It's Really All About
Dr. Joseph S. Salemi
Department of Classics
Hunter College, CUNY
One of the occupational hazards
of teaching is unwanted interference from others. In the lower
grades and the high schools this is a serious problem, with principals
and PTAs and school boards constantly tyrannizing the individual
teacher, forcing him to follow their pedagogical policy rather than his
own best professional judgment.
The college professor has it easier, but he too must face such hazards
occasionally. There's always some pest trying to influence what
you do in the classroom. It might be a department that has
temporarily gone ga-ga over some silly pedagogical theory. It
might be a hotshot dean with a bug up his ass. It might be an
overenthusiastic colleague enthralled by a half-baked notion, or a
curriculum coordinator with a power complex, or a chair who wants to
"shake things up." All of these people will cause you endless
trouble if you let them.
The best thing you can do with such interference is to smile politely,
exchange some meaningless chitchat with the people who are behind it,
and then go about your business as usual. You will have no peace
at all in your teaching career if you try to satisfy every absurd
suggestion and crackpot notion that your colleagues come up with.
Remember that academics love to hear themselves talk, and a great deal
of what they say is mere chin-music designed to fill up the dead air in
departmental meetings and faculty dining rooms. Fretting about
it--much less acting upon it--would be stupid on your part.
Besides, academics have notoriously short attention spans. The
brilliant new concept that they're committing themselves to
wholeheartedly today will be totally forgotten in three weeks.
You'd be a complete chump to take what they say seriously, or let it
disturb your equanimity. Smart professors ignore it all.
There's an analogous situation in the world of poetry. One of the
worst things you can do as a poet is spend a lot of time listening to
what other poets are saying. I don't mean you shouldn't read
their finished work--far from it. It's always good to read
poetry. But what you should ignore is that mass of pointless
gossip, chitchat, gaseous theorizing, debate, and cud-chewing that goes
on among poets day in and day out. Like all chatter it is
ultimately meaningless, trivial, and depressing. You don't need
The most important thing that you have to do as a poet is work on your own poems. In
the light of that priority, is it really important to know which two
poets have switched lovers? Or who is getting divorced? Or
who attended which book party? Or what poet is bisexual, or an
alcoholic, or about to change jobs? Only airheads are interested in
stuff like that. Unfortunately, from the increased volume of such
gossip it's clear that the poetry world has had a huge influx of
airheads. And the internet has turned this flood of ephemeral
blather into a tsunami.
I can't think of any antidote to all this extra-poetic buzz except to
point out a few elementary and irreducible facts.
First, the most important thing that we can do as poets is produce good poetry. All our
other activities are ancillary to that task. And really good
poems are so rare that we have to work ceaselessly to bring them into
existence. Face it--the bulk of every poet's labor will be false
starts, failures, and mediocrity. We produce a few flawless gems
now and again, and that's about it. If you think otherwise, you're an
Second, the actual time we have to produce our best work is
limited. It's a very safe bet that everyone reading these words
will be dead within a short period--say, forty years. Since that
is so, do you really have a lot of time to waste? If indeed God
has given you poetic talent--if you have a flair for producing
linguistic excellence--then why on earth would you spend your days
chatting with other poets rather than putting your talent to
work? Why the hell would you be gossiping and networking and
partying? Why would you be signing up for conferences, and
gabbing on web forums, and attending book parties, and going to open
readings and discussion groups? Does any of that stuff really
mean anything, in comparison to writing a fine poem?
A lot of pseudo-poets are doing all this because, deep down, they know
that they lack any significant talent. All their extracurricular
activity is designed to hide this melancholy fact from themselves and
from others. It's a lot easier to get dolled up for a book party
(isn't that phrase an amazing oxymoron?) than write an excellent sonnet.
Third, be very clear about human nature. Other poets aren't your
friends. They're your competitors. They have a vested interest in
seeing you fail, or appropriating whatever they can from you in ideas,
skills, and approaches. Do you actually think they have the
slightest interest in helping you become a better poet? Get
real. Poets are first and foremost narcissists, and only
altruistic at the third or fourth remove. They will help you in
the following situations: 1) if you're sexually attractive and
available; 2) if you're a weak poet and therefore not a threat to them;
3) if you're a member of their power-clique; or 4) if you've got
something they want. In such situations a poet will deign to be
the Great White God, or the Mother Hen, and help you out.
Are there exceptions? Sure. But don't count too heavily on
them. Remember the "Precept of Prudence" penned by an
In Things of Moment on thy Self depend;
Nor trust too far thy Servant, or thy Friend;
With private Views thy Friend may promise fair,
And Servants very seldom prove sincere.
Fourth, it's always dangerous to get overly involved in any aggregate
of persons. Artists are inevitably compromised when they get
sucked into a colony or a collective. They succumb to groupthink
and conformism and consensus-worship and in-fighting. They lose
sight of their individual gifts, and begin to ask that fatal,
talent-killing question: If I do
this, what will the others say? Remember Sartre's blinding
insight: L'enfer c'est les autres.
If God has truly given you artistic ability, use it without consulting
other people or asking their permission. After all, who the hell
Finally, remember that in the long run the only thing that matters is
what sits on the printed page. Centuries after every schmuck you
know in the poetry world has left this sublunary sphere, the sole
significant remnant of our lives will be the poems we have
produced. So forget the discussion groups and the
chatrooms. They're not worth your time.
Joseph S. Salemi
All rights reserved