At The New York Times, David Orr discusses the hoary problem of poetic greatness. He wonders, 'What will we do when Ashbery and his generation are gone? Because for the first time since the early 19th century, American poetry may be about to run out of greatness.'
What indeed? What a wealth of anxiety! Orr discusses the mid-century shift away from grand rhetoric in poetry and the way that change problematized the idea of greatness; he cites a laughably worrisome sewing-circle discussion in Poetry; he compares the influence of Elizabeth Bishop (Ashbery's favorite poet, exhibiting wonderful taste) to that of Robert Lowell, her grandiose companion in letters; and he declares, 'greatness narrowly defined to mean a particular, windily dull type of writing is something we could all do without, and long may its advocates gag on their pipe smoke and languish in their tweeds.' It is dispiriting to see another critic fighting wars won at the turn of the 20th century — that country club of poetry has not existed for a lifetime now; the standard for entering that exclusive world today is vacant shilling, hand-shaking, empty compliments, and an ability to write grant applications.
In the end, Orr writes, 'Perhaps most disturbing, we stop making demands on the few artists capable of practicing the art at its highest levels. Instead, we cling to the ground in those artists’ shadows — John Ashbery’s is enormous at this point — and talk about how rich the darkness is and how lovely it is to be a mushroom. This doesn’t help anyone. What we should be doing is asking why a poet as gifted as Ashbery has written so many poems that are boring or repetitive (or both), because such questions will allow us to better understand the poems he has written that are moving and funny and beautiful. Such questions might even allow other poets — especially younger poets — to find their own ways of writing poems that are moving and funny and beautiful. Which for those of us who read them, for those of us who believe in them, would be a very great thing indeed.'
I agree on this completely. I believe that any reader who flatly worships a poet is not fit to be making judgments about poetic greatness: I've experienced the reactionary, almost McCarthy-esq backlash when questioning the quality of achievement of John Ashbery's work here, twice. For myself (not to make ridiculous-sounding claims), I have to have the feeling of being brow-beat by the work in order to finally, after enormous resistance, admit greatness. Greatness should be a word reserved, one used sparingly, and the standard ought to be simply the power of the verse — does it affect? is it masterful? will it last?
6 comments:
I will remind you, DP, that your previous diatribe against Ashbery's poetry involved a complex, and twisted line of reasoning intended to suggest (without any proof whatsoever) that his poetic program was a neo-Conservative plot to undermine meaning in language, paving the way for the degradation of the culture at large.
Attempting to enlist the support of Gregory Orr in this effort is clearly a dishonest maneuver. Orr's frustration with Ashbery has nothing whatever to do with your post-Modern conspiracy theory.
It is perfectly possible to share Orr's frustration with Ashbery's prolific facility in his late career volumes, without by any means making political hay out of it.
Ashbery would be an important poet, on the strength of the five volumes I, along with most of the rest of the literary community, admire: Rivers & Mountains, Tennis-Court Oath, The Double Dream of Spring, Three Poems, and Self-Portrait in a Convex Mirror. It is not permissible for an inferior amateur critic, such as yourself, to denigrate a poet of Ashbery's stature, in his old age; that would be roughly like attempting to put down Robert Frost in 1962 for producing a mediocre collection (In the Clearing), or because he had been reported to have beaten his daughter 50 years before.
Your indignation reminds me of Archibald MacLeisch's impertinence during WWII, when he upbraided Hemingway and Dos Passos for not being vigorous enough in their support of the struggle against Fascism, taking them to task for portraying the reality of modern warfare in such a disparaging manner.
And I'll kindly remind you Curtis, that I admitted admiring several of the volumes you list there as well, especially Convex Mirror, and that his credits as a poet were not my issue — however, you insist upon seeing what YOU want to dislike, instead of listening to what I'm actually discussing. There seems to be nothing I can do about that.
You are unable or unwilling to engage with my acual observation of parallels between conservative ideology and postmodern projects; more than that, it seems that anyone who questions the orthodoxies that your generation has constructed is the defacto enemy. I believe this sort of blind worship and rigid reactionism is exactly what Orr is talking about.
I'll remind you, Curtis, that Daniel is not the only one who saw your objection as being one of earnest misunderstanding -- his point was not construed as you suggest.
While I'm writing, I'll object to the formulation you use to tear down Mr. Spoon: "It is not permissible for an inferior amateur critic, such as yourself, to denigrate a poet of Ashbery's stature, in his old age."
Denigration being less dutiful than unconsidered adoration? On principle, I find much that is wrong with these implications of such a principle. In any case, Daniel nowhere denigrated -- rather, he was engaging the text as written, which few of the others in that exchange would consent to do. Instead, they relied on the general atmosphere of consensus; such a thing as we do well to suspect and constantly interrogate. All the better if we come out in the end ratifying quality; all the better, too, if we make more clear the difference between hero-worship and authentic esteem.
I sometimes wonder how many people who praise Ashbery to the skies actually read him, or can. There's a big mismatch between the praise his recent writings keep receiving and their actual quality, which can be summed as politely as repeating himself for the past decade and more. His early work was quite wonderful, but each time I pick up his most recent work, it looks equally repetitive of his previous work, and equally pointless.
As for this:
It is not permissible for an inferior amateur critic, such as yourself, to denigrate a poet of Ashbery's stature, in his old age. . .
Comments like this are beyond absurd and reveal a strong bias that any responsible critic should cringe at. It amounts to the pot calling the kettle black. It is also extremely dishonest.
NO writer's writings are immune from criticism, at any time. The writing is not what matters, not the writer. As every critic ought to know.
So Ashbery gets a critical pass because of his old age? Does another poet get the same pass? What kind of critical pass is acceptable, and which is not? That's a very slippery road to start down.
Criticism is about engaging the text as written. Which is all that those who don't think Ashbery's writings are all that great have done. Ad hominem attacks on their character, for doing so, is the last refuge of those who have no real defense for their position on actual textual or literary grounds.
Daniel:
Pardon me for confusing the author of the Orr piece you referenced. If I'd taken the trouble I would have noticed my error. Apologies due.
I hardly could be accused of belonging to my "generation." I'm probably anathema to all of them, because I'm an uncooperative and obstreperous old coot.
I'm not advocating ignoring bad work, if bad work is what's at issue. I have stated clearly elsewhere my frustration with Ashbery's work since 1980, and have had to fend off his supporters in much the way you seem to feel obliged to do against the likes of me. You have erred in assuming that I am among those uncritical worshippers--not so!
But there comes a point when you have to let sleeping dogs lie. Creeley, also, to my mind, wandered away from his daemon, spending the last 25 years scribbling out premature obituaries for himself. Auto-erotic asphyxiation my foot!
Poets usually peak in their forties. It's not always true. Between Tennis-Court Oath and Self-Portrait Ashbery was at the top of his game, the best there was (IMHO). What he wrote after that doesn't lessen in any way, to any degree, the importance of those works.
The way you speak of him uses the meaning of his whole career as an undiluted solution. But people change, even tennis players have to retire eventually. I could easily throw out JA's last six books and not miss a thing, but to make the claim that because of them everything that went before--the whole shebang--is somehow compromised, is wrong.
That's not slavish respect, it's just common sense.
That guy's an idiot. There will be so much greatness in poetry in the coming century we're going to outsource your jobs, and your opinions to dead people, critics. Immensely entertaining, must be hard to see the keyboard with your nose pointed in the air so high.
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