Josephine Hart tells Melissa Katsoulis that hearing the works of the great poets is food for the soul . . . erm, food for thought or good for the soul, mebbe?
Not the best segue of the day; but, we're having power problems here in Northern Ontario (that is, Hydro One Networks has all the power; and, it decides when we're allowed to use the electricity for which we pay meta-wotz of moolah); but, this idea concerning poetry's popularity always puzzles me.
WHY does it have to be popular? What's the purpose of making it so? By definition, one learns to read and write (to some degree) the stuff, IMO. Popular culture's neither; it's decreed by the media and corporate PTB, ISTM.
Poetry's been around the block a time or twenty; it's survived despite (or against) all doom-swayers and gloom-sayers for millennia; what's this biz about it dying? Ain't gonna happen (not in this nor any other life). It goes through cycles that we, mere mortals, cannot divine. Period. It is read fiercely by some generations and, by others, it's shunned. That's old news. Poetry's been with us since the beginning, has it not?
Why do we need to make it rawk in order "to sell" it? And, why do we need "to sell" it, anyway? It's an art; and, since when has it ever appealed to hoi polloi? If that sounds elitist, that's my fault (because I haven't articulated the profound truth at the centre of what I am feeling concerning this endless non-sensical debate).
Perhaps an analogy might do it: Is brain surgery elitist? Not everyone can do it; but, it's essential to save lives, is it not? And, a brain surgeon develops a skill-set making it possible to perform such operations, n'est-ce pas? (A little learning is a dangerous thing . . ..)
In the age before Caxton, et.al., poetry was predominantly an oral tradition; it was spoken; troubadours existed; but, that, Dear Inq.uers, is not what we consider poetry to be (and, I'm fairly certain Eliot would agree with me). I have no objection to anyone making verse popular; why would I shoot my foot in my mouth when I couldn't possibly live without her charms, her solaces, the way she takes me in her comforting arms away from all of this . . . STUFF?
I wouldn't; and, I'm not criticising anyone who promos poetry; but, I am asking why poetry must be popular? Isn't that an oxymoronic notion, almost? Isn't that the domain of performance poets, as well? And, if you do elect to take your show on the road, you'd better be prepared to provide a performance (as Ed and I did agree); since, poetry, by her very nature, isn't a natural act that goes from page to stage.
Not sure if I'm making complete sense nor arguing this as eloquently as I ought to be doing (plus, none too happy about all the passive verbs, here, either); however, I think these questions possess some relevance; and, even though it's Monday morning and, I'm stuck with on-again off-again power (NTM the fact Symantec decides when I actually can use my computer because of its effin' "LIVE UPDATES" . . . hrm . . . let me think . . . anything else about which I wish to whine? Yeah; but, I'll save the rest for some other sublime-crime time . . .).
Poetry IS a VITAL PART of my LIFE; and, it is additionally a VITAL PART of the lives of most of the people I know (if only by default, I guess). Some of them don't write poetry at all, either. Poetry, in fact, is a vital part of each human being's life. What? Look around you: Music, art, assonance, science, alliteration, rhythm, newz, advertising, billboards, the Mass, prayer, drama (even sop-ops), those gorgeous pics Art and Nigel shared with us, Effin' Chase Utley exclaiming spontaneously? If these moments ain't a kind of poetry; then, please, explain to me what exactly is. [/rant]
In an essay entitled "Use & Sign," I think David Jones (R.I.P.) said this much better (and, of course, he had more time; but, the essence of that piece, originally a broadcast which aired on the BBC [under the direction of a dear now-deceased friend of mine, Harmon Grisewood (R.I.P.)]* in 1963), IIRC, involved the notion that, if we deprive humanity of the gratuitous (as opposed to the utile), we may as well consider our world one lost forever to barbarity. It is the equivalent of the secular-sacral that keeps us on an even keel, balances us, reminds us to think with our hearts, spirits, souls . . . our very essence of human *being,* what matters, what sustains, what's irreducibly real.
* Damn, I'm sorry if I got them brackets wrong :)!
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