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Tuesday, September 18, 2007
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William Carlos Williams... ...was born on this date, in 1883. Many of us, when we were in high school, stumbled over his plums and wheelbarrows. We were ready to be impressed by these much-anthologized poems, though we wondered why there was so little to them... UD still wonders. Give her T.S. Eliot over Williams any day. The poet's home town, Rutherford, New Jersey, is celebrating him... Or, rather, celebrating itself. A local columnist writes: 'On a personal note, I would be remiss if I did not mention that early in 2008 my vintage, critically-acclaimed 1984 biography, To All Gentleness: William Carlos Williams, The Doctor-Poet, will be reissued in a special $14.95 paperback by Black Classic Press/InPrint Editions of Baltimore.' A town booster says: "This is a man who could have lived anywhere in the world because of his stature as a poet, ... but he chose to live in Rutherford, and people should look at Rutherford and wonder why."[An ambiguous comment, now that I look at it...] I took against Williams even more this year when I realized that Garrison Keillor loves to recite excerpts from his poem "Asphodel, That Greeny Flower," especially these lines: Of asphodel, that greeny flower, I like what the poet August Kleinzahler recently said about Keillor/Williams: '[This] is a passage from a William Carlos Williams poem, "Asphodel, That Greeny Flower," dear to the hearts of those who would peddle poetry, or the idea of poetry, to the masses. I have heard it read on NPR in that solemn, hushed tone that is a commonplace among poetry salespersons, not least Mr. Keillor ... [It expresses a] pretty sentiment, to be sure, but [one that is] simply untrue, as anyone who has been to the supermarket or ballpark recently will concede. Ninety percent of adult Americans can pass through this life tolerably well, if not content, eating, defecating, copulating, shopping, working, catching the latest Disney blockbuster, without having a poem read to them by Garrison Keillor or anyone else. Nor will their lives be diminished by not standing in front of a Cézanne at the art museum or listening to a Beethoven piano sonata. Most people have neither the sensitivity, inclination, or training to look or listen meaningfully, nor has the culture encouraged them to, except with the abstract suggestion that such things are good for you. Multivitamins are good for you. Exercise, fresh air, and sex are good for you. Fruit and vegetables are good for you. Poetry is not.' |