On praising "bad poetry"

Book Forum and The Poetry Foundation are talking about why people praise "bad poetry." Plunkett argues that "most of published criticism is positive even though so much of published poetry is bad." I am wondering whether this is true and if so, whether it is a problem. The world of poetry is cold and lonely. It's incredibly difficult to get a book published, and to do so and hear that it was "bad" would be devastating. For your hard work, you get no money, little public recognition or social affirmation (yes, it's "cool" to say you're a poet but society does not give you the full pat on the back that it gives the software developer or medical professional). All you receive -- if anything -- is a tiny bit of feedback from a tight circle of other people who have made it to that enviable/inenviable place.

But art means absolutely nothing if it isn't good art so why should even that tiny circle affirm work that is so poor it only diminishes the value of the whole field? That seems to be Plunkett's polemic. But I hope he is either best friends with Dickman or never meets him, because identifying his work as exemplary "bad" poetry is not going to start a convivial relationship.

Somewhere between or beyond pointing out the "bad" and rehearsing praise of the "good" lies real criticism. One can profoundly, rigorously and minutely critique a fantastic poem -- some of Rilke's elegies just don't make sense either -- or can re-frame and draw out insight a mediocre poem -- some of my favorite lectures in grad school managed that. Critique reflects the aesthetic judgment of the viewer/reader as much as the creator. Wallpaper, as Kant tells us, can instigate the play of the faculties and prompt aesthetic judgment as much as a beautiful painting. Literary criticism, as Eliot tell us, means understanding what a poem means in relation to all the other poems that come before it. So writing good criticism is not entirely limited by the work that is its object of study. Good criticism can be an opportunity for the critical writer to express and explore ideas not yet born in the work itself. Tell us not that Dickman is "bad" but that his work falls in a particular stream of current popularity and tell us when and why that stream diverged from other aesthetic possibilities.

Or at least I hope that opportunity is there for critique. All that said, I empathize with Plunkett's frustration and share a sneaking suspicion that a book only needs a certain amount of inertia to keep getting more praise.

Site Specific and Seattle Specific Art

As I get started writing about art in Seattle, I've dragged J along to a number of events, some more successful than the others, and I'm meditating on what is succeeding or not in this particular area. The best art in Seattle seems to be "happening": that is, the work involves an event, interaction, or performance. This, of course, is not unique to the Puget Sound; Roberta Smith just wrote a preview of the next New York season and notes a similar trend. That said, I like to think that performance art might have a particular appeal in this city that has a good record of getting audience out to live music. People here expect to go out in the evening, wait outside a door, and then hear and see something at a particular time. An audience prepped by music venues might be drawn to performances like SuttonBeresCuller's "To Be Determined" with its giant katamari ball recently at On the Boards or this weekend's "Swimming the List" by Susie J. Lee at Theater Off Jackson.

Of course, sometimes I just want to stand quietly between four white walls in the afternoon sun and look at some big forms. Or shift my weight while watching a nice old still life and wondering why people still paint. For that, I guess I'll have to go to the Met. One of the best site-specific sculptures I've seen recently, actually, was surprisingly at the gallery attached to U-Frame it in Ballard. "Ghost Dogs" had me gawking happily from the street for a good five minutes.