This anthology contains one poem that I really liked, by Robert Conquest:
"There was a great Marxist called Lenin
Who did two or three million men in.
That's a lot to have done in
But where he did one in
That grand Marxist Stalin did ten in."
The only problem is that this limerick, the best in the book, occurs in the Preface written by the editor of this series.
Apparently David Lehman is the "series editor" and Natasha Trethewey is the "guest editor," and she chose the poems for this piece. So it's possible that I happened to land on a year where the editor and I have wildly divergent tastes in poetry.
What did I expect from the book? Well, I don't know the work of many living authors, so I just wanted to get a feel for what the modern American style is and see some names that I might follow up on later, if their work seemed promising.
I was gratified in a mixed way in the preface when David Lehman gave a full-throated defense of Bob Dylan's Nobel prize, even though I'm still not sure that I personally agree with his selection, as I think Leonard Cohen's literary accomplishments are superior to Bob Dylan's, but I think it is fair and true to say that there are cases where some of our most skilled poets are working as songwriters, and the fact that the poems are put to music is not of itself a valid dismissal of their poesy.
I was disconcerted to read, though, that some people feel that for something to be poetry, it has to work "on the page," and therefore a work that is primarily received auditorially is not poetry. Rubbish.
I suppose there are several ways of defining what poetry is, and this anthology makes one wonder in almost every poem, "Is this really a poem at all?" What most of these are, are short prose passages with extra line breaks. They are not generally marked by any sort of lyrical cadence, rhyme, plays on word, or succinct construction.
The poem "Emanations" by David St. John, whom I don't mean to call out as being particularly flagrant, because he is merely representative, writes, "I was taking Evangeline to rehab in Pacific Grove twenty years ago/a place near Point Pinos Lighthouse". It is hard for me to imagine under what division scheme between poetry and prose this sentence lands on the poetry side.
They're not all short prose essays--there are also lists. I have a special contempt for list poems, like "Things that Break" by Jamaal May. Again, not trying to say he's uniquely bad, just representative.
I was disappointed at the two-note thematic approach to the collection. We have poems of racial and political outrage and generally morose navel-gazing poems, often plying the not-oft-enough-maligned trade of drawing lines of thematic insight between two very tenuously connected events, such as a snowstorm and spiritual exhaustion ("I Went for a Walk in Winter," Sherod Santos) or viewing an exhibition of ruined planes in Hanoi with the recent revelation of one's heart condition ("Assemblage of Ruined Plane Parts, Vietname Military Museum, Hanoi" by Paisley Rekdal.)
I don't mean to be savage, but there's not much in here that's good or even interesting. But maybe it depends on what you think poetry is and what you like.
I am not a scholar of poetry, but for me, poetry is essentially verbal and auditory. It was, I would think, an aide to memorizing passages, with rhyme and meter allowing for easier retention and recall, the first rhyme implying the second, the cadence recalling to you the exact words and phrasing chosen, as other manners of expressing the same meaning won't fit.
For this reason, in my opinion, it's no stretch to call song lyrics poetry. Music with lyrics isn't necessarily poetry, but I think lots of inventive lyricists fit the bill in this day and age.
However, in these poems, there is no cadence and it's too much to ask for rhyme. The long-serving forms are usually ignored, the evident compression of meaning one finds in the sonnets of Shakespeare is absent, and emotional expression, but always of profound emotions, is the order of the day. As if it were the intentions that made the poem great, the poem that the poet was trying to write, but not the poem that was actually written, that we should be giving credit for. As if it were too much to ask that the poem be honed and sharpened, and then once again, and then again, until the edges are perfectly straight and the burrs filed off. It's a sharp knife we're wanting, but we're getting a serrated blade instead, something that doesn't cleave but hacks through, and the poets hold up the raggedy slice to our eyes and say "Gets the job done." WELL GET BENT, BECAUSE I DON'T WANT RAGGEDY SLICES!
Getting serious, though, if this is the best that America had on offer last year, I am very sad.
Update: I found the quote I was looking for to put the paragraph previous to the previous one beside its textual justification. On talking about Bob Dylan's nobel prize, Lehman praises his allusions, his sense for the zeitgeist, his visionary lines, or how convincing are the airs that Dylan puts on as an artist in the songs.
He then says that "The rhymes in 'Like a Rolling Stone' and 'I Want You' prove that there is still a lot of life left in that venerable device."
That "venerable device?" It's exactly Lehman's attitude toward poetry that I'm protesting in this review. What he praises is Dylan's expression, but not Dylan's craftmanship. It is that latter trait that is uniquely strong in Dylan's case. Example:
"Standing on the water, casting your bread
While the eyes of the idol with the iron head are glowing.
Distant ships sailing into the mist
You were born with a snake in both of your fists while a hurricane was blowing."
-"Jokerman," Bob Dylan
Ignore for a second the imagery and focus solely on the sounds--the repetition of "isses" -- "ships," "mist," "fist." And what is it all about? Holding sssssnakes in your fissssts. Sonic repetition within rhymes: The EYES of the EYE-dol with the EYE-ron head are glowing. It's the tight craftsmanship that elevates this line, making it stick to the listener and making it thrum with energy. How might a poet of this book have rendered this verse? Not as powerfully as it's rendered here, I dare say. Probably with a surfeit of distracting details and relative clauses, and no concern for cadence, alliteration, structural repetition, or any of the well-worn shop tools of poets past that made their work a pleasure to speak and hear.