Putting Poetry In Its Place

Poetry has been killed by the credentialed, academic MFA class. Let's take it back. From the roots up, not the head down.

Nomenclature For The Time Being
- Dionne Brand

The apocalyptic reports have come

true, dilute in our arterial solvent
the atrocities saturate our latent notebooks

we stay awake lambent
there are iridium rectangles under our tables
we meet languid, nauseous

Transfused presently

for a few decades, chronic, venous, insufficient
the intervals of talk speed to nothing

and we’ve become scientists of without
under force, out of water, across loading
with bearings of us

…………………………………………………………………………

What do you think of this poem? It represents many similar poems, published in all the leading magazines (this one, in my beloved Harpers) by the academic class, poets with degrees, well rooted in the system, the modern Patricians of poetry. They define what poetry should be.

I reject them and this kind of poetry. Watered down with adjectives and high-sounding, obscure words - it isn’t of the people. It rejects poetry’s true roots and calling - to speak directly to the people.

“The modern artist must live by craft and violence. His gods are violent gods. Those artists, so called, whose work does not show this strife, are uninteresting.” Ezra Pound - see his rules/laws for writing poetry.

Now, I’m hesitant to declare what poetry is or should be. Each of us is to decide for ourselves. But poets like myself, widely read, outside the system, not of the wine and cheese publisher class - we need to push back. Throw this pap and pablum off the table at which readers dine. We need a moneychangers Jesus moment and to declare this kind of poetry (that above) what it is - B.S. of the most odious kind.

A few years ago when I was deciding to publicly “come out” as a writer, I applied for a grant through the Canadian Arts Council. Why not? I have 4 decades of work, showing a dedication to my art. A few pennies from heaven will help pay the bills and keep me supplied in the elixirs needed to induce the poetic mind.

After, sending in the reams of documents, I got an email reply …

Basically, they are saying - “Hey, you don’t have a degree in literature, poetry. Good luck.” I’m glad I’m not of their club. I’m with the poets of the street, of the factory, of the office buildings.

“I realized early on that the academy and the literary world alike -- and I don't think there really is a distinction between the two -- are always dominated by fools, knaves, charlatans and bureaucrats. And that being the case, any human being, male or female, of whatever status, who has a voice of her or his own, is not going to be liked.”

—Harold Bloom

Back to the poem above. I bet you are saying to yourself - can you do any better? Well, in a word, yes. Of course, this isn’t a shitting nor spitting contest. But in the spirit of artistic desire and to answer the question, here is how I think a poem on this subject should read and sound. Then, after reading mine, again, read the above. Which do you prefer?

Disposable Names
- David Deubelbeiss

“All knowledge is calling things by their right names.” Kung-Fu Tze

I’m told the world is ending.

I see it in the eyes of the blind.
I hear it in the voice of celebrities.
You can smell it - this death.

We gather together like its
our last moment together
our anchors no longer holding
our paper boats in place.

Desperation is the norm and
we don’t even notice the fear porn
we dance and step to
as we chatter without listening.

It’s almost as if
our death cult has no
leader and we are waiting
for someone to tell us
to drink the kool-aid.

We no longer know what to call
this thing we live
and without a name
it has conquered us.

On Quality

A mediocre writer:
He thinks everything he writes is gold.

A great writer:
He thinks. Everything he writes is gold.