Distinguished  International  Visiting  Fellowship  2017    

Simon  Palfrey  ‘Demon’s  Land:  A  Poem  Come  True’  

 

       As  part  of  its  international  research  collaboration,  the  ARC  Centre  of  Excellence  for  the  History  of  Emotions  funds  outstanding  international  scholars  in  the  field  to  visit  one  or  more  of  the  Australian  nodes  for  a  period  of  between  four  weeks  and  two  months,  to  work  with  members  of  the  Centre  on  a  research  program  of  their  choice.  Visitors  are  invited  to  present  their  work  in  lectures  or  symposia,  where  they  will  receive  feedback  from  and  engage  in  discussion  with  members  of  the  Centre,  promoting  collaborative  research.      Simon  Palfrey  held  a  Distinguished  International  Visiting  Fellowship  in  2017.  He  spent  three  weeks  working  with  the  Centre  at  The  University  of  Western  Australia,  The  University  of  Sydney  and  The  University  of  Queensland.      Simon  Palfrey  is  Professor  of  English  Literature  at  Brasenose  College,  University  of  Oxford.  He  is  a  founding  editor  of  the  Bloomsbury  series  ‘Shakespeare  Now!’  and  ‘Beyond  Criticism’.  His  books  include:  Late  Shakespeare:  A  New  World  of  Words  (Clarendon  Press,  

 

 

1997);  Shakespeare  in  Parts  (Oxford  University  Press,  2007),  with  Tiffany  Stern;  Doing  Shakespeare,  rev.  edn  (Arden  Shakespeare,  2011);  Shakespeare’s  Possible  Worlds  (Cambridge  University  Press,  2014)  and  Poor  Tom:  Living  “King  Lear”  (University  of  Chicago  Press,  2014).  His  most  recent  publications  are  Shakespeare's  Dead  (Bodleian  Library,  2016),  with  Emma  Smith,  and  the  novel  Macbeth,  Macbeth  (Bloomsbury,  2016),  written  with  Ewan  Fernie.      Simon  reflects  on  his  experience  as  a  Visiting  Fellow  with  CHE,  below.    In  September  2017,  I  visited  Australia  for  three  weeks  as  an  ARC  Centre  of  Excellence  for  the  History  of  Emotions  Distinguished  International  Visiting  Fellow.  It  was  a  memorable  and  very  rewarding  visit.      The  main  purpose  of  my  visit  was  to  share,  test  and  develop  my  project,   ‘Demons  Land:  A  Poem  Come  True’.  This  employs  film,  drama,  paintings,  sculptures,  music  and  text  to  tell  the  imaginary  history  of  an  island  in  which  a  poem  comes  terribly  to  life.  That  poem  is  Edmund  Spenser’s   The   Faerie   Queene,   perhaps   the   single   greatest   poetic   work   of   the   English  Renaissance.   What   if   a   life,   if   history   itself,   were   modelled   upon   such   a   poem?   The  imaginative  premise  of  the  project  is  that  subsequent  global  history,  a  repeating  mission  of  conquest,   education   and   colonisation,   has   been   a   tale   of   this   poem   coming   differently,  imperfectly   to   life.   ‘Demons   Land’   explores   art’s   ongoing   complicity   in   the   dreams   and  crimes  of  empire.  More  specifically,   ‘Demons  Land’  finds   its  dark  shadow  as  an  allegory  of  Britain’s   most   notorious   colony,   the   prison   island   of   Van   Diemen’s   Land.   For   obvious  reasons,  bringing  this  work-­‐in-­‐progress  to  Australia  was  at  once  exciting,  daunting,  and  very  necessary.      My  project  speaks  very  directly  to  the  history  of  emotions.  It  has  long  been  understood  that  The   Faerie   Queene,   in   its   claim   to   change   or   to   model   lives,   is   an   exemplary   Christian  humanist   poem.   In   our   project,   it   becomes   the   text   of   the   unfinished   modern   world.  Spenser  was  an  active  participant  in  the  Elizabethan  conquest  of  Ireland,  going  as  far  as  to  advocate  genocidal  famine  as  a  final  solution.  But  as  well  as  an  apology  for  repression  and  savagery,   Spenser’s  most   celebrated   poem   is   a  work   of   staggering,   hallucinogenic   beauty  and  idealism.  It  takes  seriously  the  idea  that  emotions  –   in  the  form  of  longing,  pride,  lust,  fear,  envy,  vanity,   love,   reverence  –  might   literally  make  history.  Emotions  are  not  merely  accidental   or   subjective:   they   are   constitutive   of   what   we   and   our   worlds   are   or   might  become.      I   began   in   Perth,  where  Bob  White  was   a  welcoming   host.   I   gave   a   talk   titled   ‘A  Modern  Seminary’,   in  which   I   spoke   about   how   the  world-­‐historical   questions   raised   by   Spenser’s  poem,  and  more  broadly  the  question  of  the  recursiveness  of  history  –  how  it  often  seems  to   be   patterned   by   predictions   and   repetitions   –   might   find   application   in   the   apparent  triviality  of  one’s  own  daily   life:  not  ‘Big  Name  History’,  but  implicated  all  the  same,  as  we  

 

 

experience  our  own  shames,  evasions,  exclusions.   I  then  showed  the  first   ‘Book’  (of  three)  from  the  film,  which  seemed  to  alarm  and  perhaps  astonish  in  equal  measure.      The   following  day   featured  a   ‘moved  reading’  of  a  section  of   the  original  playscript  at   the  replica   New   Fortune   Theatre   (an   under-­‐used   treasure),   organised   and   edited   by   Steve  Chinna.  At   least  20  people  participated   in  playing  parts,  with  a  good  number  more   in   the  audience.  The  idea  was  that  actors  should  have  no  knowledge  of  their  parts  beforehand,  a  variation   on   the   part-­‐practice   of   the   Elizabethan   theatre,   where   actors   learnt   separately  their  own  cues  and  speeches,  and  a  performance  would  be  an  ensemble  of  these  discrete  parts   joining   in   a   unique   event,   often   necessarily   unpredictable   and   semi-­‐improvised   (at  least   at   first).   I   have  written   at   length   about   this   in  my   book   Shakespeare   in   Parts   (with  Tiffany  Stern),  so   it  was  good  fun  observing  the  process  with  my  own  words  and  roles.  As  ever,  the  simple  fact  of  new  styles  of  delivery  and  emphasis  revealed  unforeseen  humour,  piquancy  and,   indeed,  political  punch.   It  was  nearly  as  satisfying  as   the  wine  tasting   I  was  taken  to  afterwards  by  CHE  Associate  Investigator  Clare  Davidson.      The  next  stage  of  my  trip  was  my  hometown  of  Hobart.  A  showing  of  the  full  45-­‐minute  film  was  organised  by  Alicia  Marchant  at  the  Dechaineux  Theatre  in  the  University  of  Tasmania’s  School  of  Art.   I  was  a   little  nervous  about  bringing   the   film  home   in   this  way.   I   had  been  reminded  of  the  potential  political  sensitivity  of  doing  so  when  I  tried  to  get  permission  to  include   in   the   film   a   sample   from   Fanny   Cochrane-­‐Smith’s   haunting   ‘Spring   Song’   and  ‘Corroboree  Song’,  recorded  between  1899  and  1903.  The  original  recordings  are  held  in  the  Tasmanian  Museum  and  Art  Gallery   (TMAG),  and   it  was   important  to  get  permission  from  TMAG’s   Indigenous  Advisory   Council.   I   had   very   encouraging   and   friendly   exchanges  with  Fanny’s   descendant,   Alison   Overeem,   but   unfortunately   left   things   too   late   to   get  permission  before  the  screening.  I  hope  to  develop  these  conversations  as  the  project  goes  on.  As  it  was,  the  screening  went  off  very  happily,  with  penetrating  questions  from  a  range  of  people,  some  artists,  some  academics,  some  interested  members  of  the  public.  When  in  Hobart   I  also  enjoyed  a  sneak  preview  of  TMAG’s   ‘Derwent’  exhibition  with  Mary  Knights,  and  a  visit  to  MONA  (Museum  of  Old  and  New  Art),  where  I  am  hoping  to  take  at  least  some  of   the   ‘Demons   Land’   project.   There   have   been   talks   with   Jane   Clark   of   MONA   about  showing  the  film  at  Dark  Mofo  (the  winter  MONA  music  and  art   festival),  which  would  be  fantastic  if  it  came  off.  Certainly  there  are  strange  echoes  and  resonances  when  showing  the  materials  in  Tasmania,  and  MONA  has  long  been  in  our  sights  as  the  perfect  destination.      A  few  days  later  I  did  the  same  thing  at  The  University  of  Sydney,  organised  by  Juanita  Ruys  and   Bastian   Fox   Phelan.   Again,   I   introduced   the   film   with   a   short   talk,   followed   by   a  screening   of   the   full   film   and   very   engaged   questions.   Earlier   in   the   day   I   gave   a   well-­‐attended   ‘masterclass’   on   Shakespeare   organised   by   Huw   Griffiths.   This   I   called,  intentionally  provocatively,   ‘The  Truth  of  Anachronism’.   It  drew  on  materials   in  two  of  my  recent  books,  Shakespeare’s  Possible  Worlds   and  Poor  Tom,   thinking  about  ways   in  which  

 

 

dramatic  form  complicates  and  overlays  questions  of  temporality,  succession  and  the  event.  Drawing   upon   the   dizzying   metaphysics   of   Leibniz   for   a   critical   frame,   I   argued   that  Shakespeare   embodies   a   quite   different   model   of   history   than   those   familiar   from  conventional  historiography  and  historicism.  I  suspect  not  absolutely  everyone  agreed  with  my  methods,  but  the  room  was  packed  with  both  students  and  faculty  and  I  hope  there  was  plenty  to  chew  on.      The  final   leg  of  my  trip  was  also  the   longest.   I  stayed   in  Brisbane  for  a  week,  where  Peter  Holbrook  and  Xanthe  Ashburner   (helped  by  Sushma  Griffin)  were  extraordinarily  generous  and   stimulating   hosts,   above   and   beyond   the   official   tour   of   duty.   The   first   few   days  coincided  with  the  visit  of  my  collaborator  Ewan  Fernie,  and  we  took  advantage  of   this   to  give  a  performed  reading  from  our  co-­‐written  novel,  Macbeth,  Macbeth,  at  the  Bloodhouse  pub.  This  was  very  enjoyable,  immortalised  by  a  photograph  uploaded  to  the  Twittersphere  by  the  classicist  Alastair  Blanchard,  in  which  my  skull  radiates  with  divine  light  like  the  very  Incarnation.   Equally   happily,  we   sold  every   copy  of   the  book   that  we  had   to  hand.  Never  mind  how  many.    My   visit  was   timed   to   chime  with  Andrea  Bubenik’s  wonderful   ‘Ecstasy’  exhibition   at   The  University  of  Queensland  Art  Museum,  of  which   the   ‘Demons  Land’   film  was  an  unofficial  part   (a   kind   of   cinematic   fringe),   playing   for   about   six   weeks   from   the   beginning   of   the  exhibition.  It  was  fascinating  to  discover  the  many  ways  that  my  vision  for  the  film  rhymed  with  Andrea’s  for  her  exhibition,  and  in  particular  the  mutation  of  the  baroque  through  the  ages  (again  with  Leibniz  as  a  key  thinker),  offering  a  way  of  formalising  ecstatic  experience,  not  simply  as  excessive  or   irregular,  but  as  exemplary  of  much  of  the  most   irresistible  art,  architecture,   stories   and,   indeed,   political   action.   As   well   as   speaking   at   the   public  symposium  on  the   first  day  of   the  exhibition,   I   showed  and  discussed  the   film   in  a  special  screening   for  Andrea’s  MA  Art   students,  who  wrote   very   interesting   commentaries  which  Andrea   subsequently   sent   to   me.   And   our   conversations   are   continuing,   with   Andrea  interested   in  developing   the  project   (along  with  her  own)   for   future  Australian   iterations.  We  have  our  eye  particularly  on  the  250th  anniversary  of  Captain  Cook’s  arrival,  which  could  well   prove   a   powerfully   appropriate   occasion   for   ‘Demon’s   Land’   –  we   hope   not   just   the  film,  but  the  larger  exhibition  of  paintings  and  sculptures  and,  with  luck,  the  full  original  play  that  is  now  being  developed  in  the  UK.      The   final   event  of  my   trip  was  another  masterclass,   this   time  a  day-­‐long  exploration  with  postgraduate  students,  postdoctoral  researchers,  teachers,  writers  and  scholars,  titled  ‘The  Possibilities  of  Criticism’.  I  structured  the  discussions  (immodestly  enough)  around  examples  of  my  own  work,  ranging  from  my  formal  experiments  in  literary  criticism  (for  example,  Poor  Tom,   Shakespeare’s   Possible   Worlds)   to   more   frankly   creative   and   collaborative   works  (Macbeth,   Macbeth   and   ‘Demons   Land’).   The   discussions   were   at   once   intense,   frank,  probing,   wide-­‐ranging   and   broadly   shared   around   the   large   table.   It   was   a   particular  

 

 

pleasure   to  hear  what  everyone  else  was  doing  –  we  began   the  day  with  everyone  giving  summaries  of  their  own  work  and  the  challenges  they  are  facing.  This  allowed  everyone,   I  hope,  to  feel  invested  in  the  discussion.  The  aim  of  the  day  was  –  at  least  for  this  one  day  –  to  banish   fears   and  presuppositions,   and   to   think   from   the   ground  up   about  what  we  do  when  we  think  or  write  as  ‘critics’,  and  what  we  might  do.      Like  everything  else  I  experienced  in  Brisbane  (and  once  again,  my  thanks  above  all  to  Peter  and   Xanthe)   the   result   was   an   unusually   generous   and   open   and   creatively   questing.   A  model  of  inventive  intellectual  enquiry.