Disturbing the Divide

Abstract

In this article, we share our use of poetry as a research supervision tool. We are not only colleagues but are also in a student–supervisor relationship. Early on in the PhD process, we began writing poems to each other on email as a way of communicating aspects of our research ideas that we felt were not able to be expressed in prose. We found that this use of poetry enabled a direct emotional engagement with the work and ideas we were forming. At the same time, we shaped our writing activities as a form of resistance, indulging in a form of anti-neoliberal critique. Crucially, however, we found that poetry also allowed us to form a closer relationship because it required both of us to be open and vulnerable. We didn’t allow time to write and edit the poems but emailed them as soon as they were written.

Keywords

poetry doctoral supervision improvisation neoliberal critical methods

April 10, 2012

Hi Katie . . . I spent most of the day rewriting an article for Identity. But also went back to some of the readings I am doing for my PhD. Peter asked me why I am doing this. Here is my answer today:

Haunted Identities

Family ghosts

A tattered script

Unconsciously binding

Haunt my becoming

“Locking up” “unlocking”

Unconsciously I write

On children’s minds

A tattered script

Unconsciously binding

Haunt their becoming

We, the two authors of this article, are both colleagues in education at the same university but we are also in a supervisory relationship. Esther is currently completing her PhD and Katie is supervising her (along with another colleague, also in education). The poem we began this piece with was included in an email conversation between us early on in the research supervision process. It reflects Esther’s creative approach to her research project and draws on Derrida’s notion of hauntology (Derrida, 1994). It also, crucially, represents a new approach to conversations between colleagues within such projects. This poem started a creative communication between supervisor and student. We started writing poems to reflect our thoughts and feelings about the project and about research more generally. These poems are not meant to be part of the research project itself but, rather, a way of communicating about research that values emotionality, creativity, and poetic voice. They, of course, do not reflect the complexity of research supervision; we had, and continue to have, many other kinds of email and face-to-face conversations. We also work with more formal research texts, ethics applications, reviews of literature, and the like. We suggest, however, that introducing an explicitly artistic form of communication such as poetry into this process pushes the boundaries of research supervision and other kinds of research relationships. It opens up greater possibilities for exploring the emotional edges of the work we do. It also, at least for us, allowed us to form a stronger and more trusting relationship as we willingly exposed our vulnerabilities through our poems. As part of the process, we agreed that the poems would be written and sent in the moment (rather than edited over time and made whole, or “finished”). This meant that they contained a rawness and immediacy that helped to break down the hierarchy implicit in such a relationship. We share these poems further below, written over a 4-month period and present these in the order in which we wrote them. First, however, we consider what writing such poems might offer research supervision and other collaborative research relationships. We then provide a brief overview of Esther’s research project by way of contextualizing the poetic conversations.

Poetry and Research Collaboration

Grant (2008) uses Hegel’s Master–Slave dichotomy to analyze research supervision relationships. She argues that, because these relationships are perhaps the most private teaching exchanges of any in the university, the power relations inherent are often glossed over or ignored by supervisors and those researching supervision. She invokes Hegel then in a direct attempt to name and unearth this power relationship and, therefore, better understand how the Master–Slave relationship can be both productive and repressive for students. She notes that, within the relationship,

The supervisor is a disciplinary expert and used to being listened to, especially by students. S/he has institutional position and apparent control over things the student wants (money, reputation, information about conferences, networks and so on). Thus, the right to speak in supervision . . . is structurally the supervisor’s. (p. 13)

Students are, of course, most deeply invested in this high-stakes process, but also resist and subvert the relationship in complex ways. Although not suggesting that the Master–Slave dichotomy is the only one framing research supervision, Grant (2008) suggests that it is a useful framework for naming and thinking explicitly about this power relationship, and how it impacts student and supervisor expectations. This argument is especially interesting for us to think about in the context of this article, not least because we are also colleagues in the same institution. In many ways, such a collegial relationship mitigates power relations because we are both faculty members with similar access to institutional support. However, this fact also potentially obscures the power relationship inherent in our association and respective positions, and could allow a pretence of equality, which is impossible in research supervision (Grant, 2010b).

In a later article, Grant (2010a) argues that the Master–Slave relationship can be disordered by the use of improvisation. This can occur where dialogue becomes a creative exchange of ideas that build upon one another. Improvising, she observes, requires, “certain capacities including an empathic ability to engage in intense listening . . . an ability to be fully caught up in the moment, a tolerance for ambiguity, and courage in the face of risk” (p. 273). She argues that improvisation in research dialogue can contain a productive and creative fragility, requiring vulnerability from both parties.

Our use of poetry in this article is, indeed, a form of improvisation. It required us to each write poems “on the fly” in response to a poem from the other. Although this dialogue was private (at the time), it required a trust that the other would receive our emotional poetic musings with openness and without judgment. Crucially, however, Grant (2010a) also notes that effective improvisation in any discipline also requires prior expertise and confidence in the medium. To improvise, one has to draw on the discipline at will and be able to interpose, create, allude, and ultimately produce something new. This is an important contextual point here as both of us are experienced, if nervous, poets; we have both written, performed, and published our poems before. We are aware of poetic convention and have immersed our lives in poetic form at various times. Faulkner (2007) insists that using poetry requires such an immersion and that researchers use it consciously and with purpose. She advocates for poetry to be used and judged on aesthetic grounds as well as research grounds and that “good research poetry” must adhere to aesthetic standards of form or, to paraphrase Miles Richardson (1998), a poem should not (only) be about a thing but rather be the thing itself. In this sense, our poems should stand alone, outside this academic discussion and justification. This is a challenge for poems that are also improvised, and one we hope we achieve.

Outside of the arts, poetry in research supervision (and elsewhere in academic publications and processes) continues to occupy something of a marginal place, despite a range of new work in the field. Faulkner (2007) observes that poetry is used in a wide variety of ways in research texts, including as a means of representing research materials (as exemplified in the book edited by Pendergast, Leggo, & Sameshima, 2009), exploring self (e.g., Basset, 2012, reflections on team collaboration) and interpreting or re-shaping “data” (e.g., Lahman et al., 2011) and as a method (e.g., Prosser, 2009). Laurel Richardson (2008), of course, argues that poetry is a method of inquiry in itself. Despite a commitment to the use of poetry in research, such writing forms conflict directly with the ever-increasing neoliberalization of universities (Elizabeth & Grant, 2013), which, in turn, affects research supervision.

As colleagues we have both encountered the “rough neoliberal beast” of the university that Ball (2012) describes and we are all required to make ourselves “calculable rather than memorable” (p. 17). Neoliberal universities have been characterized as Jekyll and Hyde personalities straddling two worlds: the research-intensive university and the world of business. Consistent with the tenets of the latter, we are required to fill revenue gaps through massive fee-paying enrollments. These hybrid organizations create a terrain of complex border crossing between the worlds of academia and business; between which there seems to be “little moral ground” (Ball, 2012, p. 23). In New Zealand, the context from which we speak, there has been an increasing emphasis on education as an export commodity; what Ball (2012) would refer to as an industry belonging to a so-called “contract group” (Ball, 2012). This creates an academic environment charged with the language and practice of neoliberalism; one in which we are measured according to the rules of manipulability, interchangeable potential, linearly ranking, and monetary value (Ball, 2012). The measurement of research outputs and impact are at the heart of expectations within this regime, thesis completions included.

New research funding regimes (such as the Research Assessment Exercise in the United Kingdom and the Performance-Based Research Fund in New Zealand) also play a role. Cupples and Pawson (2012) suggest our compliance with the practice of measuring performance exists in articulation with forms of resistance. With reference to Judith Butler, they state that in “giving account for ourselves” [we] shape our activities to meet the performance expectations while also seeking moments for tactical renegotiation (Cupples & Pawson, 2012, p. 18). They discuss that the potential academics have to perform careerist subjectivities while also indulging in forms of anti-neoliberal critique. Middleton (2009) also argues that regimes of output measurement form the subjectivities of academics at least as much as they report productivity. Perhaps our writing of poetry is a subversive act. In fulfilling our obligation to publish, we are at the same time disrupting the traditional relationships of supervisor–student through exposing our vulnerability and being willing to spend time on those activities that can’t be measured; those that involve our social, emotional, and moral development (Ball, 2012). And poetry, of course, is not a mainstream form of research writing. It is an unusual kind of output (although not so far outside the accountability regimes as to not be measurable).

Green and Usher (2003) argue that the new research funding regimes, along with increased pressure for more and faster higher degree completions, are creating a mode of “fast supervision” in post graduate research:

The term “fast” is appropriate here in that students need to be positioned so as to formulate their research questions from the outset, satisfy demands for research proposal hurdles on time, collect data in ways free of unexpected impediments, and write (or produce a given artefact) without hesitation. (p. 44)

This fast supervision mode may well not include enough time for students and supervisors to play with ideas and modes of representation or experiment with knowledge. Likewise, there might not be ample time for students to immerse themselves fully in the literature of their field and other fields. In such an environment, the slow development of personal trusting relationships between supervisors and students may become something of a luxury. Elizabeth and Grant (2013) observe that one result of changing institutional practices connected with increased managerialism and accountability “is that academics do not, by and large, embrace shared understandings of what it means to be researchers” (p. 124). Given these pressures of speed, we believe supervisors and students have an even greater need to develop trusting and reciprocal relationships. For us, using poetry enhanced our relationship and opened up a space for us to communicate in ways not otherwise possible. In the next section, we briefly describe the research project, which lends itself directly to poetic expression, before we share the poems we wrote to each other.

A Method of Exploring the Emotional Edges

The doctoral study central to this supervisory relationship is a postcritical ethnography, which is framed by the term “bricolage,” as theorized by Lévi-Strauss (1974), Denzin and Lincoln (2011), Kincheloe (2001), Kincheloe, McLaren, and Steinberg (2011), and others. The study is concerned with notions of identity and ethnicity in New Zealand and the project required Esther to develop a methodological approach to explore her own and others’ notions of being and becoming Pākehā (the term Pākehā is unique to New Zealand and refers to the descendants of the White colonial settlers who hailed predominantly from the United Kingdom and Europe in the mid-to-late 19th century). Pākehā, historically understood as the White dominant population of New Zealand, often struggle to construct positive ethnic identities due to issues of belonging (Bell, 2009; McCreanor, 2005; Webber, 2011). She needed to choose the “right tool[s] for the right job” (Saldana, 2009) to generate, slice, stitch, and create something new in this project.

Postcritical ethnography acknowledges the importance of identifying and contextualizing the position of the researcher, who is involved in ongoing critical reflection to ensure her own beliefs, bias, and assumptions are transparent throughout the study (Denzin & Lincoln, 2011; Madison, 2012). Postcritical ethnography extends the goals of critical ethnography to include “positionality, reflexivity, objectivity, and representation” (Noblit, 2004, p. 198). Madison (2012) argues that postcritical ethnography is a move to contextualize the position of the researcher and that “positionality is vital because it forces us to acknowledge our own power, privilege, and biases just as we are denouncing the power structures that surround our subjects” (p. 8). It is important to implement methods throughout the study to ensure the researcher’s subjective and political perspectives are transparent to others. By applying the prefix “post” the importance of reflexivity through the research process is signified (Grant & Giddings, 2002).

In line with such an approach, Esther adopted an ethnographic bricolage in this study. Bricolage provides a framework to draw upon diverse research knowledge, as they are required to respond to the unfolding context of the research situation (Kincheloe et al., 2011). Bricolage accommodates a wide range of theoretical and philosophical ideas that are inherent in the various aspects of the research act (Kincheloe, 2001). Becker likens the Bricoleur to a “maker of quilts” (cited in Denzin & Lincoln, 2011, p. 4) where “aesthetic and material” tools available are employed in the process.

Pivotal to the study is the adoption of an ongoing reflexive and recursive approach (Braun & Clarke, 2008; Sullivan, 2010). To achieve this, Esther uses a research journal to document embodied experience. This involves reflective conversations with herself about the research materials, choices being made, patterns identified, and the process of questioning and unraveling the deeper and more complex meanings the data evoked (Saldana, 2009). The research journal provides a place to be creative and play with research materials by writing poems, recording anecdotal stories, writing memos to self, and creating visual texts and metaphors (Irwin & de Cosson, 2004; Saldana, 2009).

Esther also employs the arts-based method of A/r/tography as a form of critical self-reflection and analysis. A/r/tography provides a critically reflective way to engage in a creative activity to explore and imagine future possibilities through reimagining histories. Dwelling in in-between spaces, the arts is used here to explore multiple identities, complexity, difference, and similarity (Irwin & de Cosson, 2004; Springgay, Irwin, Leggo, & Gouzouasis, 2008). Stewart (1999) describes a visual research model as a “process of reflective, critical inquiry which [is] concerned with advancement or extension of knowledge, new discoveries, solutions to problems and conceptual progress” (cited in Wilson, 2004, p. 46). The objective of the researcher–artist in this approach is to understand more deeply “who I am and what I believe . . . ” (Lymburner, 2004, p. 76). Lymburner (2004) argues that “art-based journaling methods provide the opportunity to reflect in action and on action aesthetically, intellectually, and introspectively” (p. 87). Finley (2011) describes the artist–researcher, or researcher–artist, as an activist approach where the value of the art making is in its usefulness of the process to the community.

Playing with modes of representation, such as writing poetry, enabled Esther to “interrogate the self, within the social and political” (Fitzpatrick, 2012, p. 13). Poetry as an art form provided a different way to develop understanding, to explore and analyze the story (L. Richardson, 2008). In using poetry, Rinehart (2012) urges us to “creatively apply our own imagination and memory to profound problems that both touch on and are implicit within . . . [our study].” The following poems, presented in the next section, demonstrate our willingness, as supervisor and student, to “play” with poetry as a research tool to interrogate our positioning in this relationship. Through this writing, we have developed deeper understandings of each other and created a space to grow an effective (and affective) research relationship. This process was begun by Esther’s poem which begins this article. Below we present the poetic email conversation which followed before commenting further on how this enabled our supervision relationship.

Poetry as Research Conversation

November 2, 2012

Dear Esther,

So, perhaps

We can draw, write ourselves

More deeply

into the words and how they form

the body bodies embodiment

of our questions and

I’m wondering how

our frameworks disenchant

how the way we form the words on the page

restricts

the answers we form

and in the end

November 2, 2012

Dear Katie,

What are you drinking now?

Laughter

Deep unapologetic laughter

erupts

splurges down the corridor

disturbs the dusty air of the academy

announces relationship of trust

Lucky lucky me

February 19, 2013

Dear Esther,

I think there are some things

that can only be said

in poems

or how poems are the only ones to say

some things

this could be a physical site then,

a kind of bounded unbound space to

say the things we do not say in research

to cry in words when we can’t bear the shame of the tears on

our faces

and why is that

I think there are some things, some times that just call for the words

we usually avoid, the ones that lurk at the edges and get put away.

and how poetry goes right there to the edge, goes too far.

reclaims our rage.

February 20, 2013

Dear Katie,

Standing on the edge of now

Between reason and rage

My words Scramble Scrabble Scribble

A sand storm blows

I turn back—a pillar of salt

Settling Distillation Crystallization

A crystal of an idea

Possibilities sparkling

February 20, 2013

Dear Esther,

Yes, the edges seem to be sparkling dangerous

perhaps there we can move, write, play in the poetic

work against the neoliberal pull of the centre

court marginality

Perhaps that’s the only place to play right now

where play is possible

movement is

But

do the edges have an edge

February 20, 2013

Dear Katie,

Dangling over the edge of reason

I play with possibility

I lean between the edge and my imagination

I fall and dream and play and create

another edge

February 26, 2013

Hi Katie,

Thought you should know

I’m not brave

I just wear a Brave’s shoes

Masking my way into research

trying to walk

upright tall not trip or fall

If the shoe doesn’t fit

will it fall

show my pale jandal line

Soil between my toes

a laborer’s heels

Player in the academy

Dear Esther,

I’m thinking about that word, bravery

bravado, perhaps is the masculine

Brazen

As an academic woman

those who dared to be

and maybe

we play around that.

Still.

None of us are. Anyway.

Thinking Through the Poetic

Poetry as a form of conversation was liberating and emotional for us both. It was with a sense of excitement and wonder that we engaged in this dialogue, unsure at the time where it would go (or if it needed to go anywhere). Nevertheless, the form itself allowed us to push at and play with our writing. It was both safe and risky to do so. There was safety in the knowledge that we both already used poetry as a method of generating and representing research materials. It was not, therefore, outside our current writing paradigms. There was also safety in the knowledge that these poems were (in the first instance) just for us. They were not part of the research project and we had no thought of publishing them at the time. The writing itself was an additional form of mentoring between us. As Tierney and Hallett (2010) observe,

. . . writing is an interpretive process that forces the author to confront issues about him or herself. The advisor’s job is to help with that confrontation so that it becomes successful rather than narcissistic or depressing and ultimately a failure. (p. 674)

The poems then served a reflexive purpose and allowed us to explore writing together in a collaborative (rather than hierarchical) sense. However, we do not want to ignore the emotional and vulnerable qualities of this experience. It was still with trepidation that the “send” button was pressed. Esther was wholly aware that this relationship also involved an institutional power relationship. Inherent within that relationship is a high-stakes process (Grant, 2008) in which the student is vulnerable. In the poem, sent on the second of November, you can hear the nervous embodied response, the unapologetic laughter splurging down the corridor, as Esther replied to Katie. There is an overt sense of relief in Esther’s poem that captures the heart of the experience. She laughs and then exhales the exclamation “lucky lucky me.”

Ironically, our decision to write this article demonstrates our compliance to Ball’s (2012) rough neoliberal beast where we are required to publish, yet at the same time, we shape our writing activities as a form of resistance, indulging in a form of anti-neoliberal critique (Cupples & Pawson, 2012); an artistic expression that mocks the neoliberal. We enter into an activity that will be measured as an output, yet use it as a vehicle to speak to others of the importance of involving ourselves as academics in social, emotional, and creative acts. Although we are positioned specifically in the New Zealand setting, we believe our narrative will resonate with all academics who are being asked to “give an account” of themselves within neoliberal universities. As Judith Butler (2001) suggests,

My account of myself is partial, haunted by that for which I have no definitive story. I cannot explain exactly why I have emerged in this way, and my efforts at narrative reconstruction are always undergoing revision. There is that in me and of me for which I can give no account. (p. 27)

As we read back through our poems now, it is easy for us to see how this conversation disturbed the power relations, tensions, and limits that usually dominate such research relationships (Grant, 2010a). It also, however, introduced a different tone in the conversation, allowing us to touch on wider academic issues outside of the actual research project. Thompson and Louque (2005) argue that just as important as research mentoring is the role supervisors take in helping others to understand and see the workings of power in the academy. Katie’s poems express some frustration at the place of women in the academy and at resisting the “neoliberal pull of the center.” She encourages Esther to “court marginality” and be unapologetic and bold in her research. This approach aligns directly with feminist calls for academics to open up spaces of silence in the academy and make overt attempts to name power relations (Johnston & Strong, 2008; Kearny, 2000; Reay, 2000). This, in turn, allowed Esther to also unmask her uncertainty, her feeling of being only a player in the academy, with Katie replying that as women we all have to be daring. Of course, poetry isn’t the only way to do this but for us the poetic form made it easier. It was a risky and “strange” mode of communication (not strange per se but unusual within the “normal” modes of supervisory conversations). Because of this strangeness, we said different things in different ways and we used an emotional tone to express the ideas in a direct and personal way. For us, then the poetic form did allow us to have a different kind of discussion and opened up a space for reflexivity (see Chawla & Rawlins, 2004, for another interesting example of this).

Importantly, these poems also demonstrate our growing trust in each other. Through the writing, we created a space where we could both be players in the academy. As Katie asked at the end of one poem, “do the edges have an edge” Esther answered with the lines,

I fall and dream and play and create another edge.

Through our improvisation with poetry, we respected each other’s vulnerability, taking a risk through our “productive and creative fragility,” allowing ourselves to be “fully caught up in the moment” to develop a trusting and reciprocal supervisory relationship (Grant, 2010a).

We end with a poem written early on and sent to Katie as Esther struggled with the art-based methodologies she was using. When immersed in a/r/tography, and playing the part of a bricoleur, poetry is a useful tool that comes to hand as a response to several aspects of the research process (Pendergast et al., 2009). In many ways, this poem is more bold, it reflects also Esther’s growing confidence in her place as an academic, and one committed to working the edges of research genres and representation, and against, while within, neoliberal frameworks.

March 5, 2013: Esther to Katie

“Why Poetry?”

I am a poem

Interstitial

Becoming imperfect through

Intertextual hauntings

A complicated relationship

Like the color purple

Like a bricoleur

A Métissage of stories

Fraternizing fractal edges

A continuous burgeoning being

Footnotes

Authors’ Note

Although both authors have the surname Fitzpatrick, they are not related.

Declaration of Conflicting Interests

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Funding

The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Author Biographies

Esther Fitzpatrick (PhD candidate) is a lecturer in teacher education at the University of Auckland. Her master’s thesis, completed in 2011, used an innovative narrative methodology to gather the “small stories” of children through a drama experience. She has published on issues of racial-ethnic identity in postcolonial communities, drama as a method of inquiry, and ethical issues of art-based methodologies. Her current research uses a postcritical ethnography where as a bricoleur she draws on a range of art-based methods to explore her topic of inquiry.

Katie Fitzpatrick is a senior lecturer at the University of Auckland. Her current publications and research interests include multicultural education; critical pedagogy; critical approaches to health and physical education; youth perspectives; issues of culture, gender, sexuality, and ethnicity; and critical ethnography. She has published on poetry and representation in ethnographic research in Cultural Studies: Critical Methodologies.

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