The Way We Talk About Poetry Is the Problem

Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m the only one who’s tired of the ways we talk about poetry. Maybe I’m the only one who feels a pang of loneliness every time he looks at Poetry Twitter (and then, because social media pushes my buttons so well, looks again, and looks again). It feels that way, the loneliness—the kind I sometimes feel at parties, where lonely is so obviously the last thing I’m supposed to feel.

In the grand scheme of things—hell, even in the ordinary scheme—this isn’t a big deal. But I haven’t had any luck in letting it go. And I’m not convinced that it’s just me. And I’m not even convinced that a lot of what’s happening is good for anyone—though really, the awkward guy standing against the wall at a party complaining about everyone’s supposedly-unhealthy behavior is probably the last person you should listen to. So, grain of salt.

And, caveats: in many ways, the institutions of American poetry are better off than they’ve ever been. They’re more inclusive along several important axes. There’s more room for more styles and more tastes. And much of what is wrong today has always been wrong. Favoritism, shallowness, self-dealing, competition dressed up as virtue, flatterers dressed up as sages, coteries dressed up as the elect: none of that is new. But right now, it just seems so loud.

Of course, that’s exactly what you’d expect a cranky middle-aged guy to say at a party. So, if you don’t want to turn it down, I understand. I’ll survive, yelling at clouds and chasing kids off my lawn