The fact is it's 1933 in Europe all over again. The ascendant arc of fascism is undeniable: debauched currencies, concentrated wealth, looming trade wars, job-destroying deflation, collapsing international trade agreements, a teetering petrodollar, near-insoluble banking crisis, xenophobia, ultra-nationalist movements in Greece, Ireland, France, Hungary et al, et al.
Some endemically American features? A clunky and obtrusive security apparatus, vibrant military complex, the normalization of surveillance. If only the proto-fascism of the American Tea Party was an anomalous, parochial development. In fact it is a deeper --and thus far more troublesome-- phenomenon precisely because variants of it can be observed the globe over.
The short verdict is that globalism failed to knit it all together (or, depending on your view, hastened its approach) in time to avert the next big conflagration. Existential banker greed played a central role, but there are many other contributing factors. World growth in the 1500-1820 period averaged 1.7% per century. Our entire system is premised on growth. Sustainment isn't an option. Predation is the only way forward.
The point is this broad failure all but neccesitates a third world war after which, God willing, a fresh round of global rapprochement might ensue. For all intents though, the window within this cycle appears to have been missed. Ominously, every missed cycle ensures a rendezvous with increased military lethality. So it gets harder with each successive cycle.
This then is the world we live in, a world where poets presumbably live too. Air-brushing out the inexorable voices of all those who displease is a curious form of engagement. Perhaps poetry with its internecine struggles, pet peeves and ghettoized anthologies and communities that seem to avert whole neighborhoods of ideology is mimicking the macrocosm. That would make poetry no better. That would make perfect sense. Or maybe it is time to closely monitor one's affiliations and 'mimic the world'. Tough to say.
Just yesterday, poet Sam Hamill posted on Facebook:
"...why are American poets so isolated in their poetics? Little formalisti, little neo-formalisti, little support groups, little language groups... Little workshoppers... Reading Benedetti again, I'm reminded that my first obligation is to be a poet in the world."
Big Politics has been a somewhat recreational pursuit for a spell such that many poets have been able to indulge petty squabbles in its stead.
The era of indulgence may be ending.
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