Being a poetry judge – any judge – requires, next to a body of experience, a removal of bias, what we call ‘fairness’. David Lehman, the series editor of The Best American Poetry, has come to show this in his choice, over the years, of guest editors whose style preferences vary. This variance is in keeping with what over the past 40 or 50 years has come to be a standard way of appraising many things.
We’ve become uncomfortable with any overarching set of criteria, any ‘dominant narrative’, and focused on particulars – perspectives, localities, values, and so on – and found ‘culture’ blossoming out of ‘sub-culture’. They didn’t deserve the earlier diminishment, we’ve released them from prejudicial prisons, we have come to ‘walk the walk’ of our democratic ‘talk’.
No blame, then, can be assigned to Denise Duhamel working within that deconstructive frame. No blame to us, either, as equals, for reading the pieces as presumptive equals in themselves. If there is to be value seen, it’s in our equal handling, our equal appreciation. The guest editors, perhaps all of them, concede the difficulty of weeding through hundreds of periodicals and thousands of poems in order to pick ‘the best’.
But wait. They must notice (and must some of them have admitted) the tension between equality of treatment and assessment of excellence. Ms. Duhamel concedes this, I think, but remarks that a further sticking point for her was the term “American”. She, like important writers she mentions, some of whom contributed to this volume, feels American lit should mean something beyond America’s own borders. She, along with Lehman in his Foreword, feels that poetry gives notice – even when barely noticed – of the change in the air, tries, when importing the moment of the times, to export what it may actually be swaying toward.
Poetry, likely in all times, has been engaged with the world in which it has been written. Lyric poetry, short ‘musical’ pieces along the lines of those here, always seems to verge on what has come to be thought a dirty word: “solipsism”. But even the most private of poems demonstrates the sensitivity of the ‘macro-stirrings’ of social change. It’s no shame to display the internal reverberations. However engaged the poems here appear to be, they’re all from a perspective, they’ve all been germinated from a singular locus, a societal nexus – forgive me: a person.
For a reader, choosing among the offerings is a crapshoot. If the count is correct, there are 75 poems in The Best American Poetry 2013. As I read over a two-month period, slowly and with some attention, I jotted the names of the poets whose piece I considered ‘good’. The resultant list numbered 27, about one-third. Of those, six stood out most. About 12 percent. This doesn’t make Duhamel’s selections wrong, nor mine right. Victoria Kelly, Sally Wen Mao, Campbell McGrath, D. Nurske, Adrienne Rich, and Jean Valentine. Two men, four women. Two born in the 1980s, two in the 1940s, one in the 60s, one in the 20s (and deceased). All have taught or are now teaching as part of the institutional professoriate.
I don’t know exactly why they held me most. There were no conscious criteria I was leveling. Was it my mood at the time? Was it a sense of verbal economy, thematic punch, tone? Looking at them now, I can’t tell you. They’ve lost no sheen, but my judgmental acumen is blank as this review gets laid down. Perhaps I am grateful not to have been locked into a more restrictive anthology, a greater layering of established names, even poems I’ve likely seen before and liked.
Perhaps what’s best about this is being exposed to pieces that do have a range, not only in terms of fame and style (some of the more well-known writers have samples that don’t do them full justice), but also of flat-out quality. The deformalization and prosification of verse has been a fruitful tendency in American poetry. Some of the included pieces, though, are less ‘poetry’ than ‘flash fiction’ or even ‘diary entry’ – they have a discursive ‘point’, possibly even charm, but don’t have quite the verbal chops to make them the nuggets that poetry aims to be.
Some of the best, then, might be said to include the flat, even the misplaced. Best, then, to catch the contrast, to flutter into a future, some urging us toward clear fields and open sky, some of them, momentarily, catching us in the scrubland.