It would probably be best, before we ride into battle to defend another poet, to be sure the poet wants to be defended. It's condescending to speak up for someone who hasn't voiced his or her concerns--and may have none. I certainly wouldn't want to be dragged into a squabble as a pawn for another person's "outrage."

John

Norman,

Yes, ok, I like baking! I'm guilty as charged! ;)

And I suspect we're more in agreement than disagreement.

But let me tell you a little story (my staff groans when I start that way, I'm too well known for always having some illustrative story, but I just can't help myself). So there I was, minding my own business, playing in our regular wednesday pickup basketball game at the university. There were a bunch of professors and admin types, out for a little exercise and friendly competition. I'm a big guy, who can jump, so I usually play center.

And there was this other guy, a professor of thomistic ethics. Accomplished and civilized. He could, and did, discuss the finer points of the ontological argument with you over a glass of wine all afternoon. But when he drove the lane, I had to block his shot. It was a nice, clean block, as I said, I'm a big guy, so I have to be careful first.

Well. The next time they had the ball, I saw the look on his face. I decided to just let him go. What was the point, after all? But he wasn't really going to the basket. He just ran straight into me. Why? To prove he was tough? To prove I wasn't? All I know is that the look on his face reminded me of the looks people got on their faces while playing dodgeball in junior high.

Did any of us really get into writing to prove how tough and serious we are? Is it possible that some people have sometimes used their devotion to 'standards' to mask insecurities? Is it unreasonable to think that perhaps a tiny minority even enjoyed that dodgeball mentality in their youth, and still revel in it, and use the rational statements of well intentioned people as a cover to recreate that emotion?

I don't know the answers to any of these questions. I do know that, looking back, the people who have helped me the most were the ones who encouraged, prodded, and steered me towards a better course. The 'tough love, let's see if he can take it' people never led to much productivity at all, and led to very little progress.

But then, as you say, I'm a sensitive soul who likes flowers and enjoys baking! ;)

In any case, I believe you and I have far more agreement than disagreement.

Peace to you and yours,

Thanks,

Bill

Aha a fellow writer on this thread! It's nice to make your acquaintance Bill, in this, the Baking Season. I think we cross-posted. I've never sampled your brownies. But I'll take you on your word.

Keystone coppery and broken crockery, the urban legend of vanishing threads.

The prohibition against ad hominem attacks is one of those received wisdom-isms that rarely warrants a mention. Now, I realize refraining from such attacks is a rule of this forum and I will abide by the norms of this community. But I must say, it reminds me a little of the anti-abortion candidate who pounds the dais against the practice only to allow for a series of extenuations: 'except in cases of rape, incest and endangerment to the mother's life.'

We nod approvingly at his lawyerly sense of balance (which nudges him back, I must say, from the abyss of sheer conviction) as those tack-ons are horrible things indeed. Who could argue? And yet, the devil is often in the mitigations. The fact is, he remains a partially pregnant baby-killer.

I cling to a romantic notion that, in poetry, it's never as easy as the hominem being escorted out of his or her own poetry to sit in some batter's cage while the statisticians compile his stats. Is poetry personal or is it more like laundry? An upstanding gentlemen can still have smelly socks. That evening, they're washed and bleached so that off he can go to tomorrow's upstanding events. Appraising his well-starched demeanor, no one will suspect the lefts sock is riddled with holes. It's only because I invented him, that I know his bunions protrude.

Literary blow-ups are legendary: Wolfe vs Updike, Hemingway vs Fitzgerald. But are these unfortunate break-downs in civility (what, petulant artists?) or organic and essential responses to the art produced? Maybe the art has to rise to a level of momentousness that coaxes the fellow luminary to strike --for the integrity of the canon if nothing else. Maybe they're all just a bunch of jostling, jealous little shits.

So I ask, is the consternation here a indicator of how little, in most cases, is at stake? It could be a slow news day. MSNBC's headline swaps are occurring at a glacial pace. So we exploit the holiday by taking huge offense.

I'm going to write through this tempest because I feel it has legs it has yet to discover, or until someone makes me leg it out of town. But I've been thinking the charismatic is a clinical narcist who excels mostly at choosing the words that please the most people. Creeping obsequiousness is a low-grade manifestation of this affliction. The implication is that likability and collegiality should be avoided like the plague, especially in poetry circles.

Forget about reading tea leaves and all that Jeane Dixon stuff. A prophet, in the Old Testament sense, was like a negatively-charged ion. Every word that came out of his mouth was reflexively detested by the prevailing poetasters. It was precisely the right thing to say because it was precisely opposed to what everyone wanted to hear. Until he died of course. His sticks and stones thus retired, it became more fashionable to lionize him. But that's Keats' negative capabilities in a nutshell: diametric opposition, contrariness.

Maybe we should embargo all posts until they can be reviewed post-mortem? But then, how would we get to savor just how clever we are? And who would collect the awards?