Quote:
Originally Posted by Roger Slater
I have a personal question for Annie: Why could it possibly matter to you how many poems other poets work on at a time? Did you imagine that there's a "right" answer, that all good poets do in one particular way, and that you will write better poems yourself if you conform to the consensus?
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But Roger, people *do* actually think this way. There's an odd dichotomy, almost Aristotelian. Openly, they will assert that everyone's different, there's no one path to true art, but in actual practice, they're secret Sartreans, believing that in choosing their path they choose for everyone, and that since they've made a considered choice and found it good, we should all choose that way. If you doubt this, see a couple of the comments on my latest offering in the deep end. I think this is true in all the arts: a soprano believes other sopranos should sing the way she does. After all, it took years of difficult work to develop her technique, and during that time, she's discovered what works, not just for her, but (at least in her mind) for all.
My favorite quotation in this area comes from Alice: "Ever since I fell down the rabbit hole, people have been telling me what I must do and who I must be." For as long as I can remember, people ... good friends who sincerely wish me well ... have been telling me the *one* thing that I could change that would make me a good poet. The most memorable of these was a woman in California who adjudged I was aesthetically undisciplined, and decided I should join the U.S. Navy if I ever wanted to be a good poet! She thought learning to follow orders would be good for me.
That's an extreme example, but it's oddly representative. What strikes me is the gap between what people actually say, if asked, and what they actually do if observed. And as I said, these are all good people, charitable people who sincerely believe they're offering helpful, constructive guidance, who take the time to think deeply about problems and offer solutions. And since the phenomenon exists in most aesthetic fields, perhaps there's something deeply human about it?
Best,
Bill