'I sing,' says modern Bard, 'speaking to eye alone, by help of type-founders, papermakers, compositors, ink balls, folding, and stitching.' Published in review of Eliza Cook's poetry in Anglo-American in 1847, statement testifies to nineteenth century's growing recognition of expressiveness of poetic book, whether in elite folio, high-end quarto, everyday octavo, or, as in this case, common reader's duodecimo. (1) Observing that days of oral tradition, when the song and singer were one, had been supplanted by print culture, reviewer went on to note compensations offered by visual and material: For charm thus lost, we must make up, as we can, in other ways. The painter's and graver's art does something; reader's mind must do rest (p. 343). When William Blake, in his Introduction to Songs of Innocence, had his piper substitute pipe for pen and stain the water clear in order to write a book that all may read, (2) he too commented on poetry's metamorphosis in print culture. He enacted this insight materially, in bibliographic, linguistic, iconic, and graphic features he conceived and fashioned himself. Except that all may not book he made: few of us have been fortunate enough to view, let alone handle, one of physical copies of Songs of Innocence from 1789, 1795, 1802, 1804, or 1811. (3) As we know, none of these copies is identical in coloring, sequence, or contents. Each necessarily stages its own argument about poetry, pictures, print, and possibilities of pastoral innocence. Until relatively recently, most of us Songs of Innocence in printed collections and anthologies, assisted by facsimile reproductions of plates from one of extant copies. In digital age, thanks to work of Morris Eaves, Robert N. Essick, and Joseph Viscomi on William Blake Archive, we have recourse to virtual representations of multiple copies and better understanding of uniqueness of each of Blake's individual productions. (4) But we still, for most part, and teach Blake's poetry apart from material forms he designed for its expression. And perhaps this says as much about our own limitations as it does about access. How do we read Blake's graphic ornaments in midst of poetic lines? Do semantics always trump iconic and graphic elements? How much close attention do nonreferential squiggles require? Does color signify? What is meaning of paper, layout, calligraphy and sequence? In this most material of poetic productions, how much does matter actually matter? Blake's creative control over processes of production was unique, but his interest in expressiveness of printed page was not. As we are beginning to recognize, an extraordinary number of nineteenth-century poets, artists, book designers, and publishers experimented with interplay between bibliographic form and linguistic and iconic content. Yet our study of Victorian poems as embodied, graphic forms is in its infancy. As Johanna Drucker remarks in one of essays collected here, we lack basic critical vocabulary for talking about organization and composition of pages, way these create development over sequence of openings, use of patterns, decoration, typographic formats and styles, and specific ways methods of print production are thought about in conception of work. Bindings, typographic treatment, and other matters are usually left for bibliophiles to ponder in their own peculiar backwater of terrain once known as bibliographical studies (VP 48, no. 1: 139). Contending that bibliographic forms are as significant as linguistic, this special issue of Victorian Poetry and Book Arts explores some methodological and conceptual premises and vocabulary for talking about Victorian poetry as physical text. Analyzing material features of wide range of poetic texts made in nineteenth-century Europe and North America, its essays historicize and theorize Some of Characteristics of Modern Poetry. …
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