Kathleen pointed out this article by David Graham on fame and poetry.
He came to a realization: “a winner of most accolades the poetry establishment could bestow, including The Pulitzer Prize, The National Book Award, the Bollingen Prize, and a stint as national Poet Laureate and Consultant to the Librarian of Congress. He was a founding member of the renowned Poets’ Theatre in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Scholarly books were written about his career. In his years as a professor he taught at many leading universities[…but…] It seems increasingly obvious that, despite his accomplishments and high reputation, lasting for decades, the poet Richard Eberhart was one whose name really was writ in water.”
He considers what Emily Dickinson wrote in correspondence: “I smile when you suggest that I delay “to publish,” that being foreign to my thought as firmament to fin[…] My barefoot rank is better.”
He said
Some critics and biographers have assumed that Dickinson was being disingenuous, seeking advice from a leading literary light while pretending not to be interested in his help toward publication. I probably thought so, too, if I gave the matter any thought when starting out as a poet.
But what if she meant what she wrote? What if, in fact, she really was inquiring of a well-known expert his opinion of the quality of her poems, without expectation of a “career” in the art or even publication?
What if she just wanted an informed evaluation, or wished to reach out to a possibly kindred soul?
What if she truly wasn’t trying to get somewhere just have a conversation. It’s funny that this is the first time I’ve heard this considered.
Some poems passed around privately are stronger than that I see published for polish in what Graham calls the “the maelstrom of Po-Biz”. Of course, most furtive poetry is probably weaker as communication as well. But the publication aspect isn’t the determinant. Some poetry get published and you wonder why. Some poetry doesn’t seek publication and you wonder why.
I get the impression that the majority of people who write poetry don’t self-define as such. They don’t enter the game of public discourse because it demands different constraints than what they gain from writing to work things out for themselves, the challenges and pleasure of craft and ideas. The hassle of hoops doesn’t have any appeal. When poets on panel get asked who they write for a good percentage (with or without huff or shrug) say one only writes for oneself. So then, why push it onwards towards publishing?
Is it a matter of honing different business skills? Routines of throwing things to the wind without attachment to results?
One doesn’t become a skilled conversationalist while having monologues with stuffed animals and it makes it more difficult to converse in poetry if one does so in monologues as well.
But does one need to be published to dialogue? With the right mind, a person alone can contemplate and further his or her own thinking, build and destroy and rebuild theories and stories and understandings.
Does poetry need an informed reader? Or only a single interested, critical and curious reader? Or only self? That would make for conversation with that one but it could make a private language, an idiolect of in-jokes.
Emily Dickinson was a prodigious correspondant. Dialogue in itself isn’t enough. Astute seeing is needed too.
There is a push to go public, and it gains momentum. At some point when working out for oneself, courtesy of so many others who contribute to one’s thinking, there comes a sense that it doesn’t belong to the poet any more, but to the collective who helped crystallize it. Then it goes out, without hope of recognition : what does come passes quickly.
I’ve recently been graced with probably the most rewarding short conversation about my own poems I’ve ever had, with Gary Barwin. He has nothing to do with publishing my work, except to help me save the poems from myself. That’s something I’ve looked for always, have found in pockets (thanks, Harold Rhenisch, etc.), but never so richly so timely. When looking for input, it’s earnest, because there’s no clean way to see your own work except through much experience. In cleaning up my poems I understood myself much better – Gary combed out some of the knots in my hair. It’s been said that each poet needs three readers. That’s all. More are usually welcome !
My first chapbook will be ready next month. I’ve been writing for 35 years, quietly.
Thinking about this further, two things come to mind. A propos, I’ve alerted verse Wisconsin of this conversation. One is that David Graham included a fuller quote by Ms Dickenson. When unpacked it makes perfect sense: if she were famous she’d be hounded, and if not she wouldn’t have time to write or walk her dog for running after it. In other words, she thought about her own impulse to publish it and chose to suppress it because she has a clear idea of what it means. I’m not sure most of us think so logically, or govern our appetites so well. She knew it was a man’s world too.
The other point is about language. One thing Gary told me is that the language has to be super-charged and fresh, even if it’s understated. I know what this means in the context of my
work. Shades of Pound’s “make it new” being bandied in another FB conversation with Sam Hamill. Just as a public speaker has to speak up and enunciate ( unless the point is to do otherwise) a poet has to speak more clearly than she might to herself. There’s a certain exhibitionism needed even to fashion ( there! Even that word bespeaks it!) a poem. The balance between intimacy and stridency is what some editors choose.