This post arrives from Montreal where it all feels a little gentler, a little calmer, the light of spring burning through the snow, crumbling banks of white slowing traffic on side streets, spraying slush a fixture just about everywhere else; the crust of winter bored with all its changes. This despite recent remarks from members of the ruling Parti Quebecois that have forced the province’s premier to reassure voters before next week’s election that her party “is not anti-Semitic.” With echoes of blood libel really not that far off, absurdity of another kind begs to trump the air to ring in the day.
And so to yesterday’s news, to our new poet in the new century, assaulted, forever assaulted by the dismissive hand of either the non-poetry-reading public or the poetry-reading body that, together or apart, unable to monetize the art, feels compelled to line the poet’s mind with pockets of self-validating remarks. Alas, what to do? What to do and how to be?
I’d alluded to early rewards generated from the adoption of a slightly more aggressive posturing, stances designed to help poets make their way in the world with confidence and grace and not, as I have done, succumb to a mumbling and fumbling under the scrutiny of the questioning glare or all-knowing gaze. In hindsight, however, I believe the pedagogical benefits of arming the poet with words to win each and every battle, outweigh such self-promotional disclosures. If, reader, I have falsely promised, forgive me.
“I’ve never met a real poet before.” As emboldening as this comment may seem upon first landing, poet beware: it’s belittling. This person has no idea if you are real or not real, or even what ‘real’ means. What I’ve done, with moderate success, is to respond with: “I’ve never met a real poet before either.” This seemingly self-deprecating remark levels the playing field, if not tips it in the poet’s favor, as the person now doesn’t know what the hell you’re talking about.
“I didn’t know people are still writing poetry.” This is an easy one. “Who isn’t writing poetry?” works every time. It works on the plane and it works on the train. It handles over tuna tartar and it drives the conversation to uncomfortable places. Stand back and watch who’s fumbling now.
“Can you make a living writing poetry?” If this question is asked in an urban setting, the person asking the question knows the answer. And since this is not your defense attorney, you are perfectly entitled, if not encouraged, to respond with, “Do ever think about anything else besides money?” Yes, this is crass and it’s in the person’s face. But that person will never forget your face and may even buy your poetry book at full price.
“I don’t really like poetry to be honest.” One must applaud the forthrightness of the comment, but it does call out for a very simple and straightforward response: “What haven’t you liked recently?”