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   I agree with Douglas Clark that too many poets publishing today in
English are good for nothing but insomnia cures.  I've said this many
times on various lists, to a general combination of indifference and
hostility.  Of course there are many (in absolute terms) good poets
writing, but I really truly honestly feel that ninety per cent of the
verse published in the standard print poetry venues, especially the
more prestigious ones, is simply not worth reading.  Why indeed then is
there so much smug congratulation in review columns and other venues
where poetry is written about.

   I think there are two reasons.  First, there's a general feeling that
"poetry is in a parlous state" (what a smarmy phrase -- did I just make
it up?) and needs support; therefore there is a corresponding feeling
that one shouldn't further discredit this beleaguered art by carping on
how bad most of the current examples of it are.  A less creditable
reason is that so many of its practitioners are part of the academic or
other poetry establishments and therefore are quite aware that the poet
you criticize today is likely to be on your grant committee tomorrow --
or on your academic hire committee, or on the editorial board of the the
magazine or book series you want to be published in, or on the
subcommittee which invites poets out to give readings or lectures.
Better not step on any toes, or those sore feet will plant themselves in
your backside as soon as you turn around.  This has led to a kind of
"conspiracy of benignity" (I think that that phrase is William Oxley's)
whereby everyone agrees to scratch each others' back with kid gloves so
as not to make waves by rocking the boat to use some missed metaphors.

   Well those of us not part of any of the various poetry establishments
can spare ourselves the need to pretend that what is boring is
interesting and can continue to hang out with Shakespeare and Keats,
instead of wasting our time with the sort of dedicated and charmless
third raters who dress up as poets in an age in which the Muse is in
coma.


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When the tyrant has disposed of foreign enemies by conquest or treaty,
and there is nothing to fear from them, then he is always stirring up
some war or other, in order that the people may require a leader.


                 -- Plato
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