Changing the Conversation
Hamilton goes into overdrive, churning out the criticism“A discussion of mysticism usually begins with the admission that adequate discussion is impossible,” said American scholar Holmes Welch, and it’s a quotation that struck me when a panel discussion entitled “What We Talk About When We Talk About Poetry” crossed my desk and made its way to Hamilton.Like mysticism, which over centuries gathers footnotes and commentaries that distort the original size and meaning of a text, poetry’s core duty often gets lost amid today’s emphasis on literary theory. How would this panel, sifting between different schools of thought and personal preferences, contribute a clear-headed assessment of what’s valuable in Canadian poetry? And how would they agree which role criticism should have?Neither Biblioasis, Palimpsest, nor Porcupine’s Quill advertised the word “debate,” but given the guest speakers attached to the bill (and descriptors ripped from their bios) – “opinionated” Zachariah Wells, the “thought-provoking” Anita Lahey and “sometimes controversial” Jason Guriel – I certainly went into McMaster’s Gilmour Hall expecting a quarrel or two. **[Editors’ Note: As mentioned in the comments section of Tracy Kyncl’s post, and further to Ryan Pratt’s expectations of contention, The Puritan was invited to attend and comment on these panels by Biblioasis Pubilicity Assistant Jesse Eckerlin, who wrote, by way of invitation: “a couple of the panelists are at the center of some of the most heated (vitriolic? downright nasty?) online exchanges we’ve seen in a long time. It’s commandeered the attention of almost all Canadian poets who are involved with social media in any way. Think CWILA, The Huffington Post, Vehicule Blog, etc. Having recently published Stewart Cole’s lucid and bold essay on these online skirmishes’ erosive effect on the community, I’m sure you have a sense of what I’m talking about ... [The panelists] will be talking about the controversies.”]The evening’s discourse, moderated with expert pacing and humour by poet Amanda Jernigan, surveyed many topics, including poetry’s niche within academia, the purpose of the poem and the value of analysis. To the delight of the 50-or-so onlookers in attendance (myself included), these subjects snowballed into an open call for better criticism.Of course, it wouldn’t be saying something dire about the state of criticism if the pedigree of this panel had vocally disagreed – quite the opposite! Diversity of opinion is crucial to the growth of a literary community and, in a question that addressed W.H. Auden’s view that anyone who writes criticism should make clear his or her idea of Eden, different perspectives emerged – albeit in a politely Canadian way. Guriel populated his Eden with role models and metaphors studied during his adolescence. Lahey deemed hers as a space to engage with writing free from outside judgment. And Wells saw himself outside the garden with his back to Eden, seeking knowledge. Beyond the preferences with which each author treated their sacred place, it’s noteworthy that Guriel and Lahey embraced Eden while Wells saw it as “antithetical.” However innocent that icebreaker of a question was, it exposed an ideological fracture in the panel that subsequent topics would investigate.Despite a shared regard for quality analysis, Wells preferred scholarly readings of older works with historical contexts, whereas Lahey and Guriel leaned toward a well-read, intuitive approach. But the origins of these methodologies – and where poetry belongs in the Academy – were about to crack the conversation open. In response to a question outlining Baudelaire’s belief that all serious poets eventually turn to criticism, Wells agreed wholeheartedly, saying that reading it made him a better writer. But Baudelaire’s assumption bristled Lahey who, in doubting that most “serious writers” turn to critical writing, reminded us that criticism, in its present day context, is sorely lacking seasoned writers in the first place! Guriel noted this problem as well, recalling how an email exchange with a publisher resulted in several rejected poetry submissions but an offer to review, something Guriel described as “probably irresponsible on their part.” Lahey also reminisced about feeling unqualified as a young reviewer but grateful for its disciplined learning curve into poetics. None of the panelists approved of criticism as a “beginner-poet’s game,” but nevertheless, Lahey and Guriel are living proof that naïveté in no way negates value. On the contrary, innocence often brings an honesty that’s unfettered by allegiances.The talk also discussed innocence as part of poetry’s allure up until the mid 20th century, when the form became specialized as an intellectual property. Guriel, who holds a PhD from York University, spent years teaching radical theory but found that, against his academic training, he’d rather assign a value than submit to the credentials of each text. As he summarized those theory-steeped days, Lahey comically took a protective stance, arms around her head. By this juncture it was clear that, educational paths be damned, Guriel and Lahey were on the same wavelength and riffing off of each other’s experiences. While granting that the academic community has enabled new pursuits, Guriel insisted that engaging readers isn’t one of them. “Ultimately poetry has become broccoli,” he stated, adding that the form is presented to children like math problems to solve. It’s a poetry-as-entertainment argument (found in Guriel’s The Pigheaded Soul) that Lahey defended, observing the intellectual influence as a “sad, frustrating, and kind of heartbreaking” force that is itself complicit in cultivating a fear of genuine interaction within the mainstream.Since skepticism’s authority has become as rigid as that of the Academy, it’s clear that the polarizing effects on creativity extend to criticism as well. When asked about reading reviews of their own poetry, the energy of the panel seemed to dissipate. “As long as they spell your name correctly, it’s probably okay,” Guriel joked, citing the collapse of so many prominent publishers. There is a consensus that any critical attention — flattering or unfavourable — is preferable to the bleak alternative. As Lahey herself experienced with her second collection, Spinning Side Kick, some books are ignored entirely. Having served for years as editor for Arc Poetry Magazine, she’s aware that a lack of feedback can occur randomly. “The silence can be quite condemning,” Lahey acknowledged. “If that were the case, I would like to know the nature of the condemnation.” If we can acknowledge that strict literary theory marginalizes a lot of poetry, it isn’t a stretch to implicate the same academic influence as a culprit in chasing away writers who would otherwise jump at the opportunity to review a Trillium Prize nominated author.Running just shy of 90 minutes, the Hamilton edition of “What We Talk About When We Talk About Poetry” was an invigorating reminder that criticism, as a service and art form, can enrich – rather than control – the conversation. Droll and relaxed, Jason Guriel answered Jernigan’s questions with insightful asides that deepened the subject matter while resonating with the crowd. In many ways, Anita Lahey kept the conversation grounded, finding the human pulse at the centre of poetry’s haughty appendages. And Wells, the critic who listed arguing as his favourite indoor sport (and who I thought might be the most likely to start a debate) was the quietest. Well-spoken but surprisingly cautious, he addressed questions related to his own practices but largely sat out of the more organic chatter about the critic as appreciator. Whether he was pleased with the direction of the talk or biting his lip, I was relieved the panel didn’t become a trench-digging dispute between egos.As a writer and young critic, I walked home that evening feeling renewed. Literary theory – what mainstream culture views as poetry’s highbrow façade – has indeed hindered its critical faculties by undervaluing the opinion. Like Guriel and Lahey, I have been daunted at times by the idea that some looming, online spectre will dissect my writing with red marks and correctional notes. And that's a good thing. The battle for quality criticism determines the diversity of our future writing communities, and is worth exploring. If we let avid readers and writers feel “unqualified” to write about what they read, we’re in league with ancient priests who shouted calls of heresy and witchcraft. Without freedom of opinion, mysticism becomes doctrine and poetry turns into broccoli.
