RANSOM GETS ARISTOTLE

 

Special Scarriet Poetry-Baseball Report (poetrybaseball newswire)

After being swept—and shut out in all four games by the Philadelphia Poe, the Tennessee Ransom knew they needed hitting.  

The middle part of John Crowe Ranson’s lineup: John Gould Fletcher, Allen Tate, Robert Graves, Donald Davidson and Merrill Moore, wasn’t getting it done. 

Cleanup-hitter Robert Graves was rumored to be on mushrooms (he recommended them to students when he was Poetry Professor at Oxford in the 1960s) and there was a confrontation last week in the dugout between the Welsh poet and Ransom, his manager. 

Tempers flared as Graves, who was briefly part of Ransom’s Fugitive circle, recalled Ransom’s disaparagement of Laura Riding when she was also a Fugitive in Ransom’s Southern Agrarian days. 

Back then, Ransom, in a letter to Allen Tate, said Riding lacked breeding and didn’t bring enough to the Fugitive table.  She was ousted.  Graves complained of sexism in Tennessee.  “Where are the women on this ballclub?” Graves shouted at Ransom.

The Tennessee Ransom has replied to Graves in a huge way.  They have signed perhaps the most sexist philosopher of all time, and one of the most influential, and put him in the cleanup spot, benching Graves.

Aristotle is the founding father of ‘text-based’ aesthetics, which fits right in with Ransom’s New Criticism. 

Aristotle, who got the deal he wanted, also adds much-needed muscle to the middle of Ransom’s lineup.

Since adding Aristotle and benching Graves, Tennessee has scored 21 runs in 4 games and now they’ve won 3 straight, bringing their record up to 7-13 for the season, 3 games up on the cellar-dwelling Ashberys in the NL.

After being humiliated by Poe, Tennessee is back.

KEATS

To young love, poetry is young,
The boy, Keats, young forever,
The poetry in shadow
Leaving leaves in poetry’s hair.
Aging and aging’s knowing
Are far away;  joy
Is on the tongue—
But never quite there;
His way of saying:
Joy comes fast.  Beware.

Joy comes quickly,
Because ripe for understanding poetry,
We are ripe for joy
When imagination strikes, at last, the girl
And grips the boy.

The poetry prolongs the fit
Of love, teasing it
Into a fondness of fine, fine, fine,
Even as the hour grows late,
Understanding leaking away.
Afterwards, calm again,
Keats in a moment falls, and all
Conspires against poetry’s early dream.
Friends fall into lethargy and death,
The very boy into shadow.

What kind of poetry is this?
Not a poetry of death,
But the ills of old age,
Arthritic muse feeling sorry for itself
Beside some youth’s grave?

But I know this grave.
I saw its tenant, once, in a dream
Dreamed inside the dream I dreamed.

I will finally praise satisfaction.
There will be no irony.  It will be an easy action.

I know the name I will say
When death comes by the fallen wall
To take me into the hole,
Breathing goodbye to life’s sweets,
Saying goodbye, at last, to the fear of death,
There on the verge, when the mall
Darkens and the world goes dead.  Keats.


STEVEN AUGUSTINE, YOU’RE FIRED!!!

WHEN DID SCARRIET CHANGE POETRY FOREVER?

That’s right, class!  It was March 2010.

Poetry and criticism were moribund in the modern era.  

The New Critics, springing from T.S. Eliot’s Sacred Wood and the ravings of Eliot’s “master,” Ezra Pound, were nothing but a erudite smokescreen for a modernist clique who invaded the academy in the 1930s and 40s, led by Professors Tate, Crane, Ransom, and Engle.

The internet, however, made Virginia Woolf’s printing press, Ransom’s Kenyon Review, and little magazines like Poetry seem tame by comparison.

Now the whole world could experience new art and ideas overnight.

All it took was one website, Scarriet, to change everything.

Even into the 21st century, American culture was hopelessly stuck in the past of 1830s Paris.  The glamor and “danger” of Bohemia had been recycled one too many times.  21st century America was like first century Rome, remember?  When sculpture realistically depicted old, bald men?  

The ideal had been replaced by the fetish.  The genius had been replaced by the crank.

Starting in the middle of the 20th century, the films of Walt Disney featured hip jazz cats overturning middle class values.  The ‘avant garde’ has long been a harmless cartoon.  Now the “Disney Channel” shapes the lives of ADD drugged adolescents.

Long before the end of the 20th century, once-threatening  rock music (by some accounts an LSD experiment by U.S. military intelligence) entertained the elderly as they shopped in brightly lit supermarkets.

The so-called avant garde has not advanced since New York in the 1890s.   All that was outrageous and avant has been assimilated, marketed, and been in repeat for decades.

Culture has been backed into a corner.

Retro late-capitalist kitsch posters screaming “Freedom” are yellowing inside the prison cells of High Culture.

The same “avant” ideas are recycled over and over.

The latest hurrah in po-biz (Flarf, Conceptualism, Language Poetry) in 2010 is the “Found Poem” from 50 years ago and Duchamp’s ’ready-mades’ from even earlier.   Yet the avant garde keeps pretending it is “new” and “dangerous.”   They naively believe they are an alternative to the “Quietists” and they will save society from “Official Verse Culture,” which, by Charles Bernstein’s own admission is T.S. Eliot—which is what Charles Bernstein in fact is: T.S. Eliot.

The spectacular Woodstock Concert and the moon landing happend in 1969.

The only new thing in 2010:  now you can read about these remarkable events on a computer.

It was as if the larger life of mankind had ended in the mid-20th century, and the only major advance in all that time was the P.C.

In the humanities departments of universites, academia has long abandonded its enlightenment role and become a for-profit babysitter, selling  psycho-babble degrees for an increasingly psycho-babble society.

Outmoded heroes of modernism adorn the minds of the intellectual curators of the age like celebrity photos of TV stars in teen bedrooms.  Modernism has gone completely unexamined and uncritiqued.   But it’s everywhere in academe, as history is increasingly forgotten.

Mid 20th century until now: Modernism is vaguely ‘avant garde’ and ‘radical,’ appealing to a certain conflicted type: the Modernist clique consists of European dead white males, like Mallarme, who can perplex the middle class—thus the Modernists are considered radical and conservative at the same time, a kind of magical formula for academics like Tate and Engle who were then taking over the English Departments and turning them into corporate supermarkets.

The radical, for decades, has been merely artsy-farsty.

A sweeping critique, a new examination of recent history, is needed.  But when?

Poetry is practically invisible outside the po-biz ghetto.

Enter Scarriet.

THE MURDERED POET SOCIETY

Annie Finch writes on Blog Harriet:

 ”It is my great honor and pleasure to announce here on Harriet the founding of a new national holiday. Tomorrow will be the first Dead Poets Remembrance day.  Unlike my recent “Kegels for Poets” post, this one is completely for real:

Press Release

At the beginning stop of a 22-State “Dead Poets Grand Tour,” thirteen current and former State poets laureate, in cooperation with the Dead Poets Society of America, have chosen Shakespeare’s birthday to announce a new national literary holiday.

The holiday will be called the Dead Poets Remembrance Day, and will be held in locations around the nation next October 7th.

Fittingly, October 7th is the day that Edgar Allan Poe died.

“We are launching this tour in order to encourage groups of people in every state to get together on October 7th to honor our dead poets by reading at their graves,” said Walter Skold, the founder of the Dead Poets Society of America.

Along the way the Poemobile is going to visit the graves of some of the most and least-well known poets in the US, including Robert Lowell, Donald Justice, James Whitcomb Riley, Lydia Sigourney, John Trumball, Henry Timrod, Abram Ryan, and Sarah Whitman.”

Thanks for sharing this Dead Poets Society news, Annie.

I met Donald Justice a few times but I don’t know him well enough that his death has impacted my life;  I would rather it not.  I like to think of Donald Justice as still living.  I don’t think I would want to stand at his grave, even if people were reading his poetry.

Poe, on the other hand: he’s really dead and has always been dead for all of us who are now alive.

But another thing about Poe.   He didn’t just die.  He was murdered, and his murder was covered up.  If we’re going to use the day of Poe’s death, October 7th, to honor poets who are dead, isn’t that going to cause a lot of unrest in the land of the unliving?

I’m not a morbid person, but I do feel we should try and get to the bottom of Poe’s death, not just for the sake of Poe, but for the sake of everyone, because we’re all responsible for the cover-up of Poe’s death to a certain extent.  OK, that’s a stretch.  Just a few directly are, but if we add the scholars who have deliberately chosen to keep Poe-slander alive, that’s even more of us; but no, we can’t blame everybody.   But I think I can say this to everyone reading this now:  Every day Poe’s death remains unsolved keeps alive a curse, and most of the nine muses are not happy, not to mention Poe’s fellow citizens and all who love poetry and justice—and love a good mystery story! This one’s real, people.

Scarriet has made the case in The Lion and the Little Dog.  (scroll down past whitman)

Poe was an inventor and breaker of codes, he went by other names, he attended West Point, he was an athlete as a young man, he was raised in a household where Supreme Court Justices would drop by for dinner; Poe, was nothing like those ignorant myths that have grown up around in him in the wake of Griswold’s libel,  spun when Poe was expiring—the opposite, in fact.  Think of Poe as you know him—now think of the opposite in every respect.  The opposite is much closer to the real Poe.  

Poe was more inventive and influential in a dozen of his hobbies than the very talented and well-connected are in their chosen career; Poe was famous and famous for a reason, for the simple reason that he was enormously talented; (sometimes this happens,) and this famous writer was picked up by his enemies, not his friends, as always gets reported (remember: think opposite) in Baltimore, in a state of distress, and then imprisoned for 3 days with no word of his dark and dingy whereabouts leaked to any newspaper or friend, and when he mysteriously expired, a hurried burial, without an autopsy, was conducted by the same “friends” who miraculously “found him,” and 24 hours later his worst enemy was telling the world nothing about the actual death or any of its circumstances, and everything about the poet’s flawed character in Horace Greeley’s New York Tribune.

The Poe Scholar John Evangelist Walsh has done a great service in showing Poe scholarship how it should be done: look at the persons involved, the persons who fabricated stories of Poe’s death (the cooping theory, for instance), the persons who were known to dislike Poe, the persons who had reasons to want Poe dead, the persons who had plotted against Poe while he was alive—hellooo, Horace Greeley!

Misunderstood geniuses grow on trees.  Poe is that invaluable rarity: the understood genius.   His output in various genres was not large; but he created templates; he did not write at length on the same thing, he did not write endlessley in the same way, but applied his genius far and wide; one is not supposed to do what he did—succeed in so many interconnected ways; anyone can write code; Poe explained code.

This investigation of Poe will open up whole new worlds: the true nature of Horace Greeley…Greeley’s secret dealings with Boss Tweed, Greeley’s negotiations with Napolean III during the Civil War…

Also, universities will attract the best history and literature students in the world by starting a new department called “Death of Poe Studies.”   Do I kid? Perhaps.

It is very fitting, Annie, that the first ”Dead Poets Remembrance Day” is on Shakespeare’s birthday, for Poe is truly our Shakespeare.

It is important to honor the dead and remember their poetry.  But if the day of Poe’s death is going to be the hook for this—as well it should, why not?—I suggest we nudge ourselves out of our long national slumber and begin to investigate the greatest mystery and tragedy of American Letters, the life and death of Edgar Allan Poe.

Thanks again, Annie!

TAKE A BOW, BOB TONUCCI: MARCH MADNESS AN OVERWHELMING SUCCESS

I want to give a shout out to my ‘bro, Nootch, who helped to make Scarriet’s March Madness a success.  He contacted the actual poets themselves who were selected for the tourney and got tons of positive feedback.

The final order of the invitational tournament was as follows:

  1. Billy Collins….Billy won it all…this guy simply has the best ‘good poem’ percentage of any poet around.  ”Composed Over Three Thousand Miles From Tintern Abbey” No surprise he’s on the Scarriet Power List, the Hot 100 at NUMBER NINE!
  2. Reb Livingston took her “That’s Not Butter” and wooed the crowds all the way to No. 2 in the Tournament!
  3. Janet Bowdan and “The Year” which was like the only good poem Rita Dove picked for the 2000 volume…WHAT A FREAKIN’ HAUNTING POEM THIS IS.
  4. William Kulik…Look out for this guy…He’s not on the Hot 100…YET, but this List will change….!  NARCISSUS AND APHRODITE, BABY!
  5. Stephen Dunn!!! DUNN IS ALMOST BILLY COLLINS-LIKE WITH HIS ‘GOOD POEM’ BATTING AVERAGE
  6. Bernard Welt!!!!  His “why I stopped writing poetry…” sums up our age….ONE OF THE BEST SOUL-SEARCHING MID-TO-LONG POEMS EVER
  7. Lewis Buzbee!  Rumors are swirling that Tarzan was nursing an injury, otherwise “Buzz” Buzbee would have won it all…  GIVE IT TO TARZAN
  8. Margaret Atwood!!!  A poem, “Bored,” of poignant regret…BORED… BUT SO MUCH MORE!!!!   #65 on the Hot 100.
  9. Harry Mathews “Histoire”   PERHAPS THE BEST QUIRKY POEM OF THE 20th CEN
  10. Robert Pinksy  “Pleasure Bay”     PINSKY DESERVES HIS REP WITH THIS POEM ALONE!!  He’s on our HOT 100 List # 11
  11. Brad Leithauser  “A Good List”    WE LOVE LISTS!!!  
  12. Dean Young….’The Business of Love is Cruelty…’  now, Dean ‘Forever’ Young knows it’s also the Business of SPORTS which is Cruelty…BEAT AT THE BUZZER BY BUZZ BUZBEE!!!!   But Young is #35 on the Hot 100.
  13. Louis Simpson…”The People Next Door.”   THIS POEM IS A MASTERPIECE
  14. Kenneth Koch…One of the longest poems published by BAP…self-indulgent…maybe…but IT ROCKS….”Time Zone”   !!!!
  15. Franz Wright…the SULTAN OF SINCERITY…”A Happy Thought” gonna make you cry!!!!!  Made the Hot 100 List at #91…
  16. Alan Shapiro singing his Cowboy song….sweet sixteen you can’t go wrong!!!
  17. Donald Justice, “Invitation to A Ghost”  INVITATION TO A GREAT TOURNAMENT!!
  18. Dorianne Laux  “The Shipfitter’s Wife”   Robert Bly picked this gem…it is a gem.
  19. Rebecca Byrkit “The Only Dance There Is”    The Only Dance is March Madness!!!
  20. Susan Wood “Gratification”    Did alright…No. 20 out of 1,500 has to be gratifying…
  21. Jorie Graham  “On Difficulty”   All that controversy about 16th seed faded away when play began and the poets began to sweat…  Jorie is # 18 on the Hot 100
  22. T. Allan Broughton  “The Ballad of the Comely Woman”    Almost an Albrecht Durer poem…just amazing…
  23. Louise Gluck “Time”  Might be her best poem…could have gone further…farther?…oh hell…  This current Yale Younger Judge is #5 on the Hot 100!!!
  24. Carl Dennis  “History”  Like Billy Collins, a fully fleshed-out idea before the poet begins his poem….
  25. Donald Hall  “Letter With No Address”   What can you say about Donald Hall?  Beautiful.
  26. Yusef Komunyakaa  “Facing It”   One of our greatest war poems.
  27. Nathan Whiting  “In Charge”    Knocked off Ashbery!!!  Has John forgiven him yet?
  28. Ron Koertge  “Found”   I’m glad I found this poem…Alligator Shoes…I’ll never forget it.
  29. David Yezzi  “The Call”    Just a wonderful poem…  
  30. Vijay Sheshardi  “Lifeline”   This guy writes highly contemplative, intense poetry…
  31. Ted Kooser  “The Hall of Bones”   is going to the HALL OF FAME, BABY!!!!!
  32. A.F Moritz  “April Fool’s Day, Mt. Pleasant Cemetery”  An Updated Gray’s Elegy…
  33. Galway Kinnell  “When One Has Lived A Long Time Alone” was upset in the first round, but this poem will be around a long time.
  34. Sharon Olds  “The Wellspring”   Shooting to the stars…  Did we put her on our Hot 100 list?  We should have…
  35. David Kirby  “Ode to the Personals”  A tour de force, predicted to go far, but tripped up in round no. 1…
  36. James Tate  “Distance From Loved Ones”   Also On Our Hot 100 List!  # 31
  37. May Swenson  “Dummy, 51, To Go To Museum, Ventriloquist Dead, 75”  One of Harold Bloom’s favorite poets…
  38. Denise Levertov  “In California During the Gulf War”  BAP found a lot of good war poems…
  39. Steven Dobyns  “Favorite Iraqi Soldier”
  40. Mary Oliver  “Flare”    On the Hot 100 # 41!   Who came up with these rankings, anyway?
  41. Amit Majmudar “By Accident”
  42. Marc Jafee  “King Of Repetition”  A rare formalist poem…
  43. Seamus Heaney  “Shooting Script”  Hot 100 # 2…Wow…Not much of a BAP force, though…
  44. Jack Turner  “The Plan”
  45. James Richardson “Vectors: Forty Five Aphorisms & Ten Second Essays”
  46. John Brehm  “Sea of Faith” 
  47. Julie Larios  “What Bee Did”  The cutest poem in the competition.
  48. Christopher Edgar  “Birthday”
  49. J.D. McClatchy  “Jihad”   Hot 100 #  63
  50. Eve Wood  “Recognition” 
  51. Catherine Bowman   “No Sorry”
  52. George Bilgere “Healing”
  53. John Ashbery  “Problem of Anxiety”   Hot 100 #  6  woo hoo!
  54. Mark Bibbins  “Concerning the Land to the South of our Neighbors to the North”
  55. Mark Halliday “The Opaque”
  56. Lucille Clifton “mississippi river empties into the gulf”
  57. Kevin Prufer “What the Paymaster Said”
  58. Lynn Xu  “[Language Exists Because]”
  59. Paul Violi “Counterman”
  60. Brian Turner “What Every Soldier Should Know”
  61. Alan Sullivan  “Divide and Conquer”
  62. Jayne Cortez “Heavy Handed Dance”
  63. Susan Stewart  “Apple”
  64. James Cummings  “Poets March On Washington”   Thanks to the Kennedy Center for hosting Scarriet’s March Madness, and for everyone who made it possible!!

LOOK WHAT I FOUND!

 

Charles Bernstein: the ‘outsider’ has finally arrived, but he’s a bit old— about as old as the Found Poem.

The big news at the AWP Conference this year was the hot lovemaking of Flarf and Conceptualism and the sweet, almost sexual, beating up of Language Poetry.

As Charles Bernstein, the heroic “outsider,” offers his “greatest hits” from Farrar, Strauss, and Giroux ($26 –get ‘em while they’re hot!) just in time for National Poetry Month, and Rae Armantrout, the Southern California Language Poet, wins the Pulitzer, and Flarfist Kenneth Goldsmith waxes theoretical on Harriet, I can only think of one thing.

The Found Poem.

It makes me feel all toasty-warm inside.

Everybody remembers that quaint, quirky, artsy-fartsy device, right?   

Grade school teachers who need to fill up an hour in the classroom can always rely on the Found Poem.

The Found Poem was amusing for a little while back in the 1960s.

Now, 50 years later, it’s the au courant big thing.

For, after all, what is Flarf, Conceptualism, and Language Poetry?

What do they have in common?

Hellooo, Found Poem.

Isn’t that what they are? 

Yup.

Third grade.  Right after milk and cookies, and just before show-and-tell…the Found Poem.   

This is not to diminish the importance of the found poem; the found poem is a heady idea.  What’s interesting, however, is that these theoretical juggernauts in contemporary po-biz, like Bernstein, never call what they do Found Poetry.

Why is that?

My guess is that ‘Found Poem’ is too quaint  a notion for Bernstein.  Professor Bernstein wants you to think he’s a little more philosophically profound than you are—you, hypocritical twin! who read those New Yorker poems and think they are ‘real,’ you ‘official verse culture’ idiot! 

Professor Bernstein, the post-neo-avant-neo, will set you straight. 

The publishing house of Farrar, Strauss & Giroux was so clever to release Bernstein’s book in April, National Poetry Month.  Bernstein might get more sales that way…and how about that every review of Bernstein’s book is positive!  How could it not be?  This guy’s good!  Dude!  For real! Bernstein, hater of “official verse culture” writes verse that is “hilarious” and “accessible!” 

Take that, New Yorker magazine!

Look at what you ”official verse culture” slaves have been missing!

How did John Dewey put it?  “In order to understand the meaning of artistic products, we have to forget them for a time, to turn aside from them and have recourse to the ordinary forces and conditions of experience we do not usually regard as aesthetic.  We must arrive at the theory of art by means of a detour.”

Bernstein’s long trek in the wilderness has been that “detour.”  At last we can stomach Charlie’s horrible punning…er…philosophy.

The forces of real culture have found Maurice Vlaminck’s African mask.  Now they are showing it to Picasso and Matisse.  Ambroise Vollard is having that African mask cast in bronze.

And here’s our Charlie, cast in bronze, next to it, on the wall.

The detour was rough…but he’s home.

WHY CAN’T WE JOKE ABOUT POETRY?

Is poetry today—not the old poetry of Keats or Tennyson or Frost—but the poetry of the present moment, the MFA/Writing Program/Pulitzer/ Bollingen/Nobel Prize/Poetry Foundation/Academy of American Poets/MLA Conference/museum-curated/university-driven/MacArthur Genius Fellowship/National Endowment for the Arts/Naropa Institute/Poetry Society of America/Poets House/Chicago Poetry Project/Bowery Poetry Club/poetry, has this poetry become a church, a religion, one more vast and august and sacred and interconnected than anything dreamed of before?

Defending this vast religious network is natural to those it subsidizes and supports, but what happens to critical thought when all its energy is put into defending a nebulous subsidizing entity that defines itself against all sorts of normative constructs making up what we might call ‘real life?’  

Is a member of a church or religion capable of real critical thought, capable of laughing at his or her organization and their own identity created and nurtured by that organization?

Is poetry today a prisoner of ill-humored religious demagoguery, cut off from public life in a luxury motel of perpetuating self-interest, in which poets read and educate each other in a superficial, pyramid-scheme environment of self-bred banality?

What is poetry that exists only for itself?  What use is poetry for a select few who define themselves against those who are not subsidized by it?

The MFA poet would, of course, reply, in a defensive rage, that it is not his fault that the rest of the world cares not for poetry and that his MFA existence is not for itself alone.  The MFA poet would reply that he fully intends to reach out to the non-poetic world when his apprenticeship and professional training is at an end.  For after all, the whole MFA apparatus is part of the culture and receives its funding from the education sector of the nation’s economy, and the whole point of education is to educate and serve the non-educated, and not become an end in itself.  The MFA poet and the support system implicitly operate on this pedagogical assumption, but if the rest of society never finally benefits from poetry that it never reads, and if the poetry consumed by its own MFA producers never rises above a self-stroking function, then this whole pedagogical assumption should be questioned, at the very least, and steps should be taken to break down the wall that separates the initiated and the non-initiated, since both have a stake in the game.

The MFA poet naturally does not wish to entertain the possibility that his apprenticeship might become an end in itself, that his training may become a trip down a black hole of self-delusion, with a membership in a prickly, defensive cult.

Because here’s the thing: one can defend the mentorship of the young poet and all the benefits of MFA education, but the fact remains that two separate worlds exist: the MFA world and the real world.  Poetry has no public today.

The defensive, humorless posture of po-biz is perhaps a symptom of 1) the vast subsidized, insular nature of po-biz itself and 2) the great divide between po-biz and the real world. 

Is it too late to save poetry?  Is it too late to de-professionalize poetry and give it back to the people?  Will poetry remain a humorless, over-examined, mad-hatter, reactionary cult forever?

This is not a critique of the poetry itself, but of the delivery system.  Slam is stand-up comedy/political rant and has about as much to do with poetry as American Idol.  Outside of the academy, poetry has no real existence in the grown-up world.  Inside of the academy…well, that’s the problem: it remains inside the academy.  It never leaves.  The non-educated go in to get their MFA— and never come out.   Poetry never gets a chance to be tested in the real world, to learn from the real world, to be written in the real world.  An MFA-trained poet can go into the prisons and the schools, but this is not the same thing as poety written in the real world; this is merely a good-will gesture, a mere band-aid, self-congratulatory gesture.   It is the same gesture made by the avant poet who produces something incomprehensible in the name of ‘progress.’  It is insincere.  It is a trick.

This is not to say that well-meaning and good elements do not exist in po-biz today.  This is not to say that the faithful do not have good intentions.   Of course there is good already in place.  But for the good of society at large, sometimes systems must be able to question the very essence of their existence in a good-natured way, in new ways, in ways that playfully expand horizons and question assumptions.  Poetry should keep people out of prison in the first place.  We must face the idea that professionalizing poetry could be killing it.

This is not a new complaint.  It is basically the same complaint Dana Gioia made, and many before him, including Plato and Sidney and Shelley and Keats and Arnold and Edmund Wilson.  It is a plea that poetry be truly used for a good end, not a bad one.

THE PO-BIZ HOT lOO

 

Scarriet presents the hottest movers and shakers in poetry today:

1. Harold Bloom

2. Seamus Heaney 

3. Paul Muldoon

4. David Lehman

5. Louise Gluck

6. John Ashbery

7. William Logan

8. Helen Vendler

9.  Billy Collins

10. Stephen Berg

11. Robert Pinsky

12. Garrison Keillor

13. Christian Wiman

14. Charles Simic

15. Maya Angelou

16. Kay Ryan

17. Marjorie Perloff

18. Jorie Graham

19. Donald Hall

20. David Orr

21. Stephen Burt

22. Adam Kirsch

23. Adrienne Rich

24. Mark Strand

25. Peter Gizzi

26. Leon Wieseltier

27. Camille Paglia

28. Rita Dove

29. Andrew Motion

30. Tree Swenson

31. James Tate

32. Glyn Maxwell

33. Ted Genoways

34. Dan Chiasson

35.  Dean Young

36.  Carol Ann Duffy

37.  Alan Cordle

38.  Derek Walcott

39.  Christopher Ricks

40.  Rae Armantrout

41.  Mary Oliver

42. Robert Hass
43. Richard Howard
44. W.S. Merwin
45. Dana Gioia
46. Robert Bly
47. James Fenton
48. Greil Marcus
49. Geoffrey Hill
50. Charles Bernstein
51. Jerome Rothenberg
52. Paul Hoover
53. Sherman Alexie
54. C.D. Wright
55. Ron Silliman
56. Amiri Baraka
57. John Kinsella
58. Ishmael Reed
59. Martin Espada
60. Anne Carson
61. Adam Zagajewski
62. Rosemarie Waldrop
63. J.D. McClatchy
64. John Tranter
65. Margaret Atwood
66. Mary Jo Salter
67. Forrest Gander
68. Marilyn Hacker
69. Donald Revel
70. Jon Stallworthy
71. Ron Padget
72. Simon Armitage
73. Eavan Boland
74. Rosanna Warren
75. D.A. Powell
76. Alice Notley
77. Cole Swenson
78. Clark Coolidge
79. Charles Wright
80. Keith Waldrop
81. Christian Bok
82. Edward Hirsch
83. Lynn Hejinian
84. Heather McHugh
85. Vikram Seth
86. Ilya Kaminsky
87. Kevin Young
88. Meghan O’Rourke
89. Galway Kinnell
90. Philip Levine
91. Franz Wright
92. Clark Coolidge
93. David St. John
94. Mei-Mei Berssenbrugge
95. Clayton Eshleman
96. Nathaniel Mackey
97. Maggie Dietz
98. Rachel Hadas
99. Bob Perelman
100. Seth Abramson

FILL UP YOUR RED WHEEL BARROW: HOW NEW CRITICISM DESTROYS POETRY

It is impossible to tell whether the following phenomenon arose by accident or by design, but millions have fallen quietly under its spell since the Modernism-tinged Writing Program Era fell like a hood over serious poetic practice in the United States beginning in the 1940s. 

The intrepid New Critics, who defined poetry pedagogy in both seminar and classroom at the crosswords of the new era when poetry took a hard, professional turn, had no method. 

We assume that New Criticism 1) focused on how a text works, 2) apart from real life concerns, and 3) this is why it faded.

But 1) New Criticism hasn’t faded, because the general practice of its rhetoric remains and 2) New Criticism focused on the text only so the ‘new writing’ could crash the party. 

We forget these ‘conservative’ New Critics were also, for the most part, Modernist poets looking for readers. Ransom and Tate and their European Modernist friends, such as Eliot and Pound, were poets with only a tiny, small-magazine audience in the 1920s.  

By the 1930s, poets like Millay, Dorothy Parker and Frost, who actually sold books, were threatening to overshadow the Modernists completely; the whole experiment was threatening to go under; Ransom and Tate were not on Millay’s side, they were on Pound’s.   This was partly due to politics, but it also involved something even more primitive: naked ambition.

The New Critics, like their mentor, T.S. Eliot, were anti-populist, anti-Romantic and thought poetry should be especially difficult.  As they wrote their argumentative essays in the 30s and set up their Writing Programs at places like Iowa and Princeton in the early 40s, the New Critics pushed out the conservatives in the English Departments who clung to history and tradition, who worshiped Keats and Milton and Shelley; Eliot and Pound’s anti-19th century animus informed the New Critics as well. 

The New Critical focus on “the text” was a means to an end: make history less relevant so the new writing could prosper as new writing.

The defensive tone of Cleanth Brooks is palpable (from Ransom’s Kenyon Review in 1951): “The formalist critic knows as well as anyone that poems and plays and novels are written by men…”   Men, for instance, like Ransom and Tate, who were eager to become famous and get into print? This fact the New Critics were shrewd enough not to emphasize as they launched their attacks against English Departments of history and biography in the name of whatever text-reading tricks they were advertising—and backpedalling from at every occasion (the formalist critic knows as well as anyone…).  

Where were the biographies of Ransom and Tate?  That was the issue.

The non-formalist critics knew “as well as anyone” that “men” wrote “texts.” 

The New Critics’ hobby horse of focusing on the text was never really an issue.   

The English Departments which the Modernists (then on the outside in ‘amateur’ status) were assailing in the 1930s and 40s  were not ignoring texts. How were the New Critics themselves going to be taught in the English Departments?  This is the point, made even now, which makes the professional uncomfortable, for ambition is only for the amateur at last.

I just re-read Scarriet’s post -Why Keats’ “Ode to Psyche” Also Doesn’t Work by Christopher Woodman and Mr. Woodman’s herculean effort in comments below: his reading of the Keats poem, his explaining the Psyche myth, providing anecdotes from his teaching experience in Thailand.  Mr. Woodman also got into his objections to Scarriet’s March Madness, which I find interesting, because Mr. Woodman objects to the Keats poem because Keats is excluding rough & tumble aspects of reality.  But Mr. Woodman is doing precisely the same thing he accuses Keats of doing when he (Woodman) abuses Scarriet’s March Madness. 

Here’s where the insidiousness of New Criticism comes into play.  Mr. Woodman, like everyone born after 1920 in the U.S., has been quietly influenced by the New Criticism.  The textbook, “Understanding Poetry” (first edition, 1938) was the first big textbook for poetry in the United States when the GI Bill expanded university enrollment after World War II, the beginning of the Writing Program Era, when poetry left the public square and became a college subject. 

“The Red Wheel Barrow” by William Carlos Williams—a member, by way of Pound, of Ransom’s group—gets unalloyed praise in “Understanding Poetry.”

In his post and comments, Mr. Woodman puts tremendous energy into arguing against the Keats poem—which remains absolutely beautiful in the face of all his objections.

This, finally, is what the New Critics did: they over-argued poetry; they laid down a rhetoric in which something as simply beautiful as “Ode to Psyche” couldn’t exist. 

If one puts over-argument next to “Ode to Psyche,” it withers. 

If one puts over-argument next to “The Red Wheel Barrow,” simply by dint of energetic over-arguing, the “Red Wheel Barrow” grows in stature.

Because the “Wheel Barrow” was nothing in the first place, it can only gain by being discussed. 

In the New Critical universe, whatever gains from mad scientist argumentation is good and whatever diminishes from mad scientist argumentation is bad.  This is the powerfully simple formula which carries the day.  By New Critical logic, (which is how academics by the nature of their work operate) “Ode to Psyche” is bad and “The Red Wheel Barrow” is good.

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