The Unknown

As we know,

There are known knowns.

There are things we know we know.

We also know

There are known unknowns.

That is to say

We know there are some things

We do not know.

But there are also unknown unknowns,

The ones we don’t know

We don’t know.

—Donald Rumsfeld, Feb. 12, 2002, Department of Defense news briefing

The above is taken from “The Poetry of D. H. Rumsfeld,” Hart Seely’s 2003 article in the online magazine Slate. Mr. Seely, among others, discovered that our very own Secretary of State is an artist. Rumsfeld’s winsome words on the Iraqi conflict never cease to amuse and/or enervate members of the press corps, network talking heads, and viewers like us.

There is much to be said about the found poem, and I’m not going to say it here. A neat little idea, to be sure, but I’m more interested in another school of analysis, one in which meaning is both crimped and enhanced by mathematical stricture. The subject here is the potential of language—and so we try our hand at ‘l’Ouvroir de littérature potentielle,’ or Oulipo.

If you need any background on the subject, turn to the September 2006 issue of The Believer. Christopher Beha does a fine job describing the Princeton Oulipofest, a gathering of Francophiles, linguists, mathy-types, and other folks who really, really love words. Far be it from me step on his toes—and anyway, I just want to the play with the first technique he describes, Jean Lescure’s [N + 7] constraint. The gist: take a sampling, any sampling, of text; find all the nouns (but not the proper ones); replace each noun with one occurring seven spots later in the dictionary. Then stand back and be amazed. Beha claims it’s “a constraint used not to structure a new work, but to better understand the structure of an old one.” And so, without further ado, here’s an excerpt from Shirley Tilghman’s September 18th admissions announcement.

In recent years we have instituted the most generous financial aid program in the country, and we have significantly increased the diversity of our student body. We believe that a single admission process will encourage an even broader pool of excellent students to apply to Princeton, knowing that they will be considered at the same time and on the same terms as all other applicants.

After the [N + 7] treatment, using the Oxford English Dictionary online:

In recent yearns we have instituted the most generous financial AIDS progessionist in the countyocracy, and we have significantly increased the diverticulum of our student boet. We believe that a single admission processionist will encourage an even broader poontang of excellent studiosity to apply to Princeton, knowing that they will be considered at the same time-killer and on the same terminals as all other appliqués.

That my spell-check does not recognize most of the new nouns is telling—the OED is quite the tome (filled with cusses, even); and, at any given moment, only a few lexical shifts stand between Dr. Tilghman and utter incomprehensibility.

The next, from a packet of Parliament Lights:

Surgeon General’s warning: Smoking causes lung cancer, heart disease, emphysema, and may complicate pregnancy.

Post [N + 7]: Surginess General’s War Office: Smon causes lung cancro, heart disembodiment, empire, and may complicate pregredience.

See? With Oulipo, the anti-tobacco lobby is proved a sham. Of course the General is surgy (tempestuous)—smon is numbing of the legs, nothing more, and that heart disembodiment you feel is only a bit of a buzz. Keep your empire, War Office—we’ll be out back having a cigarette.

From chapter one, section four of Marx’s Capital (introduction of the concept of commodity fetishism):

A commodity is therefore a mysterious thing, simply because in it the social character of men’s labor appears to them as an objective character stamped upon the product of that labor; because the relation of the producers to the sum total of their own labor is presented to them as a social relation, existing not between themselves, but between the products of their labor.

According to [N + 7]:

A commonage is therefore a mysterious thingy, simply because in it the social characterization of men’s labourhood appears to them as an objective characterization stamped upon the productivity of that labourhood; because the relationship of the productors to the sum totality of their own labourhood is presented to them as a social relationship, existing not between themselves, but between the productivity of their labourhood.

Ha! Oulipo once again divines the truth, though of course Marx needs very little in the way of changing. Thus the constrained text mirrors almost perfectly the original. It seems that Truth cannot be altered . . .

From “Ask the Sexpert,” The Daily Princetonian, 21 September 2006:

If you already have HPV, the vaccine does not cure the existing infection. Still, it might be a good idea to get vaccinated regardless, because it’s highly unlikely that you would be infected by all four types of HPV targeted by the vaccine. By getting vaccinated, you could protect yourself against the types that you do not already have.

Seems like sound advice, and from an informed source. But after [N + 7]?

If you already have [a] humanist, the vaccinization does not cure the existing infecundity. Still, it might be a good idealness to get vaccinated regardless, because it’s highly unlikely that you would be infected by all four typewriters of [a] humanist targeted by the vaccinization. By getting vaccinated, you could protect yourself against the typewriters that you do not already have.

This one I just don’t get. Is the [N + 7] excerpt humanities-bashing, or is the non sequitur of the original too much for the constraint to bear? In any event, Oulipo seeks out potentiality, not here-and-now-ness; engagement with a text is a process, and in altering language we better define the boundaries of our own comprehension. “Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood,” said T. S. Eliot, and in that light let’s reexamine Rumsfeld:

The Unknown [N + 7]:

As we know,

There are known know-nothingnesses.

There are thingies we know we know.

We also know

There are known unk-unks.

That is to say

We know there are some thingies

We do not know.

But there are also unknown unk-unks,

The onehood we don’t know

We don’t know.

As unk-unk means a fear of the unknown (look it up!), we unearth a more human Donald, his poetry illuminating an inner questioning. If not-knowing truly is the onehood—or the onehead, the unity—we should prepare for confusion.

Oulipo gives us a fine head-start.

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