One of the arguments about poetry, and even poets wrestle with this, is determining whether it has a function outside of itself. Sure, there are plenty of ways of going about answering this, and it has definitely generated plenums of scholarly literature. For me, one of the greatest functions poetry offers is its ability to enable and/or facilitate the creation of other forms of art, and in tonight’s post, we will look at LADY GAGA (I put her name in caps for emphasis and as a homage to the greatness that is her legacy to come).
As I was wikipedia-ing the other night, as one does to avoid doing actual schoolwork at the computer, I was listening to Lady Gaga’s auxiliary tracks on the re-release of her breakout/breakthrough CD The Fame, entitle The Fame Monster. It’s an interesting read about a young unattractive quirky singer/songwriter who passes on Julliard to sing in underground New York cabarets, gets signed on to various record labels as a writer then becomes an international phenomenon within a year of releasing her own debut album. But all that exposition has little immediate concern: what struck me were her influences.
She cites, of course, glam rock as one of her main influences. You can see that in her styling, fashion, and over-the-top spectacular performances. Musically, you can definitely hear it in her recent ballad about convincing her father to get surgery, “Speechless”. Here is a side-by-side comparison of a Shudder to Think song, “Ballad of Maxwell Demon”, with “Speechless”. I believe they’re in the same key, share similar melodic moves, and stylistically glamorize Victorian fashion with science-fictional surrealism.
The influence, however, that really took me aback was that of Rainer Maria Rilke, an early 20th Century German poet. Rilke is interesting to me in his usage of Apollo, Hermes and—most prominently—Orpheus as reoccurring figures in his poetry. It would make sense that Gaga and her art would resonate with Rilke’s; after all, Orpheus was an integral figure to musicians and poets. She states in an interview on a German talk show:
Well, Rilke for me has been sort of my bible. Actually I have a Rilke tattoo on my arm. I got this in Osaka, Japan. “In the deepest hour of the night, confess to yourself that you would die if you were forbidden to write. And look deep into your heart where it spreads its roots, the answer, and ask yourself, must I write?”
I find this connection inspiring on many levels. For one, it gives artistic credence to an emerging pop icon whose talent I feel is continuously discredited solely by virtue of her success. Secondly, it contemporizes and makes relevant poetry to a generation of listeners of music and spectators of popular culture. Thirdly, the quotation is a sage, motivational prescription. I would die.