Before coming into this class, I was incredibly unfamiliar with the term voyeurism. I had only heard the word a few times and could never truly define it. Now that I fully comprehend the word, however, voyeurism is following me everywhere.
Recently, in a different English class, I analyzed the novel Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close which involves the life of a young, autistic boy whose father passes away in 9/11. The book incorporates pictures taken on 9/11 and repeatedly uses the “falling man” picture. For those who are unfamiliar with this term, the “falling man” picture is an image that happened to capture a person jumping out of the world trade center to their death. Dr. Paku noted that some people saw these pictures as voyeuristic at the time, and that the photos sparked some controversy among the general public shortly after the terrorist attack. The term voyeurism had come back into my life! Until that day, I had never considered the idea of violent photos appealing as voyeuristic. However, it makes sense. For some odd reason, people are drawn to these photos. People want to know more about this act of terrorism. People are drawn to the mystery of violence.
A few blog posts ago, I discussed the voyeuristic nature of Norman Rockwell’s painting, The Connosseur. In her comments, Professor McCoy acknowledged the fact that voyeurism would reappear as a theme in future books, specifically abstract art, and that there was a potential for another blog post! Lo and behold, the cover of Percival Everett’s poetry book, re:f(gesture) is an abstract painting which, if studied close enough, could be perceived as a naked body of a woman. While that is how I perceived the panting, I fully recognize that others could see something completely different.
*explicit language warning
The following photo is a photo of the cover of re: f (gesture):
Personally, I believe that voyeurism is a way for people to study the private space of a person from afar. People want to look at pictures of the falling man and Everett’s abstract painting because one hints at suffering and the other creates gestures towards sex. While the outside of Everett’s book of poems sparks voyeurism, the inside of re: f (gesture) does something different. In fact, the book explicitly acknowledges sex, pain, and other private things throughout.
In the “b” portion of poem, Everett recognizes violence. He starts off the stanza with, “B is for blood. The river of life.” Blood is normally a symbol of violence in today’s culture. Everett continues writing, “Three hours of battle, leaving three-thousand Zulus dead.” This line is an explicit statement about war and death. People are often too shy to admit that they are fascinated with these topics. War and crime fill popular news channels at night, signaling that masses of people find that specific content entertaining. Like the voyeuristic images of the falling man, many people do enjoy reading, hearing, and seeing these gruesome tales. People are too reserved to admit this.
In the “f” segment of his poem, Everett writes, “F is for feathered thrust and the birth of twins.” Further down in the same stanza he continues, using the word, “penetrated,” and writing “F is for fuck.” In this stanza, Everett clearly acknowledges sex. By using this explicitly clear vocabulary, Everett seems to counteract his abstract and voyeuristic cover. Similar to his writing on violence, Everett discusses sex, a topic many people are intrigued by, but often too shy to admit. This is only one of the many stanza’s that acknowledges private and personal acts.
This exploitation of violence and sex coupled with a voyeuristic front cover is interesting. In a way, it feels like Everett is calling out everyone who looked at the abstract picture for too long. It seems as if he is explicitly stating the words, feelings, and emotions that are often too private, sexual, or embarrassing for people to discuss. Is Everett challenging readers to announce and express these topics? Is Everett simply playing with his readers and hinting that he knows out personal fascinations? One thing is for sure: Percival Everett will never acknowledge the true meaning of this. Without even using words, Everett challenges his readers immediately in the book, re: f (gesture).