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Let Poetry Die

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posted by  : Lizard on 01/26/10, 7:50 pm
subject   : Let Poetry Die

proclamations like the above topic title are always being made--and as usual the piece this title is taken from bemoans the lack of popularity poetry has beyond the halls of academia.

bare with me.

Quote:
Don’t Get Me Wrong

I love poetry.

But as far as the public is concerned, poetry died with the modernists.

No poets ever filled their shoes. And though there remain a number of minor masters and one hit wonders, few passing pedestrians could name a poet from the last 50 to 60 years – let alone the same poet, let alone the title of a poem, let alone a first line. Even though I’ve never watched a single game of ice hockey from beginning to end, I know who Wayne Gretzky is. And even though I’ve never watched more than two holes of golf, I know that Tiger Woods is not just a gifted philanderer, but a great golfer.


who is "the public?" and why should it care about poetry? the passing pedestrians, and their ignorance of contemporary poetics, sounds to me like an american-mainstream brand of cultural ignorance.

as this blogger continues, he quotes john barr, president of the national poetry association, who says:

Quote:
The need for something new is evident. Contemporary poetry’s striking absence from the public dialogues of our day, from the high school classroom, from bookstores, and from mainstream media, is evidence of a people in whose mind poetry is missing and unmissed. You can count on the fingers of one hand the bookstores in this country that are known for their poetry collections…


what barr is touching on here through describing a poetryless people is a crisis of spirit in a material-centric culture consuming itself to collapse. of course "the public" doesn't care about poetry. we've been too busy snacking on the supposed global supremacy of brand america drizzled in high fructose corn syrup to spend any wasted time reflecting on the magical cadences of language.

what got this particular writer on this particular rant is the death of ruth lily. the author explains, using again a comment from an institution that makes up the american poem industry:

Quote:
Thanks to Ms. Lilly’s munificence, the programs of the Poetry Foundation bring poems to 19 million Americans who would not otherwise read or hear them. From the annual $100,000 Ruth Lilly Poetry Prize honoring a contemporary poet’s lifetime accomplishment, to five Ruth Lilly Poetry Fellowships that go to aspiring poets, to ensuring Poetry magazine continues publishing in perpetuity, to a host of new programs and prizes established by the Poetry Foundation since receiving the bequest, Ruth Lilly’s legacy will allow millions of readers to discover the great magic of poetry for generations to come. ¶ “Poetry has no greater friend than Ruth Lilly,” said Poetry Foundation John Barr.


why is this a bad thing? the blogger explains:

Quote:
Lilly’s generosity is praiseworthy but… but… what if she had generously donated such wealth to the NFL, Pixar, or Random House? Why bother, many would ask, they’re already successful. The Poetry Foundation, on the other hand, was headed toward irrelevance, at best, and oblivion at worst. Lilly’s contribution (and contributions) to the Poetry Foundation are the only reason it is what it is today. In other words, it’s not through any intrinsic or hard-earned merit that the Poetry Foundation is surviving and flourishing today, but because of a drug baron’s fantastic wealth.

The Poetry Foundation indirectly admitted as much. Without her, they tell us, 19 million Americans would not otherwise read or hear them. Without her, there would be no annual Poetry prize honoring contemporary poets. Without her, there would be no Poetry fellowships. Without her, millions wouldn’t be able to “discover the great magic of poetry for generations to come.”

Of course, the last assertion begs the question, if the magic of poetry is so great, why in God’s name did it need $200,000,000 dollars to rouse it from its death rattle? Apparently, it’s not the magic of poetry that will bring the thrill of poetry to millions of readers , but the magic of 200,000,000 dollars. Will the organization be made any better for the money? – remains to be seen. Would they have survived without it? – who knows… Did they deserve to survive? – maybe not.


i tend to agree. continued:

Quote:
The survival of the fittest has been thwarted.

On the other hand, this is precisely what the Poetry Foundation’s founder would have wanted. Wikipedia puts it this way:

Quote:
Dana Goodyear, in an article in The New Yorker reporting and commenting on Poetry magazine and The Poetry Foundation, wrote that Barr’s essay was directly counter to the ideas of the magazine’s founder, Harriet Monroe, eight decades before. In a 1922 editorial, Monroe wrote about newspaper verse: “These syndicated rhymers, like the movie-producers, are learning that it pays to be good, [that one] gets by giving the people the emotions of virtue, simplicity and goodness, with this program paying at the box-office.” Monroe wanted to protect poets from the demands of popular taste, Goodyear wrote, while Barr wants to induce poets to appeal to the public. Goodyear acknowledged that popular interest in poetry has collapsed since the time of Monroe’s editorial.


In other words, Monroe wanted poets to write without consequence. And when any human being, let alone poets, can act without consequence, the dogs of mediocrity, narcissism and hedonism will be let loose. In the past, public reception was the choke collar that largely kept mediocrity at bay, but when poets were able to create their own audience (themselves) all those checks and balances evaporated.

It’s my own opinion that Monroe’s attitude is toxic and anathema to great art and poisonous to art in general. It’s a shame and the results are indisputable. When poets left their audience, their audience left them.


i don't think "poets left their audience" as much as they were lured into the insular complacency of academic affirmation cocoons.

and so what? who cares if these poets write cliquey drivel? the spirit of poetry is alive and doing just fine outside of academia. it doesn't need to be "reborn" like the blogger conclusively states. it needs to be acknowledged where it exists at its most vibrant and dynamic.

rap, hip-hop, and slam poetry, though susceptible to its own cliches, has infused the american stagnation of language with much needed energy.

and remember, this is an AMERICAN stagnation we are talking about. poetry in other countries is doing more than fine, and other "publics" are not as culturally vacuous as americans.

overall i like this little shot at the american poetry industry, because it echoes some of the things i've thought and tried to articulate.

but the problem is much bigger than a poetryless people. the problem is the system that forms our interests and beliefs. and as the system is dying, i can only hope poetry will be a small part of--if not rebirth--then survival


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posted by  : DaveS on 01/27/10, 7:18 am
subject   : 

Lizard,

After reading your post, I'd agree with you that poetry ain't dead. I'd argue that the establishment known as institutional poetry (academia) has always been a dead end. Or if not a dead end, at least a really dark alley.

As you point-out hip-hop, rap, ect are just the latest guises poets wear. Once those forms have become the new establishment, out of the gutter a new type of poetry will be created to express new ideas, new beliefs.

I expect at some point it will travel full circle and poets will be writing in iambic pentameter again while a million monkeys with ten thousand typewriters attempt to recreate GW shub's speeches...

DaveS


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posted by  : rudolf on 01/28/10, 7:26 pm
subject   : popular music as poetry avenue

lizard, i like the tricks you do with words
fine ones
yep

...
last century, first years
brazilian poets don't find much a way amidst an illiterate population
finally they do
through music
and, oh, they really do

for the record,
nothing better than this lyric&voice couple, Noel Rosa & Aracy de Almeida: Yellow Strip

but, with tears, and coming back to present time
the best example i can pull: Lhasa de Sela
geezz, just last week i came to know some breast invader took her from the living road
:..bloody poet, bloody spirit
:..and she made a Small Song


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posted by  : DaveS on 01/28/10, 8:05 pm
subject   : 

Welcome Rudolf!

Nice poems, thanks.

DaveS


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posted by  : rudolf on 01/28/10, 8:41 pm
subject   : 

thx DaveS

yeah, i like words
they are some little tricky bastards
yeah, they are
and they come in soo many flavors
too much languages for a lifetime


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posted by  : Lizard on 01/28/10, 9:44 pm
subject   : class in session!

thank you for the kind words, rudolf.

in the next few weeks i'm going to be launching a poetry class at the shelter where i work in an attempt to get something constructive going at our daytime drop-in center, which has only been open for a year and is languishing, due to a variety of factors.

if i get consent, i will hopefully share pieces generated by this class here and elsewhere. the class will be in session until the end of april, with the goal that all participants will produce a poem that will go into a 'zine to be distributed locally.

i've had limited success in past writing groups and workshops i've facilitated, but this latest go around will be more structured and offer more incentives to compel the folks who "enroll" to produce their own material.

stay tuned...


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posted by  : Parviz on 01/28/10, 10:58 pm
subject   : 

DaveS wrote:
Lizard,

I expect at some point it will travel full circle and poets will be writing in iambic pentameter again ...

DaveS


I can't wait for that, so I'll leave you with a quatrain from Persia's 4th most famous poet (behind Ferdowsi, Hafez and Sa'adi), Omar Khayyam. I selected one especially for Lizard Wink

They say the Lion and the Lizard keep
The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep:
And Bahram, that great Hunter--the Wild Ass
Stamps o'er his Head, and he lies fast asleep.

And this is my own personal favourite 'carpe diem' quatrain:

And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press,
End in the Nothing all Things end in -- Yes-
Then fancy while Thou art, Thou art but what
Thou shalt be -- Nothing -- Thou shalt not be less.

These are Fitgerald translations. The Persian originals are far more rhythmic, lyrical and, above all, naturally intelligible!


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posted by  : DaveS on 01/29/10, 12:45 am
subject   : 

Parviz-

Great words. I feel Persian just reading those poems, even translated. If I were ever to have a wish granted, I'd sure love to be able to understand every written language... I wouldn't even need to speak them, as long as I could read, and comprehend the written word like a native.

It's hard not feeling like I have the smallest intellect in the showers around these parts, knowing how many of you are lowering yourselves to communicate in my native tongue Smile

Someday, I hope to have one of those magic lightning bolts whack me while I'm on a high ridge above treeline and afterwards I'll start blabbering in all sorts of new languages. Hopefully I don't end-up talking only in tongues like a baptist preacher.

Lizard, that sounds like such a program might create some really interesting written pieces. I'll look foreword to reading them.

DaveS


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posted by  : Uncle $cam on 01/30/10, 7:06 pm
subject   : 

"There is a merciful mechanism in the human mind that prevents one from knowing how unhappy one is."-WH Auden


In the 1950s Stalin ordered the execution of more than a dozen poets, actors, writers and musicians; authority hates imagination.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Night_of_the_Murdered_Poets


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posted by  : catlady on 01/30/10, 7:46 pm
subject   : truthful speaking?

I often wonder
if things are meant
that are said.
Or, at least,
how much is meant,
and how much is mood,
and how should I respond?

Will I say
what I mean?
Will I mean
what I say?
Do I know
what I mean?

The word sounds funny:
Mean. A skinny
little sound, meagre
and not very kind.

But that's not
what I meant,
of course.
Really, I didn't
mean it.

10-8-98


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posted by  : Parviz on 01/30/10, 9:34 pm
subject   : For Catlady

What do you mean? When all is said and done
our only aim is but to seek the truth,
but time corrupts us and we quickly lose
the honesty and innocence of youth.

(with apologies to my favourite poet, Omar Khayyam)


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posted by  : catlady on 01/30/10, 9:47 pm
subject   : thanks, Parviz, and one in return

Don't worry about saving these songs!
And if one of our instruments breaks,
it doesn't matter.

We have fallen into the place
where everything is music.

The strumming and the flute notes
rise into the atmosphere,
and even if the whole world's harp
should burn up, there will still be
hidden instruments playing.

So the candle flickers and goes out.
We have a piece of flint, and a spark.

This singing art is sea foam.
The graceful movements come from a pearl
somewhere on the ocean floor.

Poems reach up like spindrift and the edge
of driftwood along the beach, wanting!

They derive
from a slow and powerful root
that we can't see.

Stop the words now.
Open the window in the centre of your chest,
and let the spirits fly in and out.


-Mevlana Jelaluddin (Balkhi) Rumi
trans. Coleman Barks


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posted by  : Parviz on 01/31/10, 3:32 am
subject   : touché

Catlady, I am most impressed by your calmness and serenity in the face of global adversity, so for you I offer this personal homage:

A kitten playful with its tender paws
becomes a full-grown cat with razor claws,
But Time has failed to turn you into that,
You're still a kittie, not a 'cattie'-cat.


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posted by  : DaveS on 01/31/10, 6:37 am
subject   : 

Nothing can be so benign and fine than our poetry exchange...

In this vein here is one of my old numbers:

Drinking Dandelion Wine

Boys cascading down a dirt trail;
Feral children free from a city of sidewalk playgrounds
Trees whipping past... a boy in new sneakers is faster than a train
They sound on dirt like a heart beating, faster and faster and faster

The three run ahead trying to see what lies beyond summer...
Beyond their youth
Fortunately an anthill kindly intervenes and they, being boys, stop

Then off on a wild tangent, they run up a hillside to a magical tree,
where time halts and they sleep, dreaming summer dreams.

DaveS


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posted by  : Parviz on 01/31/10, 6:49 am
subject   : 

DaveS, if that was autobiographical you must have had a fabulous childhood.


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posted by  : DaveS on 01/31/10, 7:29 am
subject   : 

With an imagination any childhood can be fabulous. I've read stories by kids from the ghetto that made me envy their experiences as I'm sure they'd have loved to have spent time fishing in little creeks, building forts and running around like the little wild men we were. The '70's in northern california were no cake walk, and the ghettos may have been more genteel than the mountains – the mountains had lots of ex vietnam guys hiding from the world, some of the earliest meth labs, and of course all the scary problems associated with both.

Kids are more resilient than their adults. I had fun, but my family was always poor, always struggling to pay bills, and I felt that also. I think I spent a lot of time in books and out in the woods to escape the reality of second-hand clothes and gov'ment cheese.

I'd see the golden children of the richie-rich, and I realized there was nothing but money separating us, but as I grew older that separation became larger and larger until I realized life wasn't 'fair' – it's what you make of it.

I still envy those with money... but not in the way I used to. When I was younger I wanted to be rich and powerful (whatever that means to a ten-year-old) I wanted the world to know me and love me. Now that I'm thirty years past those crazy dreams of youth, and have spent several years servicing the rich and richer in Aspen (a comic I read today... a doorman is talking to a chauffeur and telling him, "do you realize we're both status symbols?") I've come to realize chasing money is a fool's chase; there is always some asshole with more of it.

A caddy buddy recalled a conversation on the golf course between a multimillionaire and a billionaire regarding private aircraft... the billionaire telling the other guy that he couldn't afford the aircraft, as the billionaire spent over a hundred million on his fleet. You only have to be privy to a couple of those conversations before a thinking man soon realizes he don't want to play that game... like the billionaire I guided on hikes who was so proud of being a 'self made man' because he'd turned a few million into three billion, but he didn't know how to hike. I don't think I'd trade places with that poor fellow, I'm far richer in ways that matter to me.

I think we spend too much time trying to live another person's life, rather than trying to live ours the best we can. I've met many who have even less than me, yet are richer than any monarch.

Peace
DaveS


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posted by  : Juan Moment on 01/31/10, 7:33 am
subject   : Thoughts on Haiti

Winded roads, hard to travel
Water scarce, flood of thoughts
Remains unfound, darkness falls
Bare small feet, blood on gravel

Everyday now, throbbing heart
Odds against you, pickings slim
Stacks of nothing, eyes are empty
Loving souls, torn apart

No way out, endless fight
Camps and lines, smells so bad
Vivid dreams, red and lonely
Better wait, for morning light

Where to from here, restless mind
From little things, big things grow
Fate and sorrows, better days
A hand to hold, dear and kind


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posted by  : Lizard on 01/31/10, 9:23 am
subject   : beautiful

it's wonderful to see so many great contributions in this thread. thank you everyone. the recent uptick in participation here has been, personally, greatly appreciated.


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