Poetry goes beyond a national declaration.

The American Reporter

Vol. 5, No. 1061 -- May 3, 1999

POETRY GOES BEYOND A NATIONAL DECLARATION
By Allan R. Andrews
American Reporter Correspondent

WASHINGTON -- April was National Poetry Month in the United States, and writers with any affinity for poetry were supposed to be reminding readers five weeks ago about the celebration.
Sorry I'm late, but I sort of planned it this way so I could make an appeal to carry our poetic vision beyond April-and beyond publicity.

Every April, boosted by the national declaration, sales of poetry-and books in general-soar, at least for the first couple of weeks. Local poets arrange special readings during the month and some publishers time the release of key books of poetry to coincide with National Poetry Month.

In 1997, some organization arranged for the distribution of free copies of T.S. Eliot's lengthy poem, "The Waste Land." Copies were distributed at local post offices on April 15, which, depending on one's interpretive stance, could be defined as cosmic irony or sarcasm.

Not all poets are enamored with the idea of National Poetry Month, however; and I'm leaning toward sharing their concerns.

In fact, back in 1996 the chancellor of the Academy of American Poets at the time, Richard Howard, called the presidential declaration of April as the month to revere poets and poetry, "the worst thing to have happened to poetry since the advent of the camera and the internal combustion engine, two inventions which the poet Wystan Auden once declared to be the bane of our modernity."

W.H. Auden, who died in 1973, was one of the twentieth century's most astute observers and critics of modernity, and a fine poet. Everyone should familiarize him- or herself with Auden's great poem, "Musee des Beaux Arts" for a picture of modern life taken from his reflection on some Master paintings.

Auden apparently didn't take too readily to the blessings of technology.

As a matter of course, many modern poets take pot shots at technology and its bedfellow, materialism, ironically pounding out reactionary rhythms and rhymes on their laptops.

But it's not enough simply to decry technological progress. Technology carries with it an effect on our minds and souls.

If I can turn the tables on Auden's words, I think the "bane of our modernity" is not technology and its products, such as the camera and the automobile. Instead, we've allowed technocratic thinking to turn poetry into another product, something to be manufactured upon demand and delivered to the masses in a hype-driven public relations campaign, like soap or breakfast cereal or the stuff of the annual ad fest that accompanies The Super Bowl.

We've endowed the camera with a sense of truth-showing that it simply does not inherently own. Cameras lie. Television's view of the news is not an unvarnished, unmanipulated version.

Similarly, we've endowed the automobile with mystical personality powers far beyond its ability to move persons and things quickly and comfortably. America, especially, has become the cathedral of the cult of the car.

Such is the danger some poets see in popularly promoting poetry. Poetry month critic Howard calls this phenomenon the "commodification of poetry," and compares it to the promotion of chocolates for Valentine's Day.

Another critic, David Lehman, notes that many who speak of the new popularity of poetry, speak of the poetry they learned in youth, as if poetry were frozen in the texts of one's old schoolhouse.

But poetry lives and grows and develops. Lehman offers a wonderful comparison of those who miss this dynamic. "It's as if," he writes, "a teenage crush on Mickey Mantle had incapacitated the fan from appreciating the skills of Ken Griffey, Jr."

True poets know and understand that poetry is undefineable. It mysteriously probes and touches us at our deepest levels while often making us laugh or giggle at the same time.

The poet Archibald MacLeish perhaps came closest to defining poetry in his wonderful poem "Ars Poetica." He said a poem is "Dumb/As old medallions to the thumb."

No presidential declaration and no amount of national publicity can bring about that kind of understanding.

We can't fit poetry into a month, a year, a lifetime. We certainly can't fit it into our space-starved newspapers.

So, forget that April was National Poetry Month. Search for a poem for May and June and July and August and all the months of the year. In fact, search for several poems for several months.

It is to our shame that we should need a presidential declaration or another inauguration to remind us of the value and pleasure of poetry.

Allan R. Andrews can be contacted at allan.andrews@reporters.net

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