[Jennifer Reeser]

This poor fellow has now set himself on fire over on social media, confessing that he is completely ignorant of Stallings, et al, while simultaneously continuing to throw all formalists to the wolves, actually stating that we are "all of a piece."

In short, there is no need to read us, because we all look the same to him. I refer you to my previous remarks about the word we have for such characters. I keep thinking it can't get any funnier -- and then it does.

Julie Steiner's relentless, ever-present role here as Devil's Advocate, however, is truly inspiring. The lady must really be something in court, defending these criminals.

[Jennifer Reeser]

Oh, Ann, it was irony. I beg your pardon, ma'am. I neglected to address your wonderings. I was still trying to wrap my head around Steiner's apparent delusion that revenue earned from book sales from poets like Stallings is in any way comparable to that of global, corporate media monoliths like The New York Times who are pronouncing them dead.

Happy New Year!

J

[Max Goodman]

That The Times and those who work for it are entitled to be paid hardly requires a devil's advocate.

Neither, I hope--though it may no longer be the standard practice in publications considered news sources--is their policy of including in their opinion pages opinions with which they disagree.

Happy New Year, all.

[Jennifer Reeser]

Originally Posted by Max Goodman

That The Times and those who work for it are entitled to be paid hardly requires a devil's advocate.

Neither, I hope--though it may no longer be the standard practice in publications considered news sources--is their policy of including in their opinion pages opinions with which they disagree.

Happy New Year, all.

Bingo, Max, exactly. You have brought it right back round to questionable motives, if indeed this is not an opinion endorsed by the paper. Beautiful, thank you. Better than I could have done myself.

J

[W T Clark]

Fixed in an instant of violent expectancy, Ashlyme had no clear idea of what he had done. He would force things to a conclusion. “Quick!” he demanded of the remaining brother. “You must now accept the responsibilities of your state!” His grip on the knife became so urgent that cramps and spasms shook his upper body. “Tell me why you brought us all to this! Or shall I kill you, too?”
Gog Barley drew himself up with sudden dignity.
“The citizens are responsible for the state of the city,” he said. “If you had only asked yourselves what was the matter with the city, all would have been well. Audsley King would have been healed. Art would have been made whole. The energy of the Low City would have been released and the High City freed from the thrall of its mediocrity.”

— from In Viriconium, M. John Harrison

[Jennifer Reeser]

Hey Max, I get that you might be thinking I am knocking capitalism. Don't worry, that's not at all what I'm saying. It's the American way. God bless America and The New York Times and raking in the moolah hand-over-fist, I guess

Besides, you have no dog in this race, you are blessed! You have said they give it to you for free. You are one of the privileged elite, and it costs you nothing, like it costs most people.

J

[Max Goodman]

Poetry can be about the natural world or about the man-made world. This is similar to John Updike's distinction between light verse and other poetry, the light verse being about the man-made world. Human beings, of course, are part of the natural world. Much as I love light verse, it's clear to me that I and others can be touched more deeply by poetry about humans and/or other parts of the natural word than by poetry that's strictly about language, say, or about existing poetry. This makes some sense of the claim that separation from the natural world would prevent us from writing poetry--at least the type of poetry that we most value.

But now I may have something of a tautology. Of course being separated from nature would prevent us from writing good poetry--because I've now defined nature as including us. Luckily, there's no need to worry, because we can never be separated from ourselves.

Or can we? Does the way we use computers not in some sense separate us from ourselves? This is probably not something anyone can be convinced of, but for me, as I look at the way I and my kids and my friends and strangers I see in public places use technology, as I ponder what's happened to radicalized relatives, and as I worry about what online conspiracy theories have done to our self-governance and public safety, I can't help but feel that our technology is pulling us progressively further and further from ourselves.

So pondering Walther's overstated and poorly supported proposition has led me to a related proposition:

We are moving toward a world in which we might be too separated from ourselves and the rest of the natural world to create or appreciate the sort of art that humans have traditionally most valued. (Of course, if we reach that world, the lack of art will only be a symptom of the much deeper problem.)

[Jennifer Reeser]

Only this morning I received yet more email spam "inviting" me to subscribe to The New York Times.

The comedy never stops

[Ann Drysdale]

I, too, feel that movement, Max, and have tried hard to resist it. I find, though, that the resistance itself is seen as a dragshoe on the sort of progress that a later generation sees as both desirable and inevitable.

I generalise and am ashamed. But what to do with the sadness that such a realisation brings?

[R. Nemo Hill]

The world grows more and more unrecognizable the older we get.
Ultimately, I think this may help us to face our inevitable annhiliation, our impending deaths.
It kind of eases us into oblivion and blissful irrelevance.
So, really, it is poets who die and not poetry—since a large part of poetry is, ultimately, silence.

Nemo