazed into submission， to break the spirit， and to justify the past practice of the initiators. Professionalization is the criterion of professional standing but not necessarily professional values; nor are our professional writing standards at or near the limits of coherence， perception， edification， scholarship， communication， or meaning. Underneath the mask of career-minded concessions to normalcy is an often-repressed epistemological positivism about the representation of ideas. While the philosophical and linguistic justifications for such ideational mimesis—for example the idea that a writing style can be transparent or neutral—have been largely undermined， the practice of ideational mimesis is largely unacknowledged and， as a result， persists unabated.
In order to explore unsanctioned forms of scholarly and critical writing， graduate students and new faculty need to be protected against the arbitrary enforcement of antiquated stylistic constraints. Yet even those in the profession who are sympathetic to these new—and indeed not-at-all new—reading and writing forms may believe that one’s initial professional work should be stylistically orthodox， with innovations considered only in later work. This argument is akin to the idea that art students should first learn anatomy and figure drawing before they embark on more expressionist or abstract work. As a generalization， there is no merit to this argument （while of course specific individuals may benefit from different experiences）. Younger scholars and critics are most likely to bring energy and enthusiasm to their writing， to open up new paths， to push the boundaries of the possible; once channeled into frame lock， more often than not they get stuck in its claustrophobic confines. And young scholars who are not supported for taking new directions often drop out， or are forced out， of the profession： a loss of talent that our universities cannot afford. ***
Erving Goffman’s counterintuitive idea of reading， formulated in Frame Analysis， is that an “event” （including an art “object”） does not speak for itself but is recognizable only by its frame or context.① For this reason， the discussion about an event can exceed the duration of the “event” itself. An event， or work of art， like a dream， may elicit multiple—incommensurable or discrepant—frames. Some frames are sticky， become stigma. Frames are cued or keyed， and， for Goffman， what is out-of-frame is often （in the end） most significant： what is is defined by what it isn’t.
Goffman’s frames are related to ideology （in Louis Althusser’s sense） and also to “metaphors we live by” and categories （in George Lakoff’s sense）： frames are the lens， the language， through which we perceive/value.② Think of how Wittgenstein proposes the fundamental nature of “seeing as” in Philosophical Investigations.③I take up Goffman’s framing in the final “pataquerical” essay in my most recent essay collection， Pitch of Poetry （University of Chicago Press， 2016）.
“Frame lock”––which is the title of an essay in My Way： Speeches & Poems—is a term I base on Goffman’s Frame Analysis. As applied to prose， it can generally be characterized as an insistence on a univocal surface， minimal shifts of mood either within paragraphs or between paragraphs， exclusion of extraneous or contradictory material， and tone restricted to the narrow affective envelope of sobriety， neutrality， objectivity， authoritativeness， or deanimated abstraction. In frame-locked prose， the order of sentences and paragraphs is hypotactic， based on a clear subordination of elements to an overriding argument that is made in a narrative or expository or linear fashion. In what might be called the rule of the necessity of paraphrase， the argument must be separable from its expression， so that a defined message can be extracted from the text. To this end， arguments must be readily glossable and indeed periodically reiterated self-glosses are used as markers to enforce interpretative closure.
With the proliferation of frames of interpretation （reading practices） over the decades， a menu of methodological choices is available to the young scholar. In a campus version of the dating game， our initiate may attend a series of seminars， each promising the satisfactions of its newly rejuvenated， comprehensively restyled， and radically overhauled approach. One frame of interpretation beckons with its production of detail and cultural difference， another allures with its astounding solutions， while the sociality of a third seems magnetic; in contrast， the social responsibility of a fourth is compelling， while the ultimate sophistication of a fifth is irresistible. Finally， uber alles， the retro chic of rejecting any and all the new frames of interpretation is always in style， always a good career move—and the fast track for getting quoted in national media. After a period of flirtation with several of these approaches， our neophyte （the neophyte within each of us） makes a commitment to one primary frame. The marriage is consummated in the act of being announced.
Of course， a newly chosen frame of interpretation （reading frame） may replace an older one; indeed divorce and remarriage are as inevitable as new consumers in a market economy. Serial monogamy is typical， as long as the series doesn’t get very long; breaking frame is suspect. For the crucial ingredient of frame lock is consistency， sticking to one frame at a time. When flames are jumped， the new frame must appear to replace the old， which is best publicly stigmatized as damaged goods， so much youthful idealism or false consciousness or lack of rigor. This is called keeping up or advancing with the field.
Our profession—again， now as much as 20 years ago—too rarely addresses the conflict between inquiry and job-search marketing in which one’s work is supposed to be easily summed up， definable， packaged， polished， wrinkles and contradictions eliminated， digressions booted. Insofar as we make hiring decisions using these criteria， insofar as we train graduate students to conform to such market imperatives， insofar as we present our own writing and scholarship and evaluate each other’s along these lines， then the demands of our work—teaching， research， encouraging creativity—will be severely compromised. Professionalization need not be antithetical to our work as educators and writers and searchers， but in itself professionalization offers no protection against the emptying of those values that many of us would espouse for our work.
Goffman’s analysis of frames is valuable for understanding the institutional nature of all forms of communication. In particular， frame analysis can help elucidate disputes over the curriculum in terms of both interdisciplinarity and core （or required） courses.
By their nature， frames focus attention on a particular set of features at the same time as they divert attention from other features that Goffman locates in the “disattend track.” Frames frame reading. A traditional， or frame-locked， curriculum is designed so that each of its elements fits within a single overall scheme. Like the fourth wall in an old-fashioned play， the curricular frame is neither questioned nor broken. Even as curricular content （the canon） is challenged and reconstituted， the new material tends to be reframed within revised disciplinary boundaries. In contrast， anti-lock syllabi—and approaches to reading suggested by Kyoo Lee and Marjorie Perloff—emphasize a performative and interdisciplinary approach that may undercut the passive learning patterns that currently cripple many of our educational efforts. Indeed， this is purpose of Lee’s “InOutside.” The process of locating disattend tracks， and bringing them to the center of attention， can be understood as not only a primary pedagogical aim but also a central project of much modernist and contemporary art. Within text-bound literary studies， the disattend track may include such features as the visual representation of the language as well as its acoustic structure. Moreover， a work may best be discussed within a context that not only includes its historical or ideological context， but also its interdependence on contemporary painting， theater， or music， not to mention the “popular” arts of the period. The idea that works of literature can be studied in isolation from the other arts， a founding idea of the discipline of English literary studies， may simply be mistaken. Certainly， the very limited aesthetic consciousness of college graduates would support the proposition that current approaches are misguided. Basic remodeling is necessary.
Not only our subjects， but also our methods， need to be addressed from an interdisciplinary perspective. In much of the discourse coming out of English departments， the art of writing has been relegated to the disattend track. To insist on the art of writing is， ironically， to press the need for interdisciplinarity within a field bisected against itself. To call for greater interaction between literary studies and the literary arts is to call literary studies back to itself.
***
The university environment is not just nonpoetic， which would be unexceptional， but antipoetic. And this situation has remained constant as we have moved from literary studies to the more sociologically and psychoanalytically deterministic approaches to cultural studies. At the same time， the university is perhaps the only one among many anti-poetic and anti-philosophic American institutions that will entertain its antipathy to the poetic and the philosophic as a significant problem， and it is this approach that I think becomes more possible in the age of cultural studies.
Within the academic environment， thought tends to be rationalized—subject to examination， paraphrase， repetition， mechanization， reduction. It is treated： contained and stabilized. And what is lost in this treatment is the irregular， the nonquantifiable， the nonstandard or nonstandardizable， the erratic， the inchoate. （Is it just a mood or sensibility I'm talking about， and if that’s it， can mood be professionalized？） Poetry is turbulent thought， at least that’s what I want from it， what I want to say about it just here， just now （and maybe not in some other context）. It leaves things unsettled， unresolved—leaves you knowing less than you did when you started， in other words， “InOutside.”
Here， then， is my thesis： There is a fear of the inchoate processes of turbulent thought （poetic or philosophic） that takes the form of resistance and paranoia. A wall （part symbolic， part imaginary） is constructed against the sheer surplus of interpretable aspects of any subject. You fix upon one among many possible frames， screens， screams， and stay fixed on that mode monomaniacally. Such frame fixation is intensified by the fetishizing of dispassionate evaluation not as a critical method but as a marker of professional competence and a means of enforcing a system of ranking.
In theory， the proliferation of frames of interpretation （feminist， psychoanalytic， grammatologic， economic， sociologic， Romantic， historical materialist， new critical， reader-response， canonic， periodic） is a positive development. In practice， the incommensurability among these frames has led to a balkanization of theory. The normalizing tendency， resisted by some of the most resourceful practitioners of cultural and literary studies， such as Lee and Perloff， is to elect one interpretive mode and to apply it， cookie-cutter-like， to any given phenomenon. On the one hand， this can be defended on scientific or religious grounds， and， on the other hand， as a form not of faith or positivism but of specialization.
***
Frame fixation bears a family resemblance to aspect blindness， as described by Wittgenstein in part two of Philosophical Investigations， where the single figure that can be interpreted as a duck and a rabbit is discussed. Different contexts may suggest the appropriateness of particular interpretive systems， some of which may then seem determining. That is， once viewed through a particular frame， it becomes difficult to recognize alternate readings. A gaze freezes into a stare; only one aspect of an ambiguous figure is visible. The projection overwhelms the text without exhausting the work.
***
To say that the literary academy is antipoetic is not to say poets or literary artists are the sole repository of the poetic.④ This would be to split the aesthetic and philosophic from other forms of cultural activity when it is just this splitting—splintering—that is the problem. The poetic is not confined to poetry but rather is embedded in all our activities as critics， teachers， researchers， and writers， not to mention citizens. When we use figurative language， which is just about whenever we use language at all， we are entangled in the poetic realm. Whenever we choose one metaphoric or trope-ic system of interpretation we make aesthetic choices， moral judgments. Poetry is too important to be left to poets， just in the way that politics is too important to be left to politicians or that education is too important to be left to educators; though poets， politicians， and educators may exercise a valuable function when they elucidate how poetry， politics， and learning can be hyperactivated in everyday life. Our political and academic culture of imposed solutions at the expense of open-ended explorations， of fixed or schematic or uniform interpretive mechanisms and political platforms versus multiple， shifting， context-sensitive interventions， splits off the “bad” poetic from “good” rigor and critical distantiation. Such splitting eclipses reason in its uncontained denial. Out of fear of the Dark， we turn our back to the lights we have at hand， in hand.
***
My motto， from Attack of the Difficult Poems （University of Chicago， 2011） might well have been： Signifying practices have only art from which to copy.
***
Attack of the Difficult Poems was published ten years ago. I take up again the possibility of radical reading and writing practices， what I call， in a term coined by Jed Rasula， “Wreading，” which relates both to Lee’s “InOutside” and Perloff’s “microreading/microwriting.” I anticipate the challenge of Lee and Perloff， in particular， in “A Blow Is Like an Instrument”：
The arts and sciences of this century have shown that deductive methods of argument—narrow rationalizing —hardly exhaust the full capacity of reason. Induction and discontinuity are slighted only at the cost of slighting reason itself. There is no evidence that the conventional expository prose that is ubiquitous output of the academic profession produces more insights or better research than nonexpository modes. There is no evidence that a tone of austere probity rather than tones that are ironic or raucous furthers the value of teaching or inquiry. It may be true that standard academic prose permits dissident ideas， but ideas mean little if not embodied in material practices and， for those in the academic profession， writing is one of the most fundamental of such practices. Writing is never neutral， never an objective mechanism for the delivery of facts. Therefore the repression of writing practices is a form of suppressing dissidence—even if it is dissidence， I would add， for the sake of dissidence.
So while my attitude to the academic profession is highly critical， I want to insist that one of the primary values such a profession can have results from its constituents challenging authority， questioning conventional rhetorical forms， and remaining restless and quarrelsome and unsatisfied， especially with the bureaucratizing of knowledge that is the inertial force that pulls us together as a profession. Which is to say： The profession is best when it professionalizes least. As negative as I am about the rhetorical rigidity of the academic profession， comparison with journalism， corporate communications， or technical writing will show that these other professions police writing styles far more completely than the academic profession. That is why it is vital to raise these issues about rhetorical and pedagogic practices： because universities remain among the few cultural spaces in the U.S. in which there is at least a potential for critical discourse， for violation of norms and standards and protocols， in which an horizon of poetics remains possible. （22） ***
At the State University of New York， Buffalo， I co-founded Poetics Program in 1991 with Robert Creeley. The program has its roots in the formation of the English Department at Buffalo in the early 1960s by Albert Cook. Cook had the idea that you could hire literary artists to teach not creative writing but literature classes， and in particular literature classes in a Ph.D. program. It was with this in mind that he hired Creeley， Charles Olson， and others; it marked a decisively other path from far more prevalent graduate （usually M.A. and M.F.A.） “creative writing” programs that emerged at the same time.
By formalizing this concept in the early 90s， shortly after Howe and I came to UB， we were suggesting an alternative model for poets teaching in graduate， but also undergraduate， programs. The Poetics faculty teaches in the English Department’s doctoral program， supervising orals and directing scholarly/critical dissertations， even if our license to this is more poetic than formal. A frequent question I get from students applying to the program is whether they can write a creative dissertation. I always do a double take： “I hope it will be creative， but it can’t be a collection of poems or a novel.” For the fact is that Poetics students have the same requirements as all other graduate students and are admitted by the same departmental committee. And while we encourage active questioning of the conventions of critical and scholarly writing， we remain committed to the practice of poetics as something distinct from， even though intersecting with， the practice of poetry. The implications of this perspective are perhaps more pragmatic， not to say programmatic， than theoretical： while the “creative writing” approach at universities often debunks the significance of critical reflection， sometimes pitting creativity against conceptual thinking， the Poetics Program insists that scholarship， historical research， and critical writing are at the core of graduate education.
This is not to say that a Ph.D. program is appropriate for most poets. I tend to discourage people who ask my advice from pursuing this degree at any institution， partly to ensure that they have considered the limitations of the academic environment in terms of artistic freedom， compensation， and future employment. But if this is the choice they make， it is likely because they want to be teachers， editors， and writers and where their writing is as likely to be criticism or poetics as poetry. The Poetics Program was fully integrated into the English Department， presenting seminars and sponsoring events within that context， even while marking such offerings as our own. We also provide modest funding to students to publish magazines and books （print and electronic） as well as to organize their own poetry readings， talks series， and conferences： over the past decade， this has resulted in dozens of magazines， scores of books， and numerous visitors， not to mention the web site we created， the Electronic Poetry Center， created by Loss Peque?o Glazier， the first major poetry web portal.
While many doctoral programs in English expect students to choose between being poets and scholars， we suggested that the one activity may enhance the other， for those so inclined. The poets， as I’ve suggested， did their poetry and their editing on their own： it informed their graduate work but is never the explicit content of it. And， equally significant， the Poetics graduate students form a vital community among themselves， where their shared interest in criticism and scholarship， poetry writing， and teaching make for an active bond. As it turns out， this mix seems to produce Ph.D.s who are eager and well qualified to teach literature as well as writing.
While poetics suggests a long history of laws of composition， the Poetics Program stressed poiesis—the actual making or doing： poetry as process. Every doing carries the potential of something new， emergent， something not already predicated by poetics. Practice overtakes theory， practice changes theory. And not just writing practice， but performance practice， from poetry reading to talks and lectures to teaching.
***
Reading is a plural event.
I’ve specialized in creating books that contain works， poems and essays， that cannot be read in one way. They defy not only a unified theory but， sometimes， even the semblance of plain sense （and at other times offer the palpable semblance of sense， unmoored from rational explanation）. I like to think the relation of one work to the next in one of my books is comparable to the twisting， inside-out movement of a M?bius strip. Reframing is the reader’s response， at least if the reader wants to take the ride offered for the sheer hell of it， which turns out to be for the sheer heaven of it too.
Most critical theories operate on the replacement model， mandating an ever revisionist framing of the critical paradigm for reading， with a built-in obsolescence of 5 to 10 years： close， distant， symptomatic， surface， deep， affective， impersonal， political， psychoanalytic， linguistic， sociological， nationalist， transnational， pessimistic， optimistic， projective， historical， formal， and so in. All those frames of reading come into play in reading one of the Henry James passages Marjorie Perloff mentions in her essay “Microreading/Microwriting” ⑤. And， indeed， Perloff is exemplary in her advocacy of a mobile， pragmatic rather than axiomatic， approach to frames. Jerome McGann， Johanna Drucker， Leslie Scalapino， Susan Stewart， Tracie Morris， and Thomas McEvilley. Kyoo Lee takes up this challenge in “A Close-Up： On U the Reader InOutside”⑥. All these follow on work as discrepant as Michel Foucault， Roland Barthes， Thelonious Monk， Deleuze/Guattari， Mel Brooks， Erving Goffman， Arakawa/Gins， George Lakoff， Shulamith Firestone， John Berger—which in turn follow the Lucretian lead of Dickinson， Stein， Wittgenstein， and Benjamin. Or such have been the models I have written about. L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E （the name of the magazine I co-edited between 1978 and 1982） was an invitation to read with and through a multripillocation of frames， “InOutside” in Lee’s sense. It’s that multiplicity that makes the work still largely repugnant to official verse culture， no matter the exceptional （and welcome） exceptions. Poems， the kind of poetry I want， use reframing as a process. They allow readers （Lee’s “U”） to shift frames “InOutside” without settling onto an individual one. Jackson Mac Low called this “reader-centered writing” because it puts the reader， not the poem， in the driver’s seat. This doesn’t mean the poem isn’t a well-wrought submersible. But in this kind of poem， readers navigate through the textual waters， actively not passively： they earn their reading. Or indeed， as Perloff and Lee remind us， “listening，” since the audiotext of a work presents a whole new of frames， which is to say possibilities， for the reader/listener.
***
Recently， I had a poem accepted by a hyper-mainstream publication. I was glad for that as my work is often unwelcome at such places. A few weeks later a young assistant editor sent me a proof with dozens of changes. I would have been less disappointed if the magazine had queried before making the changes. I had to backtrack through the poem and hand correct each of the unauthorized alterations. House Style at this place trumps author’s choices and I must have been the rare author to object. My 101 became one-hundred-one （I wanted the numeration to seem wonkish）. In other cases， the editor changed my wording from sharp and particular to bland. “Sudden move” became “sudden moves”; a man appearing with a sudden gift was changed to sudden gifts. “Orient Eastward” lost its caps， losing the sense of Orient and East both. I stetted most of the changes. Even so， on the third round， the earnest assistant editor told me that the chief editor had asked that I please be consistent in how I capitalize “dark matter，” as I had it both capped and Lower Case. They were concerned readers would think the editors had made a mistake. Their professional competence would be questioned. I just couldn’t write another email saying I intend my Inconsistencies， that they are the heart of my Dark Matter. I didn’t want to put them in harm’s way.
And indeed， this response to Lee and Perloff was rejected， after being solicited， by Theoretical Studies in Literature and Art， because it did not follow their idea of professional decorum. Just my point about the sort of clueless， frame-locked editorial practices that are as theoretically misinformed as they are aversive to both art and literature. I remember in Marjorie Perloff’s first review of my work， a crucial introduction to L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E poetry in 1984：
Charles Bernstein takes this sort of word play a step further， almost to the point of unintelligibility. In “The Sheds of Our Webs，” neologisms abound： “a lacrity，” “sumpter” （“marshy” or “low-lying” on the model of “sump”？）， “plentitude.” More important; grammatical position is frequently ambiguous： is “sheds” a noun or gerund （“sheddings”）？ “Abandon skirts” a verb followed by its direct object or a subject—verb clause？ “Tender” a verb or adjective or noun？ There is no way to be sure， especially since many of the words in ambiguous syntactic position are homonyms. （Perloff， “The Word as Such” 16.）
That’s “microreading/microwriting” in action. Thirty-five years later， and after a lifetime of being known， if not notorious， for my ideosyncratic [sic] approach to style， I can still get a bright young editor’s puzzled response. If such smart folks don’t know how to read poetry and see THOU SHALT NOT at any slight wandering from convention， then there is no hope.
And that is why， and how， reading matters.
***
Or as it put it in My Way：
I open the door and it shuts after me. That is， the more I venture out into the open the more I find it is behind me and I am moving not toward some uninhabited space but deeper into a maelstrom of criss-crossing inscriptions. The open is a vanishing point—the closer I get to it the greater the distance from which it beckons. And I begin the journey again. （Bernstein， “The Revenge of the Poet-Critic” 17.）
Notes
① See Erving Goffman， Frame Analysis： An Essay on the Organization of Experience （Boston： Northeastern UP， 1986）.
② See George Lakoff and Mark Johnson， Metaphors We Live By （Chicago： U of Chicago P， 1980）.
③ See Ludwig Wittgenstein， Philosophical Investigations （4th edition）; trans. G. E. M. Anscombe， P. M. S. Hacker， and Joachim Schulte; eds. P. M. S. Hacker and Joachim Schulte （Walden， MA： Blackwell， 2009）.
④ See Charles Bernstein， “What’s Art Got to Do with It” in My Way， 36-51.
⑤ See Marjorie Perloff， “Microreading/Microwriting，” PN Review 46：1 （2019）， 249.
⑥ See Kyoo Lee， “A Close-up： On U， The Reader InOutside，” Theoretical Studies in Literature and Art 39.3 （2019）： 160–68.
Works Cited
Bernstein， Charles. “A Blow Is Like an Instrument.” Attack of the Difficult Poems. Chicago： U of Chicago P， 2011. 7-26.
---. “Frame Lock.” My Way 90-99.
---. My Way： Speeches & Poems. Chicago： U of Chicago P， 1999. 90-99.
---. “The Revenge of the Poet-Critic.” My Way. 3-17.
Perloff， Marjorie. “The Word as Such： L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E Poetry in the Eighties.” In The Dance of the Intellect： Studies in the Poetry of the Pound Tradition. Cambridge， UK： Cambridge UP， 1985. 215-38. Originally published in American Poetry Review 13.3 （May-June 1984）： 15-22.
責任编辑：四维