I read bits and pieces of Dana Gioia's call to arms, Can Poetry Matter some time ago, but today read the entire essay through. It is not all that long... and is certainly worth the time and effort to anyone who believes that poetry does indeed still matter. The entire essay can be accessed here:
http://www.danagioia.net/essays/ecpm.htm
Reading the article through... and I will only address bits and pieces here... I found myself nodding in agreement... as well as recognizing that a similar situation or decline exists in my own area of artistic endeavor: the visual arts.
American poetry now belongs to a subculture. No longer part of the mainstream of artistic and intellectual life, it has become the specialized occupation of a relatively small and isolated group. Little of the frenetic activity it generates ever reaches outside that closed group. As a class poets are not without cultural status. Like priests in a town of agnostics, they still command a certain residual prestige. But as individual artists they are almost invisible.
The same obscurity or hermeticism is certainly to be found in the the "art world" and in the world of contemporary "classical composers". Discussing John Cage and some even more recent "serious" composers with a composer acquaintance of mine I had to ask... "Who actually listens to this crap? Does anyone seriously enjoy this in the manner in which they might enjoy Mozart or Bach or even Stravinsky or Richard Strauss?" To this he replied, "Who actually likes the sort of art that is shown in most big name art galleries? Does anyone truly enjoy it as well as they might Rembrandt and Rubens... or even Picasso and Matisse?" A fair enough question.
What makes the situation of contemporary poets particularly surprising is that it comes at a moment of unprecedented expansion for the art. There have never before been so many new books of poetry published, so many anthologies or literary magazines. Never has it been so easy to earn a living as a poet. There are now several thousand college-level jobs in teaching creative writing, and many more at the primary and secondary levels.
But the poetry boom has been a distressingly confined phenomenon. Decades of public and private funding have created a large professional class for the production and reception of new poetry comprising legions of teachers, graduate students, editors, publishers, and administrators. Based mostly in universities, these groups have gradually become the primary audience for contemporary verse. Consequently, the energy of American poetry, which was once directed outward, is now increasingly focused inward. Reputations are made and rewards distributed within the poetry subculture... Not long ago, "only poets read poetry" was meant as damning criticism. Now it is a proven marketing strategy.
Certainly the same degree of academic entitlement currently supports other art forms: classical music... and to a lesser extent, visual art (which still feeds into a market system of the super-wealthy as a luxury product. But still the audience for visual art is just as atrophied.
Daily newspapers no longer review poetry. There is, in fact, little coverage of poetry or poets in the general press. From 1984 until this year the National Book Awards dropped poetry as a category. Leading critics rarely review it. In fact, virtually no one reviews it except other poets. Almost no popular collections of contemporary poetry are available except those, like the Norton Anthology, targeting an academic audience...
Again... still not far unlike the situation faced by the contemporary "serious" composer or visual artist. I have been to endless art openings... a good many as a director of an art gallery... and the audience is constant: other artists within the system, young artists aspiring to make the connections to get into the system... and a few all powerful collectors.
Joseph Epstein, whose mordant 1988 critique "Who Killed Poetry?"... focused on the past few decades. He contrasted the major achievements of the modernists—the generation of Eliot and Stevens, which led poetry from moribund Romanticism into the twentieth century—with what he felt were the minor accomplishments of the present practitioners. The modernists, Epstein maintained, were artists who worked from a broad cultural vision. Contemporary writers were "poetry professionals," who operated within the closed world of the university... Epstein indicted the poets themselves and the institutions they had helped create, especially creative-writing programs. A brilliant polemicist, Epstein intended his essay to be incendiary, and it did ignite an explosion of criticism.
Thomas Disch, in The Castle of Indolence, makes similar accusations, declaring that the very system that has led to cozy academic positions for poets has hampered them in any number of ways: Their audience has shrunk to solely an audience of peers and so their interests and their viewpoints have shrunk to suit that which is allowable and supported by academia. Their own experiences of the larger world have been filtered through the safety net of academia. Honesty itself has atrophied perhaps more than anything as poets (or artists, or composers) dependent upon the support of academia, rarely speak out negatively... at least not in public... about another's efforts... as one never knows who will be on the committee for some future endowment that one is in competition for.
Several dozen journals now exist that print only verse... just page after page of freshly minted poems. The heart sinks to see so many poems crammed so tightly together... One can easily miss a radiant poem amid the many lackluster ones...
By abandoning the hard work of evaluation, the poetry subculture demeans its own art. Since there are too many new poetry collections appearing each year for anyone to evaluate, the reader must rely on the candor and discernment of reviewers to recommend the best books. But the general press has largely abandoned this task, and the specialized press has grown so overprotective of poetry that it is reluctant to make harsh judgments...
...Reviewers fifty years ago were by today's standards extraordinarily tough. They said exactly what they thought, even about their most influential contemporaries. Listen, for example, to Randall Jarrell's description of a book by the famous anthologist Oscar Williams: it "gave the impression of having been written on a typewriter by a typewriter." That remark kept Jarrell out of subsequent Williams anthologies, but he did not hesitate to publish it... praise mattered, because readers knew it did not come lightly...The reviewers of fifty years ago knew that their primary loyalty must lie not with their fellow poets or publishers but with the reader. Consequently they reported their reactions with scrupulous honesty even when their opinions might lose them literary allies and writing assignments.
The same lack of critical honesty exists in the visual arts. Most of the critics (many working artists themselves) write for the large art magazines (Art News, Art in America... ) which are in turn supported by the advertising dollars of the art galleries exhibiting the very work being reviewed. A scathing review, no matter how deserved, is surely akin to biting the hand that feeds. The only artists it is safe to attack (to prove that one is not a push-over) are the now dead artists. One might more likely come across a negative review of Matisse in Art in America, than of Damien Hirst, Jeff Koons, Mark Kostabi, or any number of other art stars whose work surely deserves critical challenges. Only a few figures such as Robert Hughes or Donald Kuspit... employed by larger national publications (ie. Time) regularly speak out against a good deal of the mediocre and bad art that passes for brilliant.
Poets serious about making careers in institutions understand that the criteria for success are primarily quantitative. They must publish as much as possible as quickly as possible. The slow maturation of genuine creativity looks like laziness to a committee. Wallace Stevens was forty-three when his first book appeared. Robert Frost was thirty-nine. Today these sluggards would be unemployable.
The same problem faces the visual artist. Decades ago, Leo Castelli, the dealer who made his fortune marketing Pop Art, declared that he would show no artist who could not turn out 75 paintings a year. It can take a day simply to build the stretcher, stretch and prime the canvas... and this ignores the traditional undercoat of under-painting white... each layer of which requires several days drying time. Vermeer painted perhaps 40 paintings in his lifetime. Rembrandt might have had a couple hundred. Even Rubens, one of the most prolific artists... and one who utilized the assistance of a large studio of incredibly talented assistants... could not have met Castelli's demand. The entire poetic works of T.S. Eliot, Keats, Shelley, Baudelaire, Rimbaud, even William Blake can easily be contained within a single volume. What is the academic demand of "publish or perish" doing to poets today?
...Poets now occupy niches at every level of academia, from a few sumptuously endowed chairs with six-figure salaries to the more numerous part-time stints that pay roughly the same as Burger King. But even at minimum wage, teaching poetry earns more than writing it ever did. Before the creative-writing boom, being a poet usually meant living in genteel poverty or worse. While the sacrifices poetry demanded caused much individual suffering, the rigors of serving Milton's "thankless Muse" also delivered the collective cultural benefit of frightening away all but committed artists.
...The campus is not a bad place for a poet to work. It's just a bad place for all poets to work. Society suffers by losing the imagination and vitality that poets brought to public culture. Poetry suffers when literary standards are forced to conform with institutional ones.
The visual arts have undergone a dramatic shift in the past few years as to how the aspiring young artist is taught. In the past, one was apprenticed to a "master" from whom one might observe all aspects of the profession and the art... from the preparation of pigments, to dealing with clients. The alternative was the Art School... where one might study under several masters... still focused upon the hands-on act of making art. In the past several decades the majority of aspiring artists have come out of the universities or colleges... where theory and ideas are often valued over the actual making of art. My own alma mater, an art school... at one time ranked among the best... now has no painter of any renown or real talent teaching in the painting department... and two of the positions held by critics: one who never makes art, and the other a photographer. It comes as no surprise that art today has greatly shifted away from painting and toward "Conceptual Art"... art rooted in ideas... collections of bric a brac or documentation. I have come to agree with Robert Hughe's assertion that this is all the better for the remaining painters... as they will be comprised solely of those who passionately love the art. So what affect is the entitlement... the safety-net of academia imposing upon the position of the poet?
Louis Untermeyer's Modern American Poetry, first published in 1919, was frequently revised to keep it up to date and was a perennial best seller. My 1942 edition, for example, had been reprinted five times by 1945. My edition of Oscar Williams's A Pocket Book of Modern Poetry had been reprinted nineteen times in fourteen years. Untermeyer and Williams prided themselves on keeping their anthologies broad-based and timely. They tried to represent the best of what was being published... Poetry anthologies were an indispensable part of any serious reader's library...All these collections were read and reread by a diverse public. Favorite poems were memorized. Difficult authors like Eliot and Thomas were actively discussed and debated. Poetry mattered outside the classroom.
Today these general readers constitute the audience that poetry has lost. Representing our cultural intelligentsia, they are the people who support the arts—who buy classical and jazz records; who attend foreign films and serious theater, opera, symphony, and dance; who read quality fiction and biographies; who listen to public radio and subscribe to the best journals. (They are also often the parents who read poetry to their children and remember, once upon a time in college or high school or kindergarten, liking it themselves.)
I throw this all out there as some food for thought... noticing that even here... at LitNet... where are gathered, presumably, a goodly number of people passionate about serious books and reading... poetry remains something of the motherless child. Quite often it seems as if Quasimodo is the only one valiantly carrying the torch for poetry (not to ignore the contributions of Virgil, blazeofglory, and a few others)... not unlike, perhaps, myself in the art discussions. But then again, this is a literatures site. Does poetry really matter any more? How many actually read anything by living poets?
Again... just throwing this out there for conversation. I would love it if it did stir up some of you poetry lovers. You've been quiet for far too long.