Another note from Curtis Faville. He wants to see my discussion of Dickinson-Niedecker-Moore-Armantrout as an issue of taste (I don’t think so, myself – the conservatives regularly attempt to demonstrate their relationship to one or more of these poets, when, in fact, Dickinson demands being read as a refutation of the whole history of the School of Quietude – such revisionism isn’t taste, it’s literary equivalent of CYA). Also, on a minor note, I believe Poetry now pays something like $2 per line.

 

Dear Ron:

 

I shall probably tire of this editorial letter writing soon, so don't despair.

 

Of course (! )it makes almost no sense to see any meaningful thread from Emily Dickinson to Marianne Moore to Lorine Niedecker to Rae Armantrout—I think the hallowed word is "invidious." But it isn't the desire to see something where it isn't, nor to rope off spurious influences and false genetic markers as some kind of artistic fraud. The interesting thing about all four of these poets is the degree to which they are each NOT derivative. You could say Sappho's poems are like all of them, to a degree. Or you could more easily say Moore is like Catullus, Armantrout like Djuna Barnes, Niedecker like Thoreau—these kinds of gratuitous, easily drawn pairings are useful to establish something called the "continuity" of literature, of interest to professor/authors of college textbooks attempting to construct a chronological tapestry of anthology-pieces, but for the purposes of the appreciation of individual writers or works—completely beside the point. I say this, having myself made just such assertions about the ladies-in-question.

 

**

 

By raising the question of taste as it relates to literary form, it is extraordinarily difficult (probably impossible) to make historical arguments about the development of styles as a function of political difference. When I was first introduced to "poetry" in school, probably in the 8th grade (?) [actually I had read poems on my own prior to that—Ogden Nash, Rupert Brooke etc.], I remember distinctly wondering how poets could make "rhyme"—I thought, okay the first line ends in the word "California", so the next line, or the next line after that could end in "horny. A" but the trouble was I couldn't determine how the potential rhymes that popped into my head had anything to do with what I was thinking about (i.e., the argument of the poem). How poetry got hung up on rhyme is an interesting historical question, but I wonder 1) whether it was in any important way a political issue, or 2) whether it makes any difference to us (readers) today if it was. Isn't it a measure of the failure of a work that it cannot be meaningful without elaborate historical explanations of content (i.e., Dryden and Pope's literary disputes)? It is probably true (as Robert Duncan said) that Zukofsky's Communism is not likely to be an important fact for his readers 50-100-200 years from now and beyond. How shall we convince posterity that the flashpoints of our consciousness were not temporary, ephemeral preoccupations that died with us. Footnote: Does it matter? Bertholt Brecht would probably say "fuck posterity! where's dinner?"

 

I saw the best minds of my generation cranking out doilies to be sold at 50 cents a line to Poetry Magazine!

 

All this talk of schools and institutions becomes quite weird and incoherent after a while. Wendell Berry (or Gary Snyder) writes in a very unadorned, formally plain style, with an agenda wholly out of keeping with the Eastern Establishment's notions of appropriate subject-matter and stance. The divergence between radical/reactionary politics and traditional/innovative forms is not one that can be delineated accurately, or convincingly. Left and Right become as meaningless as they are in contemporary politics. Spokesmen for respectability, in any age, risk espousing mediocrity. That they have the power to bless it with patronage—of whatever kind—is a great pity and to be resisted in any time. It is probably not possible, however, to entirely prevent good work from becoming known and appreciated, even if it takes 500 years (i.e., Vivaldi). The dimension(s) of audience are not irrelevant here, either. It is as true to say of Billy Collins that his work will not live, no matter how many enjoy his work today, as it is to say that few in the future will ever appreciate Armand Schwerner. Schwerner is so obviously a more accomplished poet, but to make extraordinary claims for his posterity turns out to be special pleading.

 

Probably the politics of literature in America is a kind of symbiosis: The Establishment (formerly The System) perpetuates polite forms of literary discourse that do not fundamentally disturb the status quo of its public (i.e., middle- to upper-middle-class educated, mostly white, mostly well-off readers). The Outlaws (whose names and affiliations change every ten to fifteen years) seek to supplant the established forms with different, new ones. New=better. Different=honest. Critical=threatening. Clichés all. Both camps require an obverse to legitimate their program. A war must be fought, a pretext must be proposed. This is the way all wars start. Seldom, if ever, do the real issues get debated. Is your oil more important to us than our self-respect? Enter poor fools like Professor Rother, bludgeoning gravestones with a sledgehammer.

 

**

 

Faustian bargain. In other words, have Lowell, Schwartz, Shapiro, Jarrell, Bishop and Berryman all been summoned from the pantheon by an "establishment" that no longer needs them once they've died? That's a peculiar notion! Isn't it truer to say that none of them—despite their many gifts and talents—wrote work that appeals to our immediate present. The future changes the past, as Eliot astutely said; surely, our sense of post-War literature is still in flux, and not fixed, even by selective neglect.

 

"Tactical"—"strategic"—words of expediency. Does not the whole edifice of ranking qualify as a model of expediency? Aren't schools, even when self-consciously promoted (i.e., the Fugitives), entirely irrelevant in time? Does anyone care about Merrill Moore's sonnets anymore??????? It is entirely possible that the 22nd century will find Barbara Cartland, Jackie Collins, and Stephen King the most interesting examples of their times. If that bothers you, you don't appreciate history.

 

CF

faville@batnet.com