Notes on Artistic Sterility and the Academic
Imprimatur
The dude* sent me an email announcement—a
great
self-congratulating pat on his back—, I was
his bĂȘte noire.
Since he was on my list, I was now on his, though
Since he was on my list, I was now on his, though
when I shotgunned, it was usually to announce
not the light of lime, but rather a good
sledgehammering.
His press had teamed up with a regional college to promote
His press had teamed up with a regional college to promote
the “literary arts” and the likely modus operandi
of innocuous icon idolatry.
His vision of art seemed to be a castration of it,
eliciting the approval of ladder-climbing pedagogues
—those chairs, deans, chancellors, VPs, and presidents—,
other members of the local chambers of commerce,
and, of course, the proverbial old ladies in the audience.
To be first in the series, as concrete
illustration of the benefits
of sucking up, kissing ass, and playing the
literary game,
he chose Boston Poet Laureate Sam Cornish,
editor of children’s literature
and renowned author of An Apron Full of Beans.
and renowned author of An Apron Full of Beans.
The dude’s purpose, besides pushing his own press,
was to help students of creative writing
to garner not the courage to stand up and away from the herd,
but rather to gain expertise in
the fine art of literary networking.
"This is a wonderful opportunity to be aligned
with a
rising academic institution,”
he declared, sounding more like a politician than a bard.
"I want the literary community and the community at large
to know about the vital literary programming at Endicott...”
Yet how could he proclaim “vital” the output of programmers
who rarely, if ever, railed viscerally against the machine?
who rarely, if ever, railed viscerally against the machine?
“I am hoping to be involved in the creation of the Hub
for the Arts on the North Shore ,” he
career-fully excogitated,
when perhaps as a poet he should have instead
truthfully excoriated.
Just what higher ed needed, I thought, a tad depressed
by the persistence of poetry into the smiley-face verse factory
—another hub, yes, oh sadly,
of artistic censors, blind-eye turners, PC and too much civility.
................................................
*Doug Holder, publisher, Ibbetson Street
Press, and Endicott College adjunct instructor
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