Not Very Well Versed: Inauguration Poets’ Insipid History.
If, as Heidegger once pronounced, our future as thinking people and thus the future of civilisation as such is in the hands of the poets, then we in the United States are, I fear, in rather deep doo-doo. I mention this in light of the reading by Richard Blanco of his poem ‘One New Day’, at President Obama’s inauguration for a second term.
Obama became only the third president to have a poet read at the presidential inauguration when he had Elizabeth Alexander read ‘Praise Song for the Day’ in 2009. The first was John F. Kennedy in 1961, who, of course, invited Robert Frost. It was then only Bill Clinton who resumed this practice in 1993, when Maya Angelou read ‘On the Pulse of Morning’, and again with Miller Williams’s ‘Of History and Hope’ in 1997. (It seems Republicans are not as fond of poetry.)
Perhaps Kennedy’s newfangled tradition did not quite catch on because Frost’s reading went rather poorly. The sun’s reflection off the new fallen snow caused such a harsh glare that he could not read his poetic dedication of “The Gift Outright”, which had been typed in ink so faint that it could hardly be read even in optimal lighting. Thus he bungled the first few lines sheepishly and abandoned the poem altogether, before recovering in magnanimous fashion by launching with confidence into ‘The Gift Outright’ by memory. Frost recovered, but the practice of having an inaugural poet did not, at least until many years later.
The three inaugural poets who have followed Frost have also not fared well either, more so in terms of content than in the reading itself. Even the content of Frost’s poem is rather wanting. Certainly it is not one of his best poems, though in fairness it is the one Kennedy asked him to read. The first line grates on anyone with a sense of history, let alone a sense of postcolonial thought: ‘The land was ours before we were the land’s’. Miller’s poem perhaps has the most potential, but never gets off the ground before face-planting on the runway. Obama’s selected poets have simply followed the rather dull mould cast by Maya Angelou, producing poems that are a laundry list of banalities couched in pollyannaish optimism.
One could resort to the ‘go to’ excuse of our times and blame it on the current ‘crisis’ in poetry. There probably is a crisis in poetry, as there seems to be in almost any field or art form today. Aside from the fact that, etymologically, ‘crisis’ simply implies a situation wherein a decision must be made, there does seem to be indecision in how poetry should be written today. And the rather cliquish guilds established by MFA programmes and graduates are not helping. The series entitled: The Best American Poetry, with selected poems in each volume from 1988 to the present, indicates the severity of this problem. Instead of showcasing the best poems, as it intends, these volumes act as a case in point to the dearth of good poetry in recent years, and the overall lack of taste in those cast as poetry experts.
One could also blame those awakening the genre of the ‘celebratory public poem’, as did an author for The Guardian, commenting that this genre should remain in its repose (http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/booksblog/2013/jan/22/richard-blanco-inaugural-poem-obama-flop). It may be the case that few could attempt this genre these days and if successful it would not be appreciated, but if so, what a horrible loss.
What is at stake in this is not mere nostalgia for the lost days of Longfellow, Whitman, Dickinson, Poe, et al. And it is not to say that there are no good poets out there now. But that there is almost no place for truly gifted poets in the mainstream reflects a devastation of cultural excellence. Postmodernism is famous for its liberating destruction of the barrier between high and low culture, and there are some very positive effects of this. However, postmodern critiques have also acted as the inadvertent handmaid of the commodification of culture. Intelligent discourse is difficult to market, for obvious reasons, and thus has little or no place in the main stream. The danger, however, is not simply in the mediocrity of the mainstream, but more so in the tidal flooding that can wipe out the surrounding areas. Simply think of the decline in oratorial beauty and skill across the presidential inauguration speeches. This is but one indicator of how low people’s tolerance for intelligent language has become, and this intolerance is a learned attribute of a commodified society. Orwell saw this coming and called it Newspeak.
It seems people are more afraid of saying something that may require some cognitive savouring, than of not really saying anything worthwhile at all. This does not mean that one must be obscure and verbose in one’s speech. This happens in academia and the consequences are equally disastrous. However, there is a danger when as a society we are more condemnatory of those who speak intelligently and beautifully than of those who are ignorant.
A general lack of appreciation of poets and poetry is one of the factors contributing to the very poor quality of poetry at presidential inaugurations. And this is unfortunate since it should be an opportunity for the U.S. to display the truly inspired vision that poetry has to offer when delivered by great poets who can rise to an occasion, as opposed to those selected in order to make a rather tired political statement, who end up delivering something hackneyed and insipid. This then reflects poorly on poetry—poetry so poorly represented in the public eye confirms people’s misunderstanding of poetry’s importance.
Poetry can be rather difficult to understand. It demands nuance, intimacy, creative engagement, and these things take time. If as a culture, time spent thinking in this way is not seen as time worth taking, then we must realise that we have suffered a grave loss indeed. With my students, a common reaction to great poetry (Auden, Yeats, Hopkins, for instance) is that they don’t get it. And the blame seems thrust on the poet. This seems backwards to me. Shouldn’t our lack of understanding tell us something about our own deficiency?
But then again, didn’t Plato expel the poets from his ideal polis in The Republic? One might wonder whether Plato the poet knew he would never want to be a poet in an ideal society, or whether Plato the political philosopher knew how leaders of a polis that fancies itself perfect would not tolerate poetic gadflies. Perhaps the real poets are always marginalised and not to be celebrated. Or not to be co-opted into a political agenda. Robert Lowell rejected Lindon Johnson’s invitation to the White House in protest of the Vietnam war. Maybe the true poet does not belong at an inauguration or in the mainstream.
This should cause us to ask, though: where, then, does the poet belong, and where shall we seek him or her?
A very fine reflection, and a great concluding question. Thanks for sharing!
I’m reminds of Pushkin’s “Good for the Poet Who…”, which speaks similarly to the challenge of the poet. The historical context from which he writes is of course much different from ours, and his challenge is not against the shift toward mediocrity but the cowardly poet who serves only his own self-interests by refusing to speak the truth in the face of systematic injustice. But the two temptations are not unrelated. With both, poetry loses its hortative voice, making it meaningless at best, propaganda at worst.
Good for the poet who applies
His art in royal chambers’ splendor.
Of tears and laughter crafty vendor
Adding some truth to many lies,
He tickles the sated taste of lords
For more greatness and awards.
And decorates all their feasts,
Receiving clever praise as fees …
But, by the doors, so tall and stout —
On sides of stables and backyards —
The people, haunted by the guards,
Hark to this poet in a crowd.
A.E. Houseman’s “Terence, This is Stupid Stuff” makes a similar point: “Ale, man, Ale’s the stuff to drink / For fellows whom it hurts to think: / Look into the pewter pot / To see the world as the world’s not”.