The BBC had an article last week bemoaning the loss of handwriting — copperplate, cursive — whatever name by which you learned it. When I taught school, I taught letter shaping; in my Spanish class in college, we learned to make animal shapes of our capital letters — mainly because my Spanish teacher’s first name began with an I that became a beautiful swan. He felt artistry in writing should be encouraged, so we dutifully practiced writing cursive — in Spanish — and beautifully. (And speaking of writing beautifully, have you seen Justina’s tribute to Dia Calhoun’s calligraphy? Glory, go look at that woman’s artistic lettering.)
But apparently it’s not taught in many British schools, at least.
Of course, there is the usual well-bred panic from people when things change — people deeply feared the typewriter as impersonal, and how many times have we had the evils of email preached? One respondent to the article amusingly remarked that it likely seemed a shame to people when we passed on from cuneiform as well — and maybe only geese rejoiced when people stopped using quills. For my part, since coming to the UK, I’ve indulged my love for ink and enjoyed writing with easy to find and inexpensive fountain pens. Penmanship can be art — and maybe sometimes the art isn’t all in the appearance, but in the content.
All of this brought to mind a poem I’d read, and the phrase, “the point of style is character.”
Writing
The cursive crawl, the squared-off characters
these by themselves delight, even without
a meaning, in a foreign language, in
Chinese, for instance, or when skaters curve
all day across the lake, scoring their white
records in ice. Being intelligible,
these winding ways with their audacities
and delicate hesitations, they become
miraculous, so intimately, out there
at the pen’s point or brush’s tip, do world
and spirit wed. The small bones of the wrist
balance against great skeletons of stars
exactly; the blind bat surveys his way
by echo alone. Still, the point of style
is character. The universe induces
a different tremor in every hand, from the
check-forger’s to that of the Emperor
Hui Tsung, who called his own calligraphy
the ‘Slender Gold.’ A nervous man
writes nervously of a nervous world, and so on.
Miraculous. It is as though the world
were a great writing. Having said so much,
let us allow there is more to the world
than writing: continental faults are not
bare convoluted fissures in the brain.
Not only must the skaters soon go home;
also the hard inscription of their skates
is scored across the open water, which long
remembers nothing, neither wind nor wake.
Writing” by Howard Nemerov, is from The Collected Poems of Howard Nemerov, © 1977.
Poetry Friday is Mr. Linky’d at Picture Book of the Day.
I’ve always been deeply disappointed with my own handwriting. I always admire people whose writing is beautiful and graceful. Just like I love to watch those skaters curling around the ice. Thanks for sharing this poem today.
Beautiful poem! Wow, I’m floored.
I am a lover of handwriting, which is ironic because I used to hate having to learn it in school–copying the Gettysburg Address over and over, I still remember that. And I also do calligraphy now, which is an even further irony. But Dia’s lettering art is WAY gorgeous. That’s amazing stuff. Thanks for bringing some gems of the written word to us!
I’m with Janet and Jama in my love for “The universe induces a different tremor in every hand.”
One of the greatest ironies of my career as a teacher is my not-so-great handwriting. This is one area in which I am NOT a role model!!! But I’m feeling better about it now that it’s been identified as a “universe induced tremor”!!
I remember learning to write and wanting to write beautifully like both of my parents. I’m glad we spent so much time on handwriting. Of course, I had no idea the skill would be lost on my own kids.
Enjoyed the poem, too. Vivid. Memorable.
I enjoy each visit here. Join us for Little Lov’n Monday & Giveaway
Penmanship is so much more personal. Even a form rejection letter with a side personal scribble on it makes me a bit more happy about the rejection!
Beautiful poem.
I love penmanship and calligraphy, and I love the way Chinese characters are written, parts of them thick, tapering to thin points, some strokes firmly grounded and others where you lift the brush or pen right off the page. I think it’s sad that they don’t teach this in the U.K.; copperplate is associated with poncy upper-class people educated at public (U.S. private) schools. ‘Joined up writing’ is considered more egalitarian. But it’s nowhere near as pretty…
We all know how the heart leaps when we get a first-class letter that’s actually addressed by hand, don’t we? There’s so much of a person in that handwriting. My father died twenty-four years ago, but I still keep a (now empty) jar of home-gathered honey which he labeled himself, “Whidbey Island Cut-Comb Honey 1984” in his own handwriting, just because I see him in that graceful script. Lovely post, Tanita – thanks.
Oh, my.
This is so lovely.
And so much lovlier than my handwriting which, it’s fair to say, is virtually illegible…
Sigh…
Ditto, to all the above.
I’ve been mourning the “demise” of penmanship for awhile now. There’s nothing like a handwritten letter to see the whole person at the moment of writing. My fave line is the same as Janet’s. Thanks for sharing this wonderful poem today!!
How true that there *is* delight in the strokes alone–I can attest to that from years of practicing Chinese calligraphy brushstrokes; the physical feeling of how the brush meets and leaves the paper, and the sheer joy of seeing something beautiful regardless of the meaning of the word itself–but that we should never forget the point of style is character.
I’m with everyone else. All these PF selections today are rockin’ my world. My soul.
This poem, Tanita…wow. It takes such a sudden shift in tone at the end. It fascinates me. And that first, huge opening stanza….Beautiful. I love that you chose this today. Thank you.
My line of choice is “The universe induces a different tremor in every hand –” Even a tremor can produce art.
Your Spanish teacher was a gift! I had to make animal-shape-letters furtively, in the margins of my notebooks.
What a thoughtful and beautiful poem.
out there/at the pen’s point or brush’s tip, do world/and spirit wed.
*swoon*
So many gorgeous selections this morning, all of them making me think harder than I was prepared to do on this Friday morning.
I agree with Laura and Sara. What a beautiful poem!
I know, Laura. I have serious writer envy over that line you quoted! Takes my breath away…
Alas, I have poor, poor penmanship. My daughter writes beautifully, and so does my mother. The gene skipped right over me.
You always find such beautiful poems, Tanita. I’m grateful for them.
Wow. I’m seeing so many gems in today’s PF posts. Thanks for sharing this!
The small bones of the wrist
balance against great skeletons of stars
Fabulous.