Guest
Writer
Poetry
is dead
by Steven
C. Benjamin
I have to submit to much in
order to pacify the touchy tribe of poets.
|
Horace
|
hat
is poetry?
Today's postmodern approach to teaching what should
be creative subjects has teachers asking students for a definition
often on the first or second day of class.
In much the same way, I was once asked for a similar
definition. My teacher, like any other under the enchantment of
self-perceived profundity, asked: "What is science fiction?"
Then he glanced casually over a roomful of students for the few
brave or conceited enough to offer an answer.
What did that teach us? What were we expected to
learn? That dictionaries are no longer politically correct? That
an opinion is never justified? That words mean nothing and therefore
definitions are pointless pursuits for the deluded masses?
The answers, of course, differed. I suppose we were
meant to find this shocking. When the question becomes "What
is poetry?" the result is the same and the answers will differ.
This isn't a profound or even unusual phenomenon.
If I asked "What is a table?" without allowing reference
to a dictionary, the answers would still differ. And yet, people
know where to find tables in a department store, just as they
can find poetry in a bookstore. So why don't we argue over the
definition of tables? Offer classes? Confer degrees? Obviously,
there must be something more.
"Poetry," as defined by The American Heritage
Dictionary:
- The art or work of a poet.
- a. Poems regarded as forming a division of literature.
b. The poetic works of a given author, group, nation or kind.
- A piece of literature written in meter; verse.
- Prose that resembles a poem in some respect, as form or
sound.
- The essence of or characteristic quality possessed by a
poem.
- The quality of a poem, as possessed by an object, act or
experience:
the poetry of her dance movements.
"Poet," as defined by The American Heritage
Dictionary:
- A writer of poems.
- One who is esp. gifted in the perception and expression
of the beautiful or lyrical.
"Poem," as defined by The American Heritage
Dictionary:
- A composition designed to convey a vivid and imaginative
sense of experience, characterized by the use of condensed
language chosen for its sound and suggestive power as well
as its meaning, and by the use of such literary techniques
as structured meter, natural cadences, rhyme or metaphor.
- A composition in verse rather than in prose.
- A literary composition written with an intensity or beauty
of language more characteristic of poetry than of prose: a
prose poem.
- A creation, object or experience thought to embody the
lyrical beauty or structural perfection characteristic of
poetry.
Definitions can be fun. The deconstructionists loved
them.
The word in question is "poetry." Why
don't teachers ask us to define "poet," or even "poem,"
which, as our research here shows, is very much more to the point?
Perhaps they fear the more courageous of us will insert ourselves
into the blank followed by the big question mark. Perhaps it is
only that they are not brave enough to use their own names. Or,
maybe, the point is not to get to the point. This certainly wouldn't
contradict my experience with the educational system.
The question arises, rather early on, of which word
to chase.
That answer, of course, is hampered by precisely
what we're looking for (thus, our biggest flaw is flaunted in
the face of science, and science is powerless to complain).
Is there a difference in whether we pursue "poetry,"
"poem" or "poet"? I think the difference is
vast, though that is not to say similar flaws won't be found in
each.
We see here that poetry depends on at least one
of two things: a poem or poet (references to qualities or characteristics
still require a model poem/poet as subject).
A poet implies a single entity capable of acting
on its own (both options conform to the concept of "person,"
though they are careful not to exclude humans or other stupid
animals). My aim is not at those who name themselves, but at objects
that get named.
"Poem" implies specificity (a single work,
a particular utterance), while "poetry" is general,
all encompassing, entirely nonexclusive; overall a dangerous thing,
however altruistic it seems.
Why does the word bother me so?
It is meaningless, valueless, cheaply said and often
misheard, but of what use are complaints? "Poetry,"
in essence, is a dead word. The perpetrators of this crime populate
the world over. The death of poetry constitutes a global conspiracy
played out so perfectly that the criminals still don't know who
they are (many now are dead, so who can say their ignorance is
a fact?).
Pablo Neruda, pompous bouquet man of the southern
"Latin" regions aided the cause. "Poetry is an
act of peace," Neruda says, gallantry sweaty on his tongue.
"Peace goes into the making of a poet as flour goes into
the making of bread."
Neruda is of the Spanish breed that still believes
all bread is made with flour.
All poetry is experimental
poetry.
|
Wallace Stevens
|
"The proper and immediate
object of poetry is the communication of immediate pleasure."
Samuel Taylor
Coleridge
|
Of course, one wonders what is all that which we
find in meter, rhyme, or especially free verse, that so often
constitutes, describes, even communicates something very much
the antecedent of pleasure? It is apparently not poetry for Coleridge.
And if poetry does not designate an act of peace
(was Pound or Sexton or Bukowski after peace? Or are they all
just Robert Frost in disguise?), poetry must be a Brady Bunch
episode when Marsha and Jan are forced to get along.
"Can't we all just get along?" Ah yes,
poetry.
The best poetry will be found
to have a power of forming, sustaining, and delighting
us, as nothing else can.
|
Matthew Arnold
|
Delight is an easy thing. And here is where the
word flails.
Food is poetry. The dry earth, when it delights,
is poetry. A redneck's pickup is poetry. The setting sun: poetry.
The guy I can't stand, when delighting another: poetry.
The subjective politically correct stance leaves
us with a word that, because it means everything, is now left
to mean nothing at all.
What is a person saying when describing a thing
as poetry? The word is redundant. He could point at an object
and grunt, and it might yet tell us more. If everything is poetry,
then using the word in language is equivalent to saying everything
is everything.
The girl is poetry. The girl is a thing. The girl
is something. The girl exists. Ultimately, why not save time?
The girl. Urgh (points finger).
And yet this is where our postmodern talk treads.
Nothing means anything and language is mute. Still, we humans
on occasion do enjoy, even seem to need, communication. And what
better to do this with than words? While it is certainly in our
best interest to question (unless we prefer to avoid
complication), entirely subjective definitions incapacitate communication.
When the speaker utters a word "table"
it is in that speaker's interest for the listener to share
a commonality in definition. Some part of that definition must
surpass the entirely subjective. A table need not have four legs,
but a means of sustaining itself can be assumed so long as the
word
is not preceded with "broken," etc.
Now, when one utters "poetry" there is
no ground left to stand on never mind how many legs the
poem or poet wears. The word is left without definition thanks
to the profundity of postmodern educators.
Better to say "scribblings." At least
then one can assume it is written. Or "rantings" so
that some tone or intention is implied. In poetry, however, no
such thing exists.
When I poke fun at the word in passing, it is not
meant to carry judgment. Such a purpose is beyond me since the
term has become weightless.
Poetry is dead, and poetry is what killed it.