April 2012 – Page 2

Granting Legitimacy To Poetry Written Under…Unique Circumstances

Timothy McAleenan

So today I did a class presentation in my modern poetry class with Professor Wheeler on a poem titled “Spring” by Anna Jackson. The poet, Anna Jackson, tells the story of how she wrote the poem in under three minutes as a result of e-mail correspondence with a friend, and the poem made it into the anthologized collections produced by Bill Manhire.

For me, this raises the question as to whether a poem’s background story can subtract from the poem’s legitimacy. If we know that a poem was written in a hurry, is it fair to discount the substance and craftsmanship if we have an admission from the author that the poem did not receive much disciplined effort? The history of poetry is filled with variations of this story—whether it be writing a poem about a cat from an insane asylum or writing “Kubla Khan” in the aftermath of an opium-inspired vision—we regularly encounter anecdotes that suggest that a poem was not written under the influence of sedulous thought.

Obviously, some poets put on an act and lie to their readership to bolster their own ego—William F. Buckley often bragged that he wrote most of his New York Times editorials in ten minutes (as opposed to his National Review editorials that he claimed to spend forty-five minutes working on), and this was all a part of his “Look at how brilliant I am, I can do this without effort” schtick. Most likely, WFB spent more than ten minutes writing his editorial columns, but he liked to create the myth to enhance his own reputation for erudite brilliance.

Should we assume that these anecdotes about poetry written in sub-optimal conditions are true? If so, does this add or take away anything from our interpretation of the poem? Or should we let the content stand for itself? If Bill Manhire was sitting next to Anna Jackson and saw her write “Spring” in under three minutes, would he then include it in his anthology? We like to think of poetry as something that can’t be bogged down by context like that—once it’s written, it ceases to be the author’s—but I wonder if it is foolish to discuss literary devices as if the author deliberately crafted them when they happen to be a happy coincidence of quick or impaired thinking.

Follow the link so you can read Anna Jackson’s poem and make your own call

http://www.nzetc.org/iiml/bestnzpoems/BNZP10/t1-g1-t14-body-d1.html

The Unintended Consequences of the Steve Jobs Biography

Timothy McAleenan

When we look at the grand scope of the influence of novels on American life throughout its history, I’m guessing that most English professors would lament that well-written novels have not managed to change the discourse in America as much as they wish it would have. Certainly, there have been some books with particularly strong consequences—Harriet Beecher Stowe’s “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” was a possibly contributing factor to the American Civil War, and Upton Sinclair’s “The Jungle” sharply affected the American dialogue on life for factory workers—but most literary works fail to achieve their mark on mainstream discourse.

A recent article in the Wall Street Journal titled “Bio as Bible: Managers Imitate Steve Jobs” points to the unintended consequences of Walter Isaacson’s biography on the Apple co-founder. Managers across the country are reportedly missing the point of what made Steve Jobs a success, namely: his natural feel for aesthetics, ability to manage people effectively, ability to implement designs, the gumption to raise input costs to achieve perfection, and a general inclination to take risks in the pursuit of lofty visions. But unfortunately, as the Wall Street Journal article points out, managers are focusing on the eccentricities and gimmicks of his persona rather than his natural talents—such as his regular use of handicap parking, his tendency to drive in triple digits on the highway, a complete lack of consideration for others (i.e. impromptu firings), a reality distortion field that completely obfuscates what is really going on, and a general inclination to lie and manipulate others for sport. Essentially, these managers are focusing on the “black turtleneck” aspect of Steve Jobs rather than the stay-up-for-fifty-hours-straight-to-perfect-the-Macintosh aspect of Steve Jobs, and this is a lazy way to interpret the biography.

It’s important to remember that Steve Jobs managed to succeed in spite of these things, not because of them. A similar phenomenon occurred when the Warren Buffett biographies started rolling out—instead of focusing on the fact that Buffett spend countless hours locked away reading annual reports, they often focused on his early disregard for authority. “Look, I disobey my teachers too, I’m kind of like that Buffett fellow!”

Earlier, Professor Smith made the joke that this black turtleneck syndrome with Steve Jobs is the equivalent of a military general attributing his on-field success to putting his hand in his coatpocket—see, just like Napoleon! By focusing on the side effects of Jobs’ success, these middle managers are missing the point. Jobs didn’t get a cult of personality because he parked in handicap parking spaces, he achieved success by creating an aesthetically pleasing personal computer that could slowly take away market share from the global behemoth Microsoft. This goes to show just how many unintended consequences have affected the interpretation of this book, and it seems to me that the focus on the wild aspects of the Steve Jobs persona overlook the true ingredients of his success: a relentless drive, brilliant marketing instincts, and good old fashioned hard work.

Political Agendas & Poetry

Timothy McAleenan

In class, Professor Smith briefly commented on the passing of the poet Adrienne Rich, noting how she was particularly adept at blending poetic discourse with political dialogue. Rich seems to be a straightforward example of how a poet incorporating politics into her poetry. But it seems that there is another trend that is often at play that affects whether or not a poet or poem becomes mainstream—the politics that the readership impute into the poem.

For instance, for a good portion of the 1800s and 1900s, Alexander Pope was the gold standard of poetry who occupied a central role in the discourse of any budding English scholar. An analysis of “The Rape of the Lock” was a basic “Introduction to English Poetry 101” element of any university curriculum for a large portion of the past three hundred years. However, that has slowly started to change over the past five to six decades, as many English scholars began to accuse Pope’s works of promoting sexism, as well as the inferior intelligence of women in comparison to men. Since most feminist interpretations of Pope’s work endorse the viewpoint of his sexism, Pope has gradually begun to recede from English curricula across the country due to his perceived sexism.

Of course, this plays out in the other direction as well. When William Wordsworth put out Lyrical Ballads, he chose to place Samuel Coleridge’s “Rime of the Ancient Mariner” first in the original edition. Because most readers at the time were looking for straightforward language that depicted “emotion recollected in tranquility”, they were generally turned off by Wordsworth’s decision to include the clunky, archaic and oftentimes bizarre Mariner poem at the beginning. The contemporary politics at the turn of the century largely rejected Coleridge’s poem as an “injury to the volume”, but when we press the fast-forward button to 2012, we can see that Coleridge’s poem is the most enduring part of Lyrical Ballads, save for Wordsworth’s Tintern Abbey.

Personally, I think it’s a shame that Alexander Pope will most likely have less notoriety in the year 2030 than he has today. My general approach to the politicization of authors (in identity politics) would be this—include the historically significant poems, and then have a conversation on their virtues and their failings. Instead of slowly removing The Rape of the Lock from the debate, I think we should continue to include it, and the detractors can use that opportunity to explain their objections to his work. If they are truly right, they ought to be able to make their arguments convincingly enough to persuade others.