The Nation published a poem by Anders Carlson-Wee called “How To.” Whether it’s a good poem is better decided by others, or perhaps by any reader individually. Whether it’s an insensitive poem, however, is decided for you.
As poetry editors, we hold ourselves responsible for the ways in which the work we select is received. We made a serious mistake by choosing to publish the poem “How-To.” We are sorry for the pain we have caused to the many communities affected by this poem. We recognize that we must now earn your trust back. Some of our readers have asked what we were thinking. When we read the poem we took it as a profane, over-the-top attack on the ways in which members of many groups are asked, or required, to perform the work of marginalization. We can no longer read the poem in that way.
After its publication, the editors were attacked for publishing such an “ableist” poem. It includes the word “crippled,” which is unmentionable in polite company. And like all good people told they’re insensitive, the editors admitted guilt and repented, throwing themselves on the mercy of the mob. The mob, however, was not feeling particularly merciful.
At some point, all of us in the literary community must DEMAND that white editors resign. It’s time to STEP DOWN and hand over the positions of power. We don’t have to wait for them to fuck up. The fact that they hold these positions is fuck up enough.
This came from Fresno State’s Randa Jarrar. What “white editors” have to do with a putative “ableist” poem is unclear, but then, that could be my inability to see connections that are clear to pedagogues. Whether Jarrar is on the committee to tell us what poems are allowed is also unclear, as the membership is either a huge secret or changes with such speed that they can never make up a bronze plaque for their extraordinary service to humanity.
I might question Jarrar’s demand for “white editors” to resign, but I can’t without creating an internal conflict, Being white, being male, being privileged, the challenge itself is outrageous, no less the substance of the challenge.
I learned this early on, when a young female lawyer twitted something kinda inaccurate, to which I twitted a reply. The reaction was neither to agree nor disagree with my twit, but that I was a misogynist for questioning a woman. I, being a fool, pointed out that I was questioning a lawyer, regardless of gender. Protip: Never reply with reason to an ad hominem attack, as it only proves you’re sexist.
After Maggie Haberman wrote her NY Times op-ed about getting off twitter, my old pal Kevin O’Keefe wrote a post about it, arguing that the problem wasn’t twitter but the way Haberman was using it. Just so it’s clear for the thinking challenged, Kevin has a blog. Maggie writes for the NY Times. In the scheme of who had the bigger soap box, Maggie kicks Kevin’s butt.
And yet, a law librarian at Western State College of Law, Scott Frey, went after Kevin for the outrage.
This post strikes me as (1) mansplaining and (2) “blaming the victim.” By (1), I mean that I doubt you’re saying anything that (Pulitzer Prize winning reporter) Maggie Haberman doesn’t already know about Twitter. Also, I doubt that you’re a better judge of whether Haberman is or isn’t using Twitter well than she is. And by (2), I refer specifically to the concluding remark that she’s brought the bad parts of Twitter upon herself. Really?
There are two paradigms within which to assess this. In the first, person challenges the contentions of another person who published words in major newspaper. In the second, white cis-hetero-normative male undermines the lived experience of oppressed, yet superior, female survivor.
And Frey pursued the battle for a couple more comments, because no ally to the cause, clad in his white armour, should be complicit. Even though Frey might be white, might be male, might be short of victim points for the purpose of winning the three-legged race, he can at least call out the outrage perpetrated by Kevin so that the trauma didn’t infest anyone else. Or, more likely, to educate him on how to be a “better person,” because better people are woke people.
Can anyone be sufficiently sensitive to write a poem that is simultaneously meaningful and yet offended no maginalized person? Beats me. Will female lawyers win argument, maybe even cases, because questioning them, or, god forbid, ruling against them, is proof of misogyny?
Is the problem white editors, lacking Jarrar’s sensitivity to things Jarrar decides to be sensitive to?
Some will eventually come to realize that there is no pleasing, no accommodating, no amount of trying to be so very sensitive that you don’t come off looking like Scott Frey. The next realization is that we can’t change out skin color, aren’t really inclined to change our gender and, well, kinda like being our toxic selves. And unless you plan to shut up and serve the “woker good”* in contrition for wrongs they may have suffered, even if not at your hand, you’re kinda left without many options.
So, write whatever you want in a poem. If someone doesn’t like it, tough nuggies.
Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
I’m no poet like Fubar,
And I just don’t give a damn.
Neither should you.
*My editor, Beth, didn’t like “woker good” at all. I’m considering trademarking it for posterity.
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My favorite:
Oh, poor little bird out in the snow,
With busted wing, and broken toe,
First, I’ll lure you with a piece of bread,
And then I’ll crush your little head.
Rachel Carlson in Silent Winter.
All the best.
RGK
PS Remember poetry is only important for the spaces between the words.
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
You can’t go wrong with gibberish.
Brilliant.
Suggest publication in 13th Moon: A Feminist Literary Magazine (USA). 13th Moon: A Feminist Literary Magazine is a home for women writers, and people who want to read their work.
All the best.
RGK
A haiku:
A waste of bandwidth
Even if they read your post
It will not sink in
Resistance a potential divider
De Niro the taxi driver
You talkin’ to me?
I’m an optimist. Most people who favor maple walnut ice cream are optimists, likely because it’s the most intersectional flavor.
I’ve always liked:
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I have a knife
Get into the van.
I have no idea who the author was and don’t even remember where I first encountered it.
I’ve never been into beat poetry, but that’s just me.
Okay, Allen Ginsberg-breath.
Roses ultraviolet,
Violets are red.
I have a knife.
Can I take you to bed?
P.S., Allen hugged me. It was totally unexpected. He was short, and I was sorta tall. Am not the emotional type, but it was memorable. Ohmmmm!
Another memorable occasion was when I picked up Jamie Lee Curtis in a bar one Friday nite. We went disco dancing, for real. We were both terrible. I did kiss her goodnight, and she never called back. I’m waiting, Jamie?
That makes me want to howl.
I can’t believe Ima do this, but only for you Bill. I’m sitting in the Green Room at Saturday Night Live, 1985, and the TV is on. This woman sitting next to me tells me how she loved the show. I told her I thought it sucked. We get into a big argument about it, then she tells me she’s an actress and knows stuff. “Oh, yeah,” I say? “Who are you?” It was Jamie Lee Curtis. She won the argument. Who knew?
Wow, you and I actually have something (someone) in common. So we’re leaving the bar in downtown Greenwich, and I go: “What are you doing here from L.A.?” She goes. “Oh, I’m filming in New York!”
I go, “Oh really, You’re an actress?” She goes, “Yea, I’m Jamie Lee Curtis!” Hot Damn, I did not recognize her. My bad. Fast forward, a good time was had by all, although my knees were shaking the whole time. I’m saying to myself, okay Bill, you are in over your head. Just be cool as a cucumber; you can do it and don’t act stewpid.
True story.
P.S. She smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish all the drinks I bought her,..even though in the press, she claimed not to drink or smoke. Fake news before our Fearless Leader invented the term. Or was it Kellyanne Conway (or the highway!)?
A gentleman does not kiss and tell, Bill. And she doesn’t look like she does on TV.
Poetry had its day in the sun, but is now a worthless art. After Anonymous wrote the epic “Man From Nantucket” the only place for poetry to go was downhill.
It was an immediate classic.
I would say “The Bosom of Young Abigail” was more the high water mark.
Your wasted words
So absurd
Are you really Satan, yes or no?
Gregg Allman
Eat a peach. I did. It was delicious.
Umberto Eco.
“All poets write bad poetry. Bad poets publish them, good poets burn them.”
I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.
So you’re saying kill all vegans?
I’m just saying that people need to consider my modest proposal…
Father MacKensie, wiping the dirt from his hands as he walks from the grave
No one was saved
All the loony people, where do they all come from? All the loony people, where do they all belong?
When it comes to poems (and songs, which are musical poems) some pea-brained idiot somewhere will be offended by anything and everything. Hence, the writer may as well express what he or she wants to express, and let those who want to suppress it give that their best shot. (Thus far, there is only one site in the media universe that bans my poems, so I am probably doing better than average).
“And like all good people told they’re insensitive, the editors admitted guilt and repented, throwing themselves on the mercy of the mob. The mob, however, was not feeling particularly merciful.”
The intent of linking to the article at the end is confusing at least, misleading at worst. The video at the top of the article is an angry mob, however, it is Randa Jarar they are angry with back when she said mean things about Barbara Bush. Also, the entire article is critical of Jarar, if at all. Not the editors.
As for your ‘poem’ at the end, I have my doubts as to whether you give a damn about what Randa Jarar or Scott Frey says, but I’m sure you shouldn’t. Though it’s sure to whip up some excitement in the bleachers.
It never ceases to amaze me how the world is comprised of such different colors when viewed through your lens.
“The Woker Good” could be a great TV serial, once “The Walking Dead” finally runs its course.
I like Carnation best of all;
No tits to pull, no shit to haul;
No shit to haul, no hay to pitch;
Just pop a hole in that son of a bitch.
~Anon
With regard to Keat’s theory of ‘negative capability‘ I’m fairly sure no one on the blog will be a poet.
Rithimus ergo sum.