[New-Poetry] hate

[jforjames at aol.com]

I forgot blurbs, blurbs & more blurbs...they have to be my number one pet peeve in contemporary poetry publishing. (There must actually be people who believe blurbs are independent mini-reviews or faithful glimpse-insights into the contents. There are poeple who think Professional Wrestling is not big-bodied acrobatic theatre.)

And the ever multiplying number of Poet Laureates, coming soon to a locality near you. Investment banking firms, deprived of large bonuses, have begun to honor senior managers with one-year appointments like 'Poet Laureate of the 64th Floor' (as reported in the Wall Street Journal).

Rubric of the moment, like "Third-Way Poetics" or "Slow Poetry." 

Flarf (say no more).

Chat poetry. Tweet poetry.

Don't get me wound me again.
Finnegan

-----Original Message-----
From: Halvard Johnson <halvard at gmail.com>
Sent: Mon, 8 Jun 2009 11:08 am
Subject: Re: [New-Poetry] hate



I'm not sure I have anything to add to your list, James, but


I'd probably subtract a few. Some comments [in brackets] below.




Hal

 
Halvard Johnson
================
halvard at gmail.com
http://sites.google.com/site/halvardjohnson/Home
http://entropyandme.blogspot.com 
http://imageswithoutwords.blogspot.com
http://www.hamiltonstone.org

On Sun, Jun 7, 2009 at 7:00 PM,  <jforjames at aol.com> wrote:






The recent plaint posted by Eileen Myles on the Harriet blog (http://www.poetryfoundation.org/harriet/2009/05/i-hate-poetry/), provoked me to create a list of the kinds of things related to 'a life in poetry' t
hat tend to exasperate and to vex us to point of angering us against poetry. This is a provisional list, feel free to add on...

 

Being ignored by and large by the larger culture. The obscurity of the poet.





[Mostly a good thing, especially for the poet(s).] 




 The meager amounts poets can make from publishing work. The payment often being in copies of the mag. The inability to admit, “I’m a poet,” to friends and family.





[I've a lot of resistance to saying I'm an anything. "Admitting" reeks of guilt. I'm too gentile for that.] 


 

The anonymity of published poems. Hundreds of magazines in print or online, chockfull of poetry that almost no one sees. The contributing poet opens the journal, scans the contents page for familiar names, in hopes their work has been published shoulder to shoulder with reputable company. He only reads his own poem (ever concerned about the mar of typo) and then he sets his contributor’s copy aside and never looks at it again.





[I've often thought more poetry should be published anonymously. Editors might well work anonymously too.] 


 

Staid journals that always seem to be named Review or Quarterly. Edgy journals with names like Paisley Smile or Underpass. Graduate students screening submissions, determining what work gets passed on to the editor.





[Oh, well.] 




Rejection slips that are pre-printed and unsigned. Rejection slips that try to cheer you up=2
0with a witticism. Rejection notes via email are easier; their sting transitory in the moment of click DELETE.

 

The shear number of practicing poets. Thousands of competent poets pressing out more and more poetry, new ones constantly ‘emerging’ onto the scene. The suspicion that if there were fewer publishing poets one's work would have a better chance of coming to the fore.





[I've no idea what these numbers are, so there's no problem here for me. Besides, I don't really do numbers.]


 

Gripes about the quality of poetry published in high-visibility magazines, particularly The New Yorker; similar complaints lodged against work appearing in American Poetry Review and Poetry magazine.





[Oh, well. One can't write poetry all the time.]


 

The polemics of school v. school. Perjorative nomenclature like “School of Quietude.” The suspicion that one group or the other is getting all the plums of academic appointments, grants and fellowships, major readings and conference invitation.





[Hear, hear!]


 

Poets’ pictures that are ten years younger than they are. Beautiful poets with voluminous hair. Poets who lean forward on bended e lbows with a hands holding up their sagging chins. Poets posed with bookcases in the background. Poets caught in profile staring into space.





[Let's just say "poets' pictures." The hell with them.]


 

The increased ‘professionalization’ of poetry, the proliferation of MFA programs
, where the granting of a terminal degree is seen as necessary credential for a young poet. The dismal job prospects for the graduates. 

 

Poetry readings that start late. Poetry readings where the poet comes in late with an entourage of aging professors and eager-to-please young graduate students. Poetry readings in which the poet reads for over an hour. Poetry readings where the poet reads in monotone or with that regular cadence of rise & fall, affecting the way poems are supposed to be read, with every third word getting leaned on hard as if it were important.Poets who over-explain their work before reading i t. Poets who strain to entertain with lame jokes; who couldn't hack in stand-up.





[Let's just say poetry readings.]


 

Formalists who believe that poetry written without regular meter and traditional forms is somehow lazy or merely ‘chopped prose’. Patting themselves on their backs for their well-turned rhymes.





[I've no idea to whom this might refer.] 




 

The clique of the avant garde. Or the geezer avant garde still claiming their relevancy after 60. The lot of them self-serving in their praise. Always circling the wagons. Nary a negative word about any among their number. The enemy without attacked, while they decay within.





[Ditto.]


 

Poets who believe poetry is ‘beautiful writing’. Poets who don’t read; and make a point of not wanting to be influenced. When only influence could save thei
r sorry offerings.





[Hear, hear!] 

 


Poets who show up at open mikes and read beyond their time limit. So sure the world is hungering for their work. Those who give a bad name to amateur (when the name’s root is really ‘one who loves’).

 

Poets who are inordinately fond of landscapes that will stimulate their creativity. Who don’t seem to be able to write without the space of a residency: “This book would not have been possible without Yaddo,” etc.





[Since one such place provided me with wonderful wife, I'll not endorse this one. Besides it's not the landscape that matters. It's having someone

else do the cooking, cleaning, etc. It having a room with no telephone in it.] 





The proliferation of publishing through manuscripts contests. Socialized self-publication.And the subversion of manuscript contests, teacher-student log-rolling and other kinds of insidious back-scratching, all exposed so well by Foetry.com.





[Hear! Hear!]


 

Post-modernism that’s so self-unaware it is impossible to embarrass itself.





[No idea what this means. Post-modernism needs a therapist?] 




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