“The New Math of Poetry” Does Not Compute
[CC licensed image by draggin]
Despite suffering from a lack of focus (or an essential pointlessness… take your pick), false analogies, and that old-man odor and monochromatic hue that comes with too much time inside the “Golden Age” fallacy, David Alpaugh’s article “The New Math of Poetry” is worth a few quick minutes of any poetry reader’s or writer’s time. Or, for that matter, any writer…
For the poetry reader, Alpaugh’s article represents a common paradox: he at once bemoans the lack of gatekeepers that we had in the good old days while bewailing the efforts of those very kind of gatekeepers in the modern, leaden era. It seems to me that Alpaugh’s thesis of a sea of mediocrity is belied by a bit of simple browsing. It’s not hard to find good writing… and not that much harder to find great writing.
Sure, it’s easy at the library—or even the stacks of your nearest chain bookstore—to find great writing from the past, because the effects of time and limits on shelf space have contributed to a winnowing that has resulted in the small set we see on the shelves. If Alpaugh thinks the filtering through publishing was effective X number of years ago, he ought to visit a library or collection that truly reflects what was published and shared in that time… I’ll bet dollars to donuts that he’ll find then, as now, that Sturgeon’s Law was true and reflected clearly in what was published.
For the poetry writer—actually for one who wants to publish, since the two activities aren’t absolutely intertwined—it’s a common (but I think easily solved) dilemma. We can mourn the passing of artificially, extremely limited channels of publication… or we can undertake to participate in a new model based on a culture of abundance. The latter demands that we first question what the point of publishing is: to reach readers or for some kind of cachet, whether cultural or academic? Do you want readers, or do you want entries on your vitae? Do you want to write or simply be known as a writer?
If the answer is to reach readers, then (the first steps of) the solution are obvious: stop trying to publish within the new mechanism as if one is inside the old. Stop “publishing” with the idea in mind of one-off, static publications that appear slowly and disappear quickly. Think instead of participating in your publication, allowing for (and responding to) comments, creating anthologies and remixes, and publishing and promoting the work of others alongside your own. If you publish in traditional outlets, ask for the right to publish to the web using a Creative Commons license—simultaneously or later. Create a presence through social networks and social media to get the word out about your work and, more importantly, to facilitate (mostly incidental) promotion of your work by others. It’s not rocket science, it’s diligence.
There’s no question that there’s a lot of bad writing out there. The proportion of bad writing to good writing is arguably the same; the sheer volume is inarguably greater. But Alpaugh doesn’t seem to recognize that filtering systems have also evolved. When I say that it’s easy to find good poetry with a bit of browsing, I’m not referring to searching Google for the word poetry. I’m talking about being a participant in the vibrant and constantly growing poetry “infosphere,” which sets into motion mechanisms of reputation and referral not unlike what is still the most reliable way to discover great poetry: word of mouth. I can find good poetry any time by seeing what poems are being touted and Twittered and what publications are being fondled and Facebooked. A web feed reader allows me to quickly identify the work that is being loved and linked within a vast network of blogs of all kinds (those of writers, those of readers, those of collectors) by people interested in poetry from the ancient to the avant garde. The key in this new world is participation, not continuing a tradition of passivity.




