But Sidney doesn’t worry much about specific poems, which often suck: we shouldn’t say “that poetry abuseth man’s wit, but that man’s wit abuseth poetry” — we shouldn’t knock poetry because of bad poems. Whatever you think of these poets, these claims are merely false. You’re a poet, however, whether or not you know it, because to be part of a linguistic community — to be hailed as a “you” at all — is to be endowed with poetic capacity. Which is not to say that defenses never cite specific poems, but lines of poetry quoted in prose preserve the glimmer of the unreal. Literary criticism, however, of any genre is straight up my alley, so I got this book knowing it won't change my taste but hoping it would be enjoyable. You are (a poet) if you say you are, these days. Poetry speaks more to the space between what is known and what is unknown, and to inhabit this almost mystical place requires the use of language in ways not strictly lucid. On "Dedication" This is the first poem in Mean Free Path.I wanted the dedication to be integral to the book, not something set apart on a prefatory page. Plato, in the most influential attack on poetry in recorded history, concluded that there was no place for poetry in the Republic because poets are rhetoricians who pass off imaginative projections as the truth and risk corrupting the citizens of the just city, especially the impressionable youth. I suppose it's always been that way but, as a friend of mine said recently, "anyone with a broadband connection and time on to spare is a writer." I can forgive Edmundson for his bad examples only in the sense that there are no good examples of “superb lyric poetry” that at once “have something to say” utterly specific to a poet’s “experience” and can speak for all. I, If anything could make me hate poetry, it would be, It’s only in the last short number of years that I’ve been actively reading poetry. But, like most everything, I was wrong. Highly recommended to readers and critics in any art form which shoulders a burden of popular expectation. I can imagine cogent arguments praising or excusing or bashing Baraka’s poem, but I am startled by Edmundson’s claim that this poem is at least “an attempt to say not how it is for Baraka exclusively but how it is for all.” It’s true that Baraka’s poem is not concerned with the particulars of his individual experience, but it is not at all true that the poem isn’t unmistakably in Baraka’s voice; regardless, how do lines like the following speak for “all”: Most of the poem is devoted to cataloging the violence done to people of color by white Americans. And when I felt I finally mastered a word, when I could slide it into a sentence with a satisfying click, that wasn’t poetry anymore—that was something else, something functional within a world, not the liquefaction of its limits.”. To answer your subtitle: I don't think so, but humans make poetry. this was actually a very surprisingly satisfying read, once you get over the general Pretentious vibes. We might say that Socrates (“He who does not write,” as Nietzsche put it) is a new breed of poet who has found out how to get rid of poems. "Does Plato or Socrates intend a lesson inBegging "Homer and the other poets not be angry"When Horses of bronze and wood be twinIn bearing the guise of invisibility--As Homer's version beguiles the sack of Troy--Herodotus' vision is likewise a murderous ploy! Lerner makes good points, mainly elaborating on Grossman's idea that poetry always falls short of its ideal. The oft-remarked irony of Plato’s dialogues, however, is that they are themselves poetic — formally experimental imaginative dramatizations. Despite its seeming slimness (86 pages), this turns out to be a very long-seeming essay (sorry, it's a "monograph," to use the word Lerner does) with basically one thesis and set of ideas. Did ANY of that actually make sense, or was he really, really drunk?" Some of these letters — tens of them — explained that the poet in question was suffering from a terminal condition and wanted, needed, to see his or her poems published before he or she died. Do they have the bravery to reach out and play with language (as only it seems comedians can anymore do in America)? Born and raised in Topeka, Kansas, writer and editor Ben Lerner earned a BA in political science and an MFA in creative writing from Brown University. He spends most of his time talking about “great” poetry, whose greatness is inextricable from its failure to fulfill the ideal of “Poetry”: the poetic appeal of Claudia Rankine’s writing, for example, can be explained, he decides, by the "phantom limb" of lyric poetry (missing from Rankine's writing)--a non-material species of "Poetry" haunting (and elegizing) her anatomy of race. Just a moment while we sign you in to your Goodreads account. Which one of those nails my identity? "Al Shabob, Boku Harum and the CaliphateBefore a just and proper God disingenuously deflate. Real "creative writing class" BS. Since language is the stuff of the social, and poetry the expression in language of our irreducible individuality, our personhood is tied up with our poethood. I was really looking forward to reading this and am disappointed in the half of the book that I did read. Getting paid for one of those things, perhaps? I also breathe and cough and sneeze and, once in a while, enjoy sex. I remember first reading Plato at the Topeka & Shawnee County Public Library and feeling poetry must be a powerful art if the just city depended on its suppression. Only a very, very few. Seamus Heaney is criticized for sounding like Seamus Heaney and not everyone; “John Ashbery sounds emphatically like John Ashbery”; etc. in political theory and an MFA in poetry. Despite its seeming slimness (86 pages), this turns out to be a very long-seeming essay (sorry, it's a "monograph," to use the word Lerner does) with basically one thesis and set of ideas. Be the first to ask a question about The Hatred of Poetry. Well, how dare he or she? It’s an association so strong that the writers in question observe no contradiction in the fact that they are attempting to secure and preserve their personhood in a magazine that no one they know will see.
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