Let Poetry Die ❧ Redux


  • This is a rewrite of my earlier post Let Poetry Die. This version came about because I was asked to do a rewrite by the Wall Street Journal, who considered publishing the article in their essay section. Because their essays tend to be more informational than confrontational they ended up rejecting the rewrite (or that’s my theory). I re-submitted the essay to other publications including The Atlantic Monthly and Poetry Magazine. It was Andrew Sullivan, of the Atlantic Monthly, who first brought the post to “the world’s” attention, so I thought they might be interested in the rewrite. They weren’t.  So be it. Rather than let the rewrite burn a hole in my pocket, I’m posting it here. Enjoy, or refute, as the case may be.

On Nov. 5, 1913, Robert Frost wrote to John T. Bartlett, professing his ambition and, at the same time, defining what a poet’s ambition should be. “There is the kind of success called ‘of esteem’ and it butters no parsnips. It means success with the critical few who are supposed to know. But really to arrive where I can stand on my legs as a poet and nothing else I must get outside that circle to the general reader who buys books in their thousands.”

Frost’s driving ambition was founded on the belief that the general reader was equal to his own ambitions. Frost could have been echoing Walt Whitman’s assertion that “to have great poets, there must be great audiences.” But the populism of Frost and Whitman was increasingly distrusted by poets and critics stung by public rejection. The answer was not that their own poetry and vision might be mediocre, but that the public’s demands were mediocre. The obvious answer was to create their own audience and that thesis was formulated by Harriet Monroe, the founder of the Poetry Foundation. In a 1922 editorial she implicitly condemned the corrupting influence of the general reader. She contemptuously referred to poems, daily published in newspapers, as “syndicated rhymes,” and equated the poets to “movie-producers” who had learned that it paid to “be good”. It paid to give “people the emotions of virtue, simplicity and goodness.” And she meant that contemptuously. In short, she was accusing poets of catering to the general reader. Poetry needed to be freed from the corrupting expectations of “people”.

History cherishes irony. Robert Frost’s tremendous success in courting the public made Monroe’s vision of the poet, so different from his own, not only possible but triumphant. It was Frost’s popularity that wakened colleges and universities to the lucrative possibilities of the poet-in-residence. After Frost, more and more academic institutions established a poet-in-residence, then creative writing programs, then MFAs. Even if modern poets largely disdain catering to the general reader, the colleges and universities, who bait their hooks with them, make catering a science. There is no MFA equivalent to organic chemistry – a trial by fire that thins the ranks of premedical talent. MFA programs glow with the radiance of a sabbatical. The University of Iowa Writer’s Workshop, the oldest in the country, gives the feeling of a vacation brochure. “Workshop alumni have won sixteen Pulitzer Prizes (most recently Philip Schultz in 2008), as well as numerous National Book Awards and other major literary honors.” They might as well be describing sixteen award winning slopes, well groomed and with powder. To paraphrase Harriet Monroe, it’s a program that “pays at the box office”, but empties your pockets. The program promises nothing other than that students will be comfortably acquainted with the expectations of “the critical few who are supposed to know”.

Harriet Monroe’s vision of the poet won the day. And the triumph of Monroe’s vision was never so spectacularly endorsed as when, in 2002, Ruth Lilly, the last surviving great-grandchild of the pharmaceuticals baron Eli Lilly, bequeathed roughly $200 million to Monroe’s Poetry Foundation. Monroe’s vision of the poet, insulated from the corrupting influence of the general reader, now extends to the Poetry Foundation itself. Flush with fantastic wealth, public appeal is no longer a matter of life and death; and that’s fortunate for the Poetry Foundation. Monroe correctly assumed that the “large public [would be] little interested” in what she had to offer. She wanted readers who were “primarily interested in poetry as an art” and those readers, predictably, turned out to be other poets, critics and aficionados. Whether the Poetry Foundation’s aesthetic genetics deserve to survive will never be known. Survival of the fittest has been thwarted. The foundation’s future influence on America’s poetry for good or ill will be unrivaled.

Nonetheless, the failure of Monroe’s vision, and the Poetry Foundation’s own inability (or refusal) to court a wider readership, was unwittingly confirmed by the Poetry Foundation’s own expression of gratitude to Lilly. “Thanks to Ms. Lilly’s munificence,” they write in an online article, In Memoriam: Ruth Lilly, 1915-2009, “the programs of the Poetry Foundation bring poems to 19 million Americans who would not otherwise read or hear them.” Without her they could not offer “the annual $100,000 Ruth Lilly Poetry Prize”. Without her “millions of readers [might not discover] the great magic of poetry for generations to come.” And topping it with a cherry, the Poetry Foundation’s President, John Barr, stated that “poetry has no greater friend than Ruth Lilly.”

The question arises: if the magic of poetry is so great, why did it need $200 million? Apparently, it’s not the magic of poetry that will bring the thrill of poetry to millions but the magic of $200 million. And John Barr’s own revealing statement that Poetry “has no greater friend than Ruth Lilly” is a curious self-indictment. It should have millions of friends – none any more or less great than the other.

What has been lost with the triumph of Monroe’s vision? As far as Frost’s general reader is concerned, American Poetry died with the modernists and their contemporaries: Robert Frost, T.S. Eliot, E.E. Cummings, William Carlos Williams, Ezra Pound, Wallace Stevens, WB Yeats. No poets ever filled their shoes. Few passing pedestrians could readily name a poet from the last 50 to 60 years – let alone the title of a poem, let alone a first line. Yet ask the same general reader to name a favorite novelist, golfer, band, lyricist or rapper, and watch them light up.

By asserting that poets shouldn’t have to cater to the marketplace of common opinion, poets were given leave to write without consequence. And when any human being can act without consequence, the dogs of mediocrity, narcissism and hedonism will be let loose. The most recent example was Elizabeth Alexander’s reading at Obama’s inauguration. Her list of credentials and awards are show stopping. She is a poet, essayist, playwright, who has degrees from Yale University and Boston University, along with a Ph.D. in English from the University of Pennsylvania. She was the 2007 winner of the first Jackson Prize for Poetry and, to boot, was awarded a National Endowment for the Arts Fellowship, two Pushcart Prizes, the George Kent Award and a Guggenheim fellowship.

But on the day when she was exposed to the marketplace of common opinion as no other poet since Robert Frost’s own reading at the Kennedy inauguration, the consequences were final. Her talents, as revealed in her poem Praise Song for the Day, were judged to be those of a mediocre poet whose poetic reach was strained by a clichéd phrase like “glittering edifices” and whose stanzas were typified by breathtakingly bland and unimaginative language:

I know there’s something better down the road.
We need to find a place where we are safe.
We walk into that which we cannot yet see.

The public’s reception was captured on John Stuart’s Daily Show when her reading was juxtaposed with images of a rapidly dispersing crowd. At present, Amazon offers 31 copies of her chapbook, Praise Song for the Day, (a print run of 100,000) for 1 penny each. New copies have been marked down to yard sale prices: $1.52. The public has spoken. If the general reader was to blame for the mediocrity in Monroe’s morning paper, public reception was the choke collar that restrained it’s durability. If the worst poets were permitted 15 minutes of fame, the next 15 years were payback. Currently, given enough publications and enough awards, a poet, despite having little to no public appeal, can expect the esteem of his or her peers to confer lifelong job security. After all, who publishes their poetry and awards them but other poets, critics and aficionados? The estimation in which the last decade’s poets have been held hasn’t reflected public opinion but the poets’ opinions of themselves.

Monroe’s stance excludes the general public from the evolution of art, but as Walt Whitman wrote, great poetry isn’t possible without a great audience, and if the audience is excluded from the development of a given art form, then it will no longer reflect the audience’s innate greatness. Interest among the general public has predictably collapsed. In January of last year, the National Endowment for the Arts reported that while 50.2 percent of adults had read a work of fiction in 2008, as opposed to 46.7 in 2002 (an encouraging increase) poetry’s adult readership had declined to a 16 year low. The general reader no longer turns to contemporary poetry because they cease to find their greatness within it. When the poet August Kleinzahler stated that Garrison Keillor’s 2002 anthology of poems, Good Poems, “makes no demands on his audiences, none whatsoever,” he might have added, with equal conviction, that the “audience hasn’t been permitted to make any demands on poets, none whatsoever.”

It would be better if poets were fed to the lions of public opinion. Drive them out of the universities, if not literally then figuratively. Drown institutional benevolence in a barrel of water. When poets were required to make their living by writing for the public there was a give and take – a kind of death and rebirth in every public appraisal of their effort. Artists disputed but also encompassed their audience’s demands and tastes. There was a balance, perhaps imperfect but a balance nonetheless. The interaction produced our greatest works of art. Hamlet was a product of the public’s demand for revenge tragedy. Mozart’s Magic Flute, one of the greatest operas written, was a direct appeal, not to nobility, but to the Viennese public’s taste for Singspiels and fairy tale operas. Conversely, careers sometimes sputtered and artists starved. But that’s the way it should be. This is how art thrives and improves.

It is a supreme irony that Monroe’s vision of the independent artist has recreated the very system of patronage that the great poets, composers and artists of the 19th century were so determined to escape. They wanted to write for the public. And it’s a curious state of affairs when criticism of John Barr’s efforts to steer the Poetry Foundation toward a more populist direction can be paraphrased (by Dana Goodyear, in her New Yorker article, The Moneyed Muse) as “the encroachment of cultural conservatism, money, and vulgar money people on a precinct considered sacred, and safely forgotten.”

Those making the criticism, those who fancy themselves independent artists, are hardly independent. Beethoven, whose music inaugurated the age of the Romantics, disdained patronage. The very definition of the independent artist, exalted by the Romantics, rejected the social and political norms of the previous century, and that included its patronage system. Ironically, there is little difference between that patronage system and the patronage system of America’s wealthy academic institutions. There is little difference between the hundreds of forgettable court composers who dutifully scribbled ditties for their aristocratic employers and the hundreds of forgettable poets who dutifully compose poem after poem under the auspices of their respective institutions. (No academic institution is going to patronize a poet who doesn’t reflect well on them.) If anything typifies cultural conservatism, it is the poet safely ensconced in the court of academic institutions.

Poetry answerable to common opinion might, at the very least, prevent the public from being lectured by “the critical few who are supposed to know.” They will stop being told they are too vulgar to recognize which poets rightly deserve their admiration and attention. Instead, maybe your neighbor will tell you. Maybe you will hear a poet’s lines absently-mindedly chanted by the stranger next to you. No one knows what the next great poet will sound like. But it’s likely the public will recognize him or her before other poets, critics or editors do.

And surely, a great many poets who are currently the darlings of their generation will be toppled from their esteemed perches. But why not invite these poets to actually make a living from their poetry? If they can’t, then maybe their poetry isn’t all that good? On the other hand, maybe the public has spoken after all. If there’s not a single poet the public finds worth praising or remembering, then maybe the argument is already over. Robert Frost’s legacy lives on in his poetry. Monroe’s legacy lives on in $200 million.

Make poets work for their bread and butter by being poets. Make them, as Frost wrote, stand on their own legs. The current culture, in which poetry is written for and supported by poets, has created a kind of state-sanctioned poetry too shielded from the destructive and re-creative impulses of common opinion. When the ancient myth makers invented the phoenix, they created a myth far more captivating and compelling than deathless immortality. They recognized the vitality of death and rebirth. When and if poetry is ever made to answer to the broader public, then the public may begin to see great poetry again – the greatness that stems from the re-creative collaboration between audience and artist. Let poetry die.

❧ January 10 2011

28 responses

  1. Pingback: Tweets that mention Let Poetry Die ❧ Redux « PoemShape -- Topsy.com

  2. Patrick,
    It’s a well written article. Both disturbing and encouraging. Your desire to impute dignity to the popular reader is admirable and rests on truth. In my opinion, it is equally true that the popular reader is a broken reader who would need some direction and a more than sporadic diet of poetry to be able to recognize good from bad. For example, I have been reading and writing poetry with purpose and regularity for over three years and am frequently surprised by the good in poetry I previously overlooked. One way I have come to better grasp poetry’s significance and beauty is by visiting your blog. Another is by reading an intro to poetry (Western Wind by Nims). But it takes patience, stillness, and so forth. And in this busy western society, we do not value quiet reflection and the like. There are obstacles to the truth and beauty of poetry that come from within as well as the ones you mention that are institutional attacks on poetry. That being said, I believe you are right to emphasize the inherent dangers of poetry’s institutional status quo. Thank you for your stimulating thoughts and your heartfelt concern! An excellent rewrite!


    • Your desire to impute dignity to the popular reader is admirable and rests on truth.

      That’s an interesting way to put it: the dignity of the regular reader. I like that. :-)


    • I do not think poetry will die. I do not think it matters now nor did it matter then. It only seems to matter because the critics and essayists that feed off the corpse tell us it’s important. It’s okay to enjoy something of no consequence to most of mankind. And as to the lack of greatness that seems to plague the post-modernist age, let time pass, give the critics and essayists time to annoint a new genius.


    • I do not think it matters now nor did it matter then.

      That’s true for more than just poetry.

      No matter what we’re talking about, whether it’s novels, movies, music, poetry, baseball, basketball, etc… there’s always going to be somebody to whom “X” just doesn’t matter and never did.


  3. Pingback: Thinking Aloud « PoemShape

  4. Pingback: Reblog: The Public Responsibilities of Known American Poets « PoemShape

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    • Beautiful, and not to beat a dead horse (but it just ain’t dead), what does that poem have that the vast majority don’t? — an accentual beat and rhyme (albeit slant and off-rhymes). Those are where the audience joined in. That’s what poetry was created for. It’s a celebration of the sound of language, not just the poet’s feelings.


  6. You have captured my innermost thoughts on poetry. I stopped reading modern poetry about twenty or so years ago because I could no longer recognize poetry.
    You have given me a glimpse of why poetry disappeared. It went to the OR to be rescued but has been unable to come out of anesthesia. Hundreds of million dollar worth of anesthesia!
    Only today I have decided to rejoin the fraternity and I found you! Found this!

    Yes let poetry die. Die like a seed! Let it burn. Burn like dross off silver!

    You wrote as I believe!


    • I’m sure there are many readers, if not most, who feel the same. I do hope that the genuinely good poets will eventually find their readership, though it may not be in their lifetimes I’m afraid to say. But I’m always looking and listening. :)


    • It was a pleasant surprise to see a posting from UpInVermont. I wasn’t sure that it was still around. I liked the original posting in 2011 concerning Let Poetry Die. You were correct then and you are still correct.

      Good to see the posting.


    • Thanks Tim. I’m still around. I’ve been overseas for the last month, and with the family. I had no time to write. Soon as matters settle down, I hope to get back to it.


  7. Pingback: A Writer’s Life: Update & Next Novel « PoemShape

  8. I imagine you are probably finished with this particular thread and thought, but I just read it again for the third or fourth time, and, eleven years later, feel like your opinion is even more on the pulse-or lack of a heartbeat- of poetry than ever before. There are a lot of us out here who clearly see how the contemporary academic, workshop poets and their BFF’s in the publishing business have slowly shoveled dirt over the barely living, and soon to die if not already dead, art form that so many of us love so very much. I will not quit writing my “traditional” (How I really hate that term!) poetry simply because I cannot get it published. I know there are others out there, you, the people who comment on your blog, and others who may never read your blog or mine or any others like it, but they will still remain priests to the fickle divinity that is our art and art form-poetry, real, honest poetry. One day, I believe, I hope, the general public will catch on and say, “Hey, this is what we have been missing.” Thank you for your brilliant thoughts, your encouragement, your inspiration, and your poems. I read Ellie’s Hymn before I read this again. Nice!

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thanks Thomas. It’s been awhile but I still very much think about this post. I’m about to finish my second novel, probably today. The novel is my effort to reach an audience beyond my blog, to give them what they want. I joke among friends that I’m doing my damndest to sell out, to appeal to the fickle tastes of modern readers. Not even haggling over price anymore. I’m writing a Romance novel. Me. My own twist on it anyway. So I’m practicing what I preach. It’s not enough for me to write poetry. The novel is largely the medium of modern literature—with exceptions like Mary Oliver (who very much gave readers what they wanted)—and the surest way to butter one’s parsnips is to write a novel—not poetry. I’m trying to combine them. Glad that you’re standing by your art. Don’t forget the other half of “Let Poetry Die” though—the trick is in finding the sweet spot—not just true to yourself, but conceding, somewhat, to the whims of your readership. :)

      Liked by 1 person

    • Appreciate your comments. I have sold out. I have a blog. Ha! I have written a novel and a series of short stories that will probably become a novel that I continue writing in my spare time. On my blog, I have asked readers to “request” poems, and I answer the requests as best I can. Those requests are the biggest hits with my 38 consistent readers. I do have to say that one of my friends, whom I have known for 35 years or more, did write back to me, “I never thought I liked poetry until I read this poem. Now, I think I like it. I want to read more.” One small step…

      Liked by 1 person

    • Beautiful. That’s the best kind of feedback. I wish you continued success in your efforts to sell your soul. It’s a lot harder than we’re led to believe. What’s your blog, by the way?


  9. https://joybragi84.wixsite.com/my-site. It is called The Thomas Miscellany. I have only been doing it for about a year or so. I am a little embarrassed. Your blog is so neat, organized, and well kept. Mine looks like a teenager’s photo album, (I have no intent to disparage teenagers!) because “technology” is not my thing, but it provides a place for my 38 consistent readers to keep up with what I am writing as I write it, the pictures that I take on my daily outings here in the Ozarks, and with the advertisement of my “published” books. Please do not judge harshly if you take a peek at it.


  10. Pingback: Did Poetry Die 100 Years Ago This Month? « PoemShape

  11. Shocking to realize that everything you wrote here is still true, 12 years later, except that Biden had a fabulous poet read at his inauguration: Amanda Gorman. I watched grown men in my family weep, when they heard her read “The Hill We Climb” – men who never read poetry. It reminded me of the “accepted wisdom” that kids no longer want to read long books – until Harry Potter came along. ‘We the people’ know what makes a great poem, and that will never change.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Yes, although I recently read an article stating that interest in humanity degrees has declined considerably while STEM majors have increased. All three of my daughters are STEM majors. One wonders, if this trend continues, whether colleges will want to continue hosting and paying for poetry chairs and that sort of thing; but I don’t know. My continued disinterest in playing the game—teaching at a university, working in the publishing industry or courting those circles—has probably cost me. If you liked Gorman’s recitation, you might like this post: A Brief Look at Amanda Gorman’s Inaugural Poem. Thanks for your comment. :)


    • Ah-ha, learned something new from your post on Amanda. Fascinating! The fact that your daughters want to earn a living doesn’t detract from my contention that they would know a good poem if they heard one (equally so with a poor one). I cannot bear to read what passes for poetry today; your post is entirely on point. Might we all agree with Emily in the end: “If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.”


  12. Pingback: What’s selling… « PoemShape

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