To Be Great...

In a recent blog-post, Amy King challenged me and other poets to define "greatness." It is a daunting task; the idea itself, of being "great," has the feeling of the New Critical era around it. Nevertheless, all of us need a standard of greatness; if we do not, our work becomes meaningless. We define the cohesiveness and possible success of our endeavors by how close we come to a possible, self-posited greatness. Greatness is, must be, of necessity, relative and context-dependent; there is no centralizing, accepted rubric for greatness. We all have to decide for ourselves what greatness is; that, or listen to someone like Harold Bloom, who will be happy to make our decisions for us, if we let him. So, I think the smartest approach to Amy's challenge is a resolutely subjective one, rather than an answer that makes a bid for objectivity. I will lay down here the precepts that, for me, constitute poetic (and artistic) greatness. Because quantitative evaluation is not relevant to art, and because qualitative evaluation is simultaneously amorphous (hinging as it does on context, historical circumstances, intellectual and aesthetic trends) and the back-bone of solid criticism (if there is such a thing), my approach to, analysis of, and conclusions drawn from "greatness" will begin and end with me.

So many of my core ideas about what constitute poetic greatness are drawn from the High Mods that I am tempted to just refer the reader to Eliot's Tradition and the Individual Talent. As the essay is widely known, studied, and copied, there would seem to be no need to reiterate Eliot's formulations here. It might be possible, however, to create a neat meta-irony by taking one of Eliot's ideas a step further. Eliot, in this essay, discusses in some detail the process by which new, major works of poetry transform and transmute our ideas about old(er) ones. Well, perhaps the task of this essay can be to transform and transmute (to whatever extent possible) our ideas regarding Eliot's essay. My motivating idea is to fill in some gaps in Eliot's construct. What if Eliot were writing today? Eliot encourages "past-consciousness," a necessary internalization of poetry's history. However, post-modernity in general encourages the exact reverse of this: the dismissal of "past-consciousness" as irrelevant, petrifying, and antithetical to the distinct brands of humor and irony that are relevant now. If Eliot were writing this essay today (at what might be, willy-nilly, the closing of the post-modern era and the opening of a new one), he would have to take account of this discrepancy between his own method and formula for greatness and the post-modern method/formula (the whole basis of which is that "greatness," as it has been handed down to us, is no longer possible.) Eliot, after all, published the essay in 1921, when he was still part of the avant-garde elite. How can "greatness" be reconciled with its own effacement? Can it be?

"Greatness" is either now, or never. What would a great poet (and great poetry) look like now? Not a simple question to answer, and any definite answer must demonstrate an authority that is tenuous, at best. A great poet now must, in fact, develop, hone, and maintain "past-consciousness"; he or she must also demonstrate comprehension of the limitations that "past-consciousness" imposes. This must be an ambiguity that is dynamic in the books; that bespeaks a consciousness in which binaries are in constant ferment; that is willing to drop precipitously into no short-cuts or rote moves. The Zeitgeist must not be ignored; political realities must be included (though not necessarily fore-grounded); form and formal elements must be reworked and in a continual flux. What I am enumerating is a poetics of responsibility, and that shows an awareness of audience. Bloggers are constantly complaining about the lack of audience for poetry; the truth is that more people are writing and publishing poetry than ever before. I see no use and no greatness in hieroglyphic poetry, hermetic poetry, or poetry that chafes at the idea of accessibility. If I have an ideal, it is of a completely responsible poet: not a "dull sheep," but a poet who understands what is worth being read in an era that demands constant, unstinting labor from everyone. Leisure-class poetry will not suffice, and there is as much leisure-class poetry in experimental circles as there is anywhere else. In 2009, toughness is greatness, hardness is greatness, sinewy narrativity is greatness, and lazy disjunctive curlicues have little utility value for an audience that cannot afford to be lazy. "Greatness" means taking that from your time which is unique and making something timeless from it. This is why my moral outrage with poets who are ignoring the economic crisis has aesthetic overtones. How can you write anything pertinent if you bury your head in the sand? How can you write from another era while things collapse around you?

I do not mean to imply that everything we write must directly concern the economic crisis. I do mean to say that responsibility consists in not writing what has been written before, and specifically what was written before economic issues became super-prevalent. Poetry must reflect a wider reality than just poetry if it is to have any practical value. A great poet will see and internalize this reality; a poetics of responsibility necessitates that not wasting our time becomes a primary concern. This moment will not last forever; it is possible that, ten years hence, we will be surrounded by the peace and prosperity that were ours to enjoy in the Nineties. The "great poet" I envision for our moment carries a knife, rather than a notebook; lives on cheap food and in a Spartan way; is compelled by an instinct to survive, rather than enjoy; wants catharsis more than praxis (though both are important); is ready to tell the absolute, bare-bones truth at the drop of the hat; accepts contradictions but not without pain; is not a "joiner"; and believes in giving love and compassion to those who deserve it. This new moment needs a new kind of poet in a new mode of greatness. Time will tell if others find these pictures congenial, or if there is another mode of "greatness" nascent, that I have yet to anticipate.