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A Conversation with |
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Page 4
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Leslie: I care about poetry as a poet, not as a
formalist. I think argument, contradiction and conflict of opinion are
healthy for any art. Right now, the formalists are trying to revitalize
poetry the way the modern poets of Pound's generation were trying to
do after World War I. The different "schools" of poetry should
always maintain an open dialogue. As with politics, nobody wants a one-party
system. Let the people decide; but if one party becomes too powerful
and begins stamping out the smaller parties, then the state of the art
becomes very unhealthy. That's where it is, now, I believe. The Academy
of American Poets, The Poetry Society of America, and most English departments
dictate that free verse is the established, honored way to write true
poetry. They ignore formal verse, and being ignored by these institutions
is pretty deadly. There's an amusing poem on this topic in the May,
1999 issue of Poetry. It's by Paula Tatarunis, and it's called
"Schools." Tatarunis pretty much takes every "school"
to task in her blank verse poem: imagists, formalists, free versers,
didacticists, narrativists, avant garde language poets. Perhaps you
can get permission to reprint it. I was at a lunch not too long ago,
given by some folks who call themselves the Los Angeles Association
for the Humanities, or something like that. The topic of the luncheon
was "Poetry Wars." What the "wars" were supposed
to be about, was never clearly established. The discussion went nowhere.
But, at one point, one of the guests, who hosts a literary interview
show on National Public Radio, commented that the poetry readings he's
attended lately have been unbearable because of the poets' tortured
delivery. That "tortured," incantatory style, is, I believe,
a kind of posturing trap that free verse poets, since the Beats, have
fallen into, in lieu of meter. Of course, when metrical verse is recited,
the meter shouldn't sound like a drum...it should purr along like a
well-tuned engine. I don't know that there's a common meeting ground
for all of this; I don't think there should be. There should be lots
of styles and philosophies. I do think we can learn from our differences,
and we can certainly add to the vitality of the art through ongoing
dialogue and informed, intelligent criticism. Above all, we shouldn't
ignore each other.
All day they stream past, petitioners Alex: Charting the course of neo formalism since its inception to the present, how much has it changed in your assessment? What overall growth, or loss, has it experienced? Leslie: The poetry conference at West Chester University in Pennsylvania, which will have its sixth session this June, has been doubling and tripling in attendance during its brief existence; so it's pretty clear that interest in traditional verse is increasing tremendously. The more poets who study and practice writing in rhyme and meter, the better, in my opinion. I've said "more isn't better," but if poetry is to be revitalized, it will take the strength of numbers, especially when free verse has swept over everything and remained unchallenged for so long. We owe a great debt to poets like Richard Wilbur, Anthony Hecht, X.J. Kennedy, Thom Gunn (to name a few — add J.V. Cunningham and Philip Larkin to the list, though they're gone), who held the fort, so to speak, during the siege. If the trend continues, the danger is that there will be as much bad formal poetry as free verse, but there's room for that, I think. Contemporary poetry is getting a good workout with formalism as its fitness manager; meter tones up the language, keeps it in shape; it even builds character! Alex: What do you think about prose on poetry, essays, reviews and criticisms? How much do these help poetry? Are they featured in enough quantity and quality in contemporary journals? How much of it if any do you yourself write and publish? Leslie: There is not much informed, intelligent criticism devoted to the works of formal poets. I'm amazed when a reviewer will pretend to be concerned about "form." For instance, in the latest issue of Poetry, John Taylor reviews a collection by the poet, Sidney Wade. Of a particular poem, he writes, "...the poem concludes with a surer sense of meter," and supplies these lines as an example of the "surer" meter: "I can see you very clearly now, your long tall frame,// the shine of those little lights on the cool wet pavement,/ the dark and tender neighborhood we inhabited for a time." These lines don't scan. Mr. Taylor mentions meter as if it meant something to him, but I don't think it really does. He shouldn't bring up meter at all. This is all free verse. I don't mean to say John Taylor shouldn't review books; I enjoyed his essays very much. He's a pleasure to read. But a discussion of meter doesn't apply to these works. This comes up a lot. I think, sometimes, essayists want to appear to be paying attention to versification...but it doesn't fly when they're dealing with free verse. What am I doing to correct the situation? Not much. I haven't written any reviews...except for Amazon.com. I sent in a brief e-review of Tim Steele's excellent and very important new book, "All the Fun's in How You Say a Thing." (The title, by the way, is from Robert Frost's poem, "The Mountain.") Here's my review:
It's a blurb, not an essay, but that's the nature of Amazon. Why don't I write some critical prose? I guess I'm chicken. Tim Steele has an epigram which suits me to a tee: "Here lies Sir Tact, a diplomatic fellow/Whose silence was not golden, but just yellow." I've been getting pretty bold in this interview. Alex: You have been courageously honest! Today, the common means of entertainment gravitates around the movie screen and TV — the evening news, the talk shows, the sitcom... So, although more poetry is being written, less of it is getting read by anyone other than a poet. Can poetry matter or play a useful role in today’s society? How can we manage, still, to find and give pleasure with poetry? Leslie: I think there are a lot of ways in which poetry can bring pleasure and enrichment to public life. First of all, there could be more light verse. Calvin Trilling writes a funny, topical poem every week for The Nation. Gore Vidal said some verse on the radio the other day about Pat Buchanan; it went something like this: "He swears allegiance to the fetus and the flag/ But shows disdain for the Jew and the fag." The meter is off a bit, but the couplet is far more effective and memorable than, "Buchanan cares more about patriotism and the right to life than the rights of minorities." There's room for a lot more of this in poetry. Formal verse lends itself to humor in ways that free verse does not. Rhymes can be hilarious. R.S. (Sam) Gwynn is one poet who sees to it that laughter accompanies applause at poetry readings. Poetry's so versatile and generous, it lends itself to serious events, as well: anniversaries, memorial services, inaugurations...poetry provides comfort, while it elevates the occasion. Recently, I've been consulted by two friends who wanted to read a poem for a memorial service. In both cases, it was formal verse that helped the gathering find an uplifting, inspiring, and positive expression for their memories. As in Emily Dickinson's poem, "After great pain a formal feeling comes," formal poetry is more satisfying to the ear at commemorative events, because rhyme and meter make the language memorable. People are able to carry lines away with them, in their hearts. Traditional verse is made to be learned "by heart." Alex: Is there any useful effort made to advance rhyme and meter in writing programs? Is close to 100% free verse a want in technical competence, or, an ideology that sees formalism as a bad thing for modern poetry? Leslie: I've talked about this in a general way. With respect to my own individual education, I've learned more, by far, from Timothy Steele than any other poetry instructor I've had — not only from his classes, but from his books, as well. Last year at the West Chester conference I had a workshop on rhyme with Brad Leithauser, which was very useful. I can't resist recounting an experience from one of my earliest poetry workshops, and it's fairly typical, I think. I was at the Napa Valley Poetry Conference in 1985...it may have been 1986. The faculty included Robert Pinsky, Carolyn Forché, Carolyn Kizer, Sandra McPherson, Jorie Graham, Gerald Stern, Steve Kowit, among others. I had workshops with several of these poets. On the first day of her workshop, one of the poets challenged us to recite the first line of any eighteenth century poem. I said, "The curfew tolls the knell of parting day," which is the opening of Thomas Gray's "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard." Our instructor, who is considered one of our most important poets, told us this line was a good illustration of how NOT to begin a poem. She told us a poem should open with a line that will bring people to a halt before they leave the room, something that'll keep them from running off to meet their bus. I mentioned this to a friend recently, and he wondered if Shakespeare's, "Shall I compare thee to a summer day?" would elicit an impatient, "Yes, yes, that'll be fine; I've really got to run." Perhaps a good opening would be, "Your zip's undone." It's only in hindsight that I've been able to see the harm being done to poetry by the way it's taught in workshops. I have a friend who is able to audit John Hollander's undergraduate class at Yale, and it sounds pretty interesting. I'd like to be able to do something like that. Hollander's aim, he says, is to instill knowledge of poetry that will do away with the need for workshops. I'd like to have been exposed to more truly remarkable teachers. I think there are more opportunities for that on the East Coast. Alex: Can you discuss your own process for coming up with new verse — from idea, to draft, to choosing a known form or devising your own, to revising until you have a final product? “Schools” first appeared in POETRY. Copyright © 1999 by The Modern Poetry Association. Reprinted by permission of the Editor of POETRY. |
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