Alan
Golding
New,
Newer, and Newest American Poetries
published
in
The Recovery of the Public
World: Essays in Honour of Robin Blaser, His Poetry and Poetics. Ed. Ted Byrne and Charles Watts (Talonbooks, 1999). 339-50.
"KOALA--To survive you have to be
willing to do anything.
Anthologies! That's where the
money really is, or might be. At least
so I imagine from my fuzzy animal distance.
Reprint the material! Dominate
the gene pool! Rise like Godzilla and
make them read you for fucking ever!"--Bob Perelman, "The Manchurian Candidate: a remake"
The
avant-garde, we're told, is, at least in theory, dead. Meanwhile, the poetic "mainstream"
is commonly argued to have become so diverse and democratically inclusive as to
be unlocatable, unrecognizable as a mainstream. This same historical moment, however, with its purported
all-inclusiveness that would render the notion of an avant-garde meaningless,
has brought the publication of four self-consciously avant-garde anthologies of
American poetry within a year of each other: Eliot Weinberger's American Poetry Since 1950: Innovators and
Outsiders (1993); Douglas Messerli's From
the Other Side of the Century: A New American Poetry, 1960-1990; Paul
Hoover's Postmodern American Poetry: A
Norton Anthology; and Dennis Barone and Peter Ganick's The Art of Practice: 45 Contemporary Poets (all 1994).[i] What especially interests me in our current
situation, and in these texts specifically, is the apparent re-emergence of a
version of the late '50s and early '60s anthology wars, as anthology editors
are once again unapologetically using terms like "avant-garde,"
"center," "mainstream," and so on.
Does
the return of anthology wars rhetoric that I'll discuss here represent merely
the flogging of a dead socioaesthetic horse?
Jed Rasula, for one, argues that it does. He finds Weinberger and J. D. McClatchy, editor of The Vintage Book of Contemporary American
Poetry, for instance, "waging a massively retrospective
combat"--a combat centered on "nostalgic invocations of the 1960 anthology
wars, with the editors cavorting about in period dress like history buffs
reenacting the battle of Gettysburg" (449).[ii] Rasula has a point here; it's no longer
1960. But if this debate is so
outdated, why has its rhetoric returned to anthologies of innovative poetry in
the mid-1990s? What function does that
rhetoric serve now? Aside from
maintaining a good deal of historically descriptive power, it is being used by
contemporary editors to further the development or construction of a New American Poetry tradition derived
from Donald Allen's influential 1960 anthology of that name. The construction of that tradition via
recent anthologies--especially the rhetoric or self-presentation of these
texts, rather than their structure, contents, and so forth--is my subject in
this essay.[iii]
Rasula
is right to point out the limitations of what I would call the center-margin
model that shapes both my chosen anthologies, in their different ways, and to
some extent my analysis of them. One
such limitation is the risk of a too-easy and falsely stable binarism. Weinberger and Hoover, for instance, both
tend to assume that mainstream poetic practice and ideology is monolithic and
that "we" know it when we see it.
As Hank Lazer suggests, however, this reduction of poetic variety to an
allegedly monolithic mainstream is itself a "rhetorical straw man of the
(similarly multiple) avant-garde" (374).
Nevertheless, if we think of "center," "mainstream,"
and "margin" as cultural locations that are in process rather than fixed,
these misleadingly topographical metaphors can retain some analytic
usefulness. If I seem both to suggest
the inadequacy of a center-margin model and also depend on it for understanding
patterns in recent anthologies, my point is that this model is growing more
complex rather than collapsing completely.
Further, in defense of these texts, a cluster of alternative anthologies, demanding more attention than
isolated collections, can more effectively counter an otherwise pervasive
anthological inattention to innovative work.
The discrepancy between the level of scholarly attention to Language
writing and anthologists' bypassing of it, for example, has meant that
commentary on that writing has often been more widely available than the
writing itself.[iv]
But with experimental poetries now
anthologized in such bulk, not only such inattention but also aesthetic
tokenism--the mainstream inclusion of some aesthetically challenging work as a
marker for that which can be ignored literally as long as it is represented
symbolically--should also become much harder to defend.[v]
Among
the editors of these recent anthologies, Weinberger and Hoover especially apply
a center-margin model in their representations of post-World War II American
poetry, in a way that openly derives from Allen's New American Poetry.
Weinberger begins his preface: "For decades American poetry has
been divided into two camps." He
rightly describes the relationship between these "ruling and opposition
parties" as "full of defections, unaligned members, splinter parties,
internecine disputes and ideas stolen across the aisle" (xi). Nonetheless,
his governing metaphor explicitly invites a replay of the old anthology
wars. Thus Weinberger's concluding
historical essay on the post-World War II period consistently pits the
avant-garde against the Establishment, upper-case E and all. He distinguishes "middlebrow"
producers of "Official Verse Culture" from
"anti-establishment" "bands of rebels" (397). Again echoing Allen, he also pits the
avant-garde against the academy, although this move later becomes problematic
when he wants to make "avant-garde" and "academic"
synonymous for the purpose of critiquing Language poetry (406).[vi]
A similar rhetoric of avant-gardism
pervades Paul Hoover's introduction to his Postmodern
American Poetry--a rhetoric that itself can be seen as one defining feature
of the particular anthological tradition deriving from The New American Poetry.
Hoover explicitly makes the "postmodern" of his title
synonymous with "avant-garde": "Postmodernist poetry is the
avant-garde poetry of our time" (xxv)--a debatable equation, perhaps, but
I am less concerned here with the equation's accuracy, and more with the fact
that Hoover makes it.[vii] He frames his introduction with assertions of
the continued relevance and vitality, aesthetic and political, of avant-garde
practice: "This anthology shows that avant-garde poetry endures in its
resistance to mainstream ideology" (xxv), he notes early on, and ends by
dismissing those critics who argue "unpersuasively
that 'innovation no longer seems possible, or even possible'" (xxxix; my
emphasis). In fact, Hoover operates on
a thoroughly progressive model of avant-garde writing, a model that seems
driven by a certain anxiety: "The poetry now being produced is as strong
as, and arguably stronger than, that produced by earlier vanguards"
(xxxix).
As a Norton publication aspiring to
avant-garde status, Hoover's Postmodern
American Poetry complicates any debate over center and margin even as it occupies
a particular position within that debate.
But Hoover barely touches on the institutionalization of the avant-garde
that his anthology could be seen to represent.
Nor, although he mentions it, does he respond to Frederic Jameson's
implication that the "postmodern" is synonymous with
"mainstream," or at least can be seen as a symptom, rather than a
critique, of mainstream ideology--the opposite position from Hoover's own. For Hoover, as I've said, postmodernism is
"an ongoing process of resistance to mainstream ideology," employing
"a wide variety of oppositional strategies" (xxvi-xxvii). Thus he organizes his introduction around
familiar contrasts: on the one hand, terms such as "postmodern,"
"avant-garde," "oppositional," "transgressive,"
"resistance," "revolt," and on the other,
"centrist," "mainstream," "bourgeois self"--terms
that mirror Weinberger's sense of "camps," his
"opposition," "outsiders," and "ruling party." Not surprisingly, given this terminology,
the mini-history of post-World War II American poetry that Hoover provides has
a familiar founding moment: "In analyzing American poetry after 1945, it
is traditional to point to the so-called battle of the anthologies,"
Hoover argues, and even goes on to contrast the "model poet" of each
side in that battle.[viii]
What
sense of the "margin" and of New American anthological tradition
operates in Douglas Messerli's From the
Other Side of the Century? His
volume had been brewing, Messerli notes, since 1984, and in this sense it is
the project that his 1987 "Language"
Poetries interrupted and wanted to be.
As his anthology's Other, Messerli puts forward "the academized
bastion of the Norton Anthology of Modern
Poetry" (31)--interestingly, at a point in time when Norton is
publishing one of the two texts, Hoover's, that compete with Messerli for a
similar textbook market. He too begins
his editorial introduction, then, by implicitly invoking the anthology wars
between Allen and Hall, Pack, and Simpson's "academized" New Poets of England and America. Though Messerli generally leaves unanswered
his own question as to "the role of anthologies in general," he does
claim that "no major volume has served our own generation" (31) as The New American Poetry served Allen's,
and implicitly presents his own text to perform that service.
Messerli
is not alone among this group of editors in perhaps trying too hard to
replicate the impact of The New American
Poetry under different historical circumstances that make it impossible to
do so. Marjorie Perloff has argued that
recent anthologies of innovative poetics are characterized by two recurrent
features: belatedness and buttressing.
They suffer from a kind of anxiety of lateness in relation to The New American Poetry, that is; and
they serve to buttress an already established tradition rather than exploring
new avenues.[ix] This view helps put any claims to newness in
perspective. At the same time, however,
it provides only a partial description of these anthologies' projects. For Weinberger, Hoover, and Messerli, unlike
Allen, are engaged not just in presenting new work but in historicizing its precedents.
Thus buttressing involves far more than the mere repetition that Perloff
seems to imply; it involves maintenance and preservation, yes, but also
rearticulation, addition, and critique.
Taken as a group, and allowing for differences in editorial emphasis,
these collections go beyond a buttressing of The New American Poetry in numerous ways: in their revival and
representation of the Objectivists (in Weinberger and Messerli); in their use
of generically hybrid texts and what Stephen Fredman calls "poet's
prose"; in their use of visual texts; and in their representation of an
experimental women's writing, especially in The
Art of Practice, the only one of the group that is fully gender-equitable.[x]
One
way in which Messerli rearticulates the New American Poetry tradition is in his
representation of Robin Blaser; Messerli's is the only anthology of those under
discussion to reprint Blaser's work. At
the same time, Blaser's career helps illustrate the differences in historical
circumstances between Allen's New
American Poetry and the contemporary anthologies. In The New American Poetry,
Blaser is one of nine poets (nearly a quarter of those represented) who had not
published a book at the time of his appearance in the anthology. Allen, then, could genuinely claim an
introductory and informative purpose for his book. The New American Poetry
gave twenty-seven of its poets, including Blaser, their first anthology appearance. Today, however, it is highly unusual to find
an anthology with such a high proportion of unpublished poets as Allen's, and
even rarer for such a text to succeed as his did.
The
example of Blaser also reminds us how anthologies can serve to highlight
affiliations among writers. In The New American Poetry, Blaser appears
appropriately side by side with Spicer,[xi] but Robert
Duncan is placed in the Black Mountain section of the text. Allen and George Butterick's updating of the
volume, The Postmoderns (1982), is
organized chronologically by birth date, severing the connections among its
poets. But in Messerli, Blaser's work
is placed, even more appropriately, between that of Duncan and Spicer--for as
Robert Creeley suggests in his foreword to Blaser's The Holy Forest, it was Blaser "who kept the bridge between
Duncan and Spicer secure, though it was always precarious" (xii). Blaser's biographical note in The Postmoderns suggests The New American Poetry as a kind of
watershed event in his writing life. He
describes himself as "building a single work since 1960 [the year of The New American Poetry], which when
completed will be called 'The Holy Forest'" (383). For Creeley The New American Poetry served the function of a "first
meeting place" for himself and Blaser, and he recalls Blaser's
"Herons" as a poem in the anthology that "made actual where we
were and had to be" (xii). For
Blaser's own part, he concludes The Holy
Forest, which otherwise is chronologically organized, with his New American Poetry poems, as if to
suggest that his end--or at least his current resting point--lies in his
anthological beginnings. Indeed, when
Donald Allen writes to Blaser that "your reading of 'The Chinese
Nightingale' turned me on poetry forever," there is a sense in which we
can say that Blaser himself lies at the heart of The New American Poetry.[xii]
The
construction of this New American anthological tradition is furthered and
complicated by Dennis Barone and Peter Ganick's The Art of Practice, which both extends New American poetic
practice and critiques its predecessor anthologies. This is one sense in which it can be seen as an anthology, in
Daniel Barbiero's term, of "post-Language" poetries.[xiii] While Practice's
45 poets is close in number to Allen's 44, the earlier text does not seem to be
a model. Rather, in the editors' words,
"the impetus for this anthology was two [other] previous ones,"
Silliman's In the American Tree and
Messerli's Language Poetries. There are deliberately no overlaps with
either of these collections. At the
same time, Barone and Ganick share with Allen, Silliman, Hoover, and Messerli a
sense of resistance to the institutionalized poetics of their own historical
moment: they construct an anthology "opposed to the so-called natural free
verse poem," on the assumption that "poetry is not the place for
expression of common or authentic voice" (xiv, xiii). (The fact that The New American Poetry helped promulgate a poetics that, in the
debased form of the notorious workshop lyric, became a later version of the
"academic"--that the collection generated both its own tradition and
that tradition's antithesis--is the subject for another essay.)[xiv]
While
Barone and Ganick describe their organization as "somewhat democratic (not
chaotic or autocratic)" (xv), it's hard to tell exactly what these terms
mean in context (the volume's admirable gender equity being an issue of
distribution rather than organization of space). Beyond local appropriate juxtapositions, such as placing the work
of co-editors Jessica Grim and Melanie Neilson side by side, the principle of
organization remains largely submerged.[xv] A "democratic" organization does
show up, however, in the refusal to elevate any one poet or group of poets to
accrediting or originary status. Indeed,
Practice begins and ends with anti-
authoritarian tropes. In an implied
critique of the Allen-Weinberger-Hoover privileging of the notoriously
phallocentric Olson and of U.S. writing, this anthology of North American writing
begins with a Canadian woman poet and editor, Susan Clark, and ends with a
barely published younger Canadian poet and editor, Louis Cabri. The editors appear as the second and
penultimate selections: close to (but, importantly, not actually) framing the
collection, but still not pretending disingenuously to merge or hide.
In
one sense, however, Ron Silliman becomes an accrediting figure in the text, by
having the last word--an afterword--and historicizing the collection. Reversing the anthology's title in his
afterword, "The Practice of Art," Silliman places Practice in the New American Poetry
tradition without precisely connecting it to Allen's anthology. He describes the collection as "a
survey of the broader horizon of the progressive tradition in North American
poetry," and on this basis differentiates it from his own and Messerli's
first anthology, which did not "set out to represent the big picture of
what we might think of as Post-New American Poetry" (372). If "margin and center have shifted over
the past decade," that shift has occurred partly within the margin itself,
in the form of "a critique by example of a narrowly configured (and macho)
language poetry" (372). Thus a
"critical response to language poetry becomes an unspoken unifying
principle of Practice" (375). This critique is precisely what I think the
notion of buttressing cannot accommodate.
At the same time, in this consciously historicizing and canonizing
afterword (one half of a framing context that also consists of the editors'
more aesthetically oriented introduction), Silliman devotes much of his
argument to constructing a New American Poetic lineage. He argues that "Practice's passionate relationship to the New American Poetry of
the 1950s and '60s may be more visible than that of the Tree only because of the lower level of militancy in editorial
focus"-- more visible, note, but not more genuine. Then he turns to a specific example from Practice to reinforce this construction
of a lineage: "[Norman] Fischer's work offers the quintessential evidence for
the argument that language poetry (so-called) embodies a direct extension of
the New Americans, albeit an extension that transforms and problematizes its
own understanding of what came before" (374).
Repeating
his gesture from In the American Tree,
where his list of exclusions is longer than his list of inclusions, Silliman
goes on to name 93 writers who could have been included in The Art of Practice. He
concludes, collating inclusions and exclusions across both texts, "that
more than 160 North American poets are actively and usefully involved in the
avant-garde tradition of writing is in itself a stunning thought"
(377). Stunning indeed, though not in
an entirely benign sense. This
statistic has various possible implications.
From one point of view, such numbers make the avant-garde robustly
unassimilable simply because of its size.
From another, they intensify, even necessitate, the tendency to reify
the avant-garde in the work of a selected handful of writers (Charles
Bernstein, Susan Howe, and Michael Palmer are some of the current popular
choices). There is by now a
substantial, if short, history to the critical trope that invokes
"so-called" Language writing (it's always "so-called") and
then "explains" the label by trotting out a list of paradigmatic
names: "the so-called Language poets, such as . . ." From yet another perspective, the idea of an
avant-garde becomes meaningless once it refers to at least 160 writers in a
single historical moment. That avant-garde is close to the size of
its mainstream Other.
If we
are to see recent anthologies of innovative writing as engaged in the ongoing
construction or buttressing of a New American Poetry tradition, what kind of
consensus on that tradition do they achieve?
Despite the different purposes, criteria, and to some extent periods
covered by Hoover, Weinberger, and Messerli (to turn to the more historically
inclusive collections), sixteen poets appear in all three texts. Of 287 selections from these sixteen
writers, however, not a single selection appears in all three anthologies. Further, out of that 287, only 9 poems
overlap between even two of the anthologies.
The closest these texts come to consensus is that they each reprint
sections (though different ones) from Clark Coolidge's At Egypt. (Also, regarding
the writers they agree on, there's only one minority, Amiri Baraka, and one
woman, Susan Howe.) Is this fruitful
difference? Is it tradition as
heterology? Is it sensible marketing
strategy, with each anthology seeking to differentiate itself as it covers
somewhat similar ground? Or is it
incoherence? Given such differences,
what might the notion of a New American tradition mean?
These
are questions beyond the scope of this essay, but it seems crucial at least to
raise them, and to relate them to others: to what extent do such terms as "margin," "avant-garde,"
"mainstream" remain critically viable, especially when none of them
can be monolithically defined? How will
we continue to negotiate aesthetic and socio-cultural definitions of the
"marginal" that are frequently at odds with each other?[xvi] In a recent interview, Lyn Hejinian
acknowledges how the anthologies that I have discussed complicate relations
between "mainstream" and "margin":
My career's ended up so much
better than anything I would have dreamed could possibly happen, that I could
never complain about being excluded. So
much good has happened. I don't have
any justification for being pissed off.
As we're looking at the end of this century and these huge anthologies
that are coming out, this correspondence [among poets] with complaints about
being marginalized is going to look pretty ludicrous. The language poets, for instance, are being taught all over the
place. It's not maybe the mainstreaming
of the work, but it's not by any stretch marginal. (21)
"These huge anthologies" do indeed render
complaints about marginality a little silly.
But they also represent less a mainstreaming, as Hejinian says, than the
latest resting point in an ongoing upstream swim against the dominant
current--the current represented in a comment from Robert Dole, Senator from
Kansas, front-page news on the day that I travelled to deliver the talk from
which this essay derives: "The mainstreaming of deviancy has to be
stopped."
NOTES
[i] Although it appeared too
late for discussion here, I should also mention in this context Joseph Donahue,
Edward Foster, and Leonard Schwartz' Primary
Trouble: An Anthology of Contemporary American Poetry (Hoboken: Talisman
House, 1996).
[ii] Meanwhile, neither
anthology represents exactly what it seems to.
American Poetry Since 1950,
self-consciously an anthology of historically marginalized work,
programmatically excludes one major grouping within its own tradition of
"innovators and outsiders," the Language poets. Conversely, McClatchy's Vintage Book, in many ways the quintessential mainstream anthology
of recent years in its choice of Bishop and Lowell as founding figures,
excludes almost all examples of the scenic lyric that for most readers
constitutes the contemporary U.S. mainstream.
[iii] For further discussion of
Weinberger's and Hoover's anthologies specifically, and for further detail on
how other later editors variously modelled their anthologies on The New American Poetry, see my From Outlaw to Classic 30-35 and 179-81.
[iv] Rasula observes that
although Language poetry "has been repeatedly and favorably singled out in
prestigious scholarly journals" and "routinely discussed in
monographs," "there are no
language poets to be found in over five thousand pages" of nine of the
most visible and widely used poetry anthologies published since 1984 (458-59).
[v] Compare Jane Gallop on
tokenism in a feminist context as she quotes Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak's
remark that "'the . . . center welcomes selective inhabitants of the
margin in order better to exclude the margin.'" As Gallop adds, the selective inhabitant "is also there as a
token of, a marker for, all the . . .
excluded" (45).
[vi] The self-conscious
oppositionality on which Weinberger's anthology rests also seems directed at
Helen Vendler's Harvard Book of
Contemporary American Poetry, if we read as a polemical gesture his
starting with Pound and Williams and ignoring Stevens just as Vendler does the
reverse. This contrast serves as yet
another reminder of how larger debates within literary culture--in this case,
the thoroughly fruitless and oversimplified argument over modernism as the
Pound or Stevens "era"--get played out in anthologies, often in
unacknowledged ways.
[vii] In a further canonizing move, the anthology's jacket blurb--not
necessarily authored by Hoover himself, I realize--makes "postmodern"
and "avant-garde" synonymous with the category of "major
poetry." The blurb describes the
text as "the first anthology since Donald Allen's groundbreaking
collection to fully represent the movements of American avant-garde
poetry." This claim is followed by
the far more generalizing and less tenable one that the anthology "offers
a deep and wide selection . . . of the
major poets and movements of the late twentieth century" (my
emphasis).
[viii] The alleged characteristics
of these opposed "model poets" are familiar enough that they do not
need reiteration here. On a related
issue, however, the "battle of the anthologies" is usually taken to
refer to the differences between Allen's New
American Poetry (1960) and Donald Hall, Robert Pack, and Louis Simpson's New Poets of England and America (1957),
with Hall and Pack's 1962 second edition a kind of follow-up entry in the
debates. In framing the
"battle" as one over Allen's collection and the 1962 edition of New Poets, Hoover grants The New American Poetry a chronological
primacy that it did not in fact enjoy.
[ix] For a thoughtfully
skeptical reading of the belatedness in Weinberger, Hoover, and Messerli, see
also Rasula 461-65, who argues that they anachronistically "perpetuate the
sectarianism that was manifest" in The
New American Poetry's oppositionality and display "a nostalgia
predicated on a 'recuperation' of New American poetic dissidents, but the logic
is flawed because they've come too late to get in on the fruits of first
acclaim" (461).
[x] It is also the case,
however, as some commentators have pointed out, that none of the collections
radically reconceives the genre of the anthology itself. See, for instance, Lazer 379 n 8. Richard Kostelanetz criticizes Hoover's Postmodern American Poetry for excluding
what he considers a whole range of avant-garde work that might also have forced
rethinking of the anthology's nature: "It completely omits sound poetry, visual
poetry, neologistic poems, minimal poems, site-specific poems, video poetry,
poetry holograms, computer poetry, and comparable experimental forms"
(17).
[xi] Similarly, Clayton Eshleman
concluded A Caterpillar Anthology
with two selections from the magazine's twelfth issue--eight Blaser poems
placed next to poems and letters by Spicer
[xii] The quotation comes from an
Allen letter to Blaser read at the "Recovery of the Public World"
Conference, Vancouver, B.C., June 2, 1995.
[xiii] Barbiero's review of The Art of Practice is much occupied
with issues of lineage and with what is to follow Language writing. It begins: "The 45 poets included in
this collection can all be seen as extending an open-form tradition that runs,
roughly, from Pound and Williams through 'language' poetry via Surrealism,
Objectivist & Projectivist verse, and points between and beyond." Thus, "although much of the work can
legitimately be thought of as post-'language' poetry," it is also
"very much part of a tradition" (7, 13). While the term "post-Language" does not appear in The Art of Practice itself, publicity
materials for the volume described it as containing "over 400 pages of
poetry generally considered 'avant-garde' or 'post-Language.'" For collections that also articulate various
forms of a post-Language poetics, see the double issue of o-blek, # 12 (spring/fall 1993),"Writing from the New
Coast"; and Spahr et al, A Poetics
of Criticism.
In
his afterword to The Art of Practice,
Ron Silliman stresses that "it's essential to recognize what this book is
not: In the American Tree: The Out-takes
or Language Poetries: The Next Generation"
(371).
[xiv] Compare Ron Silliman's
historicizing of Language writing as involving a "complex call for a
projective verse that could, in the same moment, 'proclaim an abhorrence of
"speech"'--a break within a
tradition in the name of its own higher values" (American Tree xv; my emphasis).
[xv] Barone and Ganick describe
their editorial procedure as follows: "We asked each poet to choose his or
her work for the anthology, but we asked for more pages than we planned to
use. We then made a selection from each
author's work. We hope that our
anthology has some collaborative trace to its presence" (xv). One appeal of this approach is that it
allows the poets significant input into the anthology's contents. But it remains unclear how one would locate
the "collaborative trace"--how a reader could tell in what ways, or
even if, a selection was shaped by dialogue between editors and contributor.
[xvi] For a thoughtful recent
discussion of these issues that successfully problematizes the
aesthetic-vs.-sociocultural or avant-garde-vs.-identity-politics binary, see
Lazer. For anthologies that do so, see
Lew and Phillips.