http://themissingslate.com/A fascinating magazine, edited in part by the British poet Jacob Silkstone, emanating out of Pakistan has recently run an issue that features an extraordinary selection of British poets including many I admire like Luke Kennard, Ryan Van Winkle, Caleb Klaces, James Byrne and Anna Selby. The section has an introduction too, from Todd Swift. My contribution is two poems from the Museum of Debt, a collaboration with the photographer Alexander Kell. You can read the issue here http://themissingslate.com/digital-editions/interactive-digital-editions/
As well my poetry Jacob conducted an interview with me to be found in the issue, the text is below:
Q - In an interview with the
Huffington Post, you mention that you ‘believe less than many of [your] peers
in the transformative power of poetry.’ Is that a reiteration of Auden’s idea that ‘if not a
poem had been written, not a picture painted nor a bar of music composed, the
history of man would be materially unchanged’? Is poetry of any importance?
A - I
think this notion centres around two ideas; the first is a recognition that
while poetry is a profound resource for engaging with the remarkable fact of
our existence, and moreover our extraordinary ability to utilise language, it
is not a matter of matter. It does not, and should not, ever be considered
before our own sense of personal responsibility or ethical engagement in the
world. It does not matter next to death, to injustice, to love, and while this
may seem obvious (or not), there is much value in it being directly stated
rather than implicit acknowledgement. The second thing is that when a poet
states poetry is useless, or indefensible, as Hans Arp proclaimed, when one is
affirming poetry in the most comprehensive way by being a poet, what is
happening is an attempt to affirm an ethical selflessness, a refusal of
solipsism, by engaging in a paradox. It is a poet’s way of saying poetry is
private, it is for I, and if the reader chooses to engage with that poetry,
that is beautiful, but it is never a relationship of entitlement – it is never
the poet’s place to say his work is profound, it is never the poet’s place to
say it is for the benefit of all. It is a reiteration of the private sphere,
poetry as an act that, at its core, involves only one. I would suggest all
ethical acts occur in this sphere, that they are constituted by a relationship
one has with oneself, one made without witnesses. And I would further suggest
the root of all ethics are subsumed in paradoxes, clearly in the Judaic
tradition perhaps than our own post-Christian understanding of ethics. This is
why I personally choose to write, and read so often, because it makes me happy,
yes, because it improves my understanding, and thus my sense of humility, and
thus makes me treat people better, with empathy and consideration, but
fundamentally because all this happens alone, without any recourse to ambition
in its being witnessed and at the expense of the question, is this worthwhile?
So I think the reason some poets like Auden and Arp decry poetry somewhat is to
emphasise the private nature of poetry and the paradox at its root. And this
refutes the proselytising post-Christian, post-romantic mystical theory that
surrounds the notion of poetry even now, throughout our education system. This
notion that poetry in and of itself is improving and beneficial is absurd, and
arrogant. A legacy of victorian educational theory and colonial asininity that
alienates children from poetry. Fundamentally, poetry does not improve one by the
mere act of its encounter or its objective content. It only offers something to
the individual who makes the private and personal decision to engage with it, to
make a sacrifice to it, to remove themselves from the public sphere of learning
and into the private sphere of knowledge and creativity.
Q - Staying
with the Huffington Post interview for one more question, you mention the
‘factionalism’ of the current British poetry scene. How would you characterise
those competing factions? Would you say that the emerging generation is more
eclectic, more capable of transcending the barriers between mediums and styles?
A - Perhaps
it’s better to answer this question by speaking about how I believe the major
factionalism of the recent past seems to be changing, and how I firmly believe
the dualistic landscape of British poetry is not, and will not, be so
categorical in its divisions in the future. Of course, there will always be factions
in poetry, and there will always be those who define themselves as independent
not because of a method or a strongly held belief but just because they gain
status they otherwise would not have. And I must stress the true avant-garde,
as I see it, has nothing to do with opposing a ‘mainstream.’ That would be a
blindfolded exercise. The avant-garde is defined by its commitment to the new,
the original, to philosophically important ideas and engagements, and these
need not oppress or combat, inherently, the ideas of others. There will always
be those who try to ignore what is new, and push it aside because they perceive
it as a threat. Just as there are those who don’t even know such innovative
works exists! If the focus is on the work, there is much ground to be found
between these unnamed factions, which I leave unnamed for good reason.
I
come from an avant-garde tradition, both in my work, my education, my reading
and my peers. Some within that fraternity have tried to continue the lame legacy
of binary opposites between formal and experimental, mainstream and avantgarde,
by passing on their grievances (perhaps valid ones) to our generation. They
warned me of the exclusion I would face before ‘maintream’ poetry. It’s a myth.
For one of the first Maintenant events I invited poets like Sam Riviere and
Jack Underwood to read alongside avant gardists like Holly Pester and Eirikur
Orn Norddahl. Not only were poets associated with the mainstream because of the
Faber young poets pamphlets extremely well versed in experimental work they
were extremely receptive to avant garde poets. Concerns are shared between
these battlelines, and I find there is much more that binds these traditions
than divides them, in the work anyway. Difference does not mean dislike. If I was
a musician, could I appreciate styles other than the one I play? Of course, why
is not so with poetry? I think that a global reading taste has for the first
time, thrown up ubiquitous points of reference that at some point bind everyone
even if they are not direct influences – Joyce, Beckett, O’Hara, Ginsberg,
Bukowski...Moreover there is a sure sense that many contemporary poets refuse
the model of the disengaged lackadaisical writer and are organising, making
their own events, publishing houses, and criticism, which reflects this wider
sense of what poetry can be. I am very proud to be part of a peer group that is
thus engaged, with people like Tom Chivers, Nathan Jones, Alec Newman, Chris
McCabe, James Byrne, Sasha Dugdale, Ryan Van Winkle, Nathan Hamilton, Linus
Slug, Alex Davies, Steve Willey, Sophie Mayer and many others. They all write
and instigate, they are refusing to allow the future to be dictated from the
outside. This is so important in my opinion.
Q - As
the founder of Maintenant, the UK editor of Lyrikline and the interviewer for
this summer’s Poetry Parnassus, you’ve established yourself as perhaps the most
internationally-minded of all contemporary British poets. Where did that
interest in poetry from other cultures and other languages originate? Do you
support the idea that the poetic ‘mainstream’ is prone to insularity?
A - It’s
clearly very important for me to engage with poets from beyond the UK, and this
is because my interests are not confined to my own nation, and I would suggest,
nor should they be. I am a human being and share that fact beyond citizenship,
with other human beings, and I would always hope that my writing and my
interests reflect an open, reflexive, inclusive notion of humanity. I have been
distinctly influenced by global poetic traditions, I read as much as I can from
whatever sources I can and allow that work to permeate throughout my own
writings. It might be that this began from travelling, but I hope not, I hope
it is just an approach to other human beings which has been channelled through
this specific interest at this specific time.
Whether
mainstream poets are prone to insularity is very difficult to say, primarily
because I wouldn’t quite know who to call mainstream. Without that definition I
am on rather shaky ground to make any criticisms. I would suggest perhaps that
there will always be people who are prone to insularity in any cross section of
society because they are essentially fearful and conservative, and thus
insecure. It strikes me that few British poets are keen to have their work
translated, and that’s certainly a difference between some of the more
innovative poets I know, who, like myself, are active is sourcing foreign
language versions of their own work.
Q - Does
parochialism preclude a writer from being a major poet? Should Larkin’s
contempt of all things ‘abroad’ be regarded as a significant weakness?
A- I’m
hardly a Larkin scholar, so I have to venture forward with some caution, but
essentially my answer is no, a poet can still be great if they are parochial
within a given historical context, but in this case yes, I don’t consider
Larkin to be a major poet because his parochialism is often specifically
actualised within his poetry and the historical context of his writing and its
intrinsic links to his views are in no way justifiable. Undoubtedly there is much to be taken from
his work and there are moments of profundity amidst his writing, but to me,
just in my opinion, he is primarily a poet interested in making smug
observations about the middle class, flirting with the banal as much as the
insightful. It’s not his fault that his poetry has become the defining,
somewhat oppressive, style of the day, and his conscious influence has borne a
thousand bastard sons, imitators of lesser poet, that continue to exercise
their primacy over the current poetical landscape. Just to me perhaps, but it
is a surprise his racism and the occasionally fey, bitter whimsy, given over
through the litany of writers who have aped him, has not even proven decisive
in lessening his influence on every classroom and conspicuous coffee table. I
do recognise the reason for people’s love of his work, and do admire elements
of his oeuvre, but his presence also blotted out so many other writers who were
far more brilliant in their understanding of the world around them through the
medium of poetry.
I
would suggest that retrospective historical judgement of a poet by modern
ethical standards should not impede our appreciation of their work, unless it
is implicit in that work to a degree that cannot be separated. But
realistically, of course, it affects our understanding of that work in question.
If Pound suffers in retrospect, if Hamsun suffers, if D’Annunzio suffers, why
is TS Eliot’s anti-semitism not so prevalent in discussions of his work? And why is Larkin’s racism oft ignored? The
letters published in 93 contain some repulsive passages that can’t be excused.
We have a responsibility to take poetry in its honest context and not to sweep
inconvenient truths under the rug. And Larkin’s racism and right wing leanings
and misogyny were part of a general snobbery against translated poetry, poetry
from cultures other than his own, that defined a formalism which sought not
only to be dominant but to occlude others. This is the real crime to me, as a
British poet, that a wholly unnecessary dualism was fashioned out of this
conservative enclave of post war ‘major’ poets, which alienated if not buried,
the appreciation for the great British modernists of his era like Tom Raworth,
Bill Griffiths, Lee Harwood, Anselm Hollo, Alex Trocchi. When you hold Larkin
up to those considered the major figures of the European tradition of his time
- Brecht, Beckett, Amichai, Brodsky, Milosz, Sachs, Celan, Ekelof, Rozewicz -
how does he stand? When he is held up against Ginsberg, O’Hara, Neruda, Paz,
Seferis...? I could make a very long list. He wouldn’t be on it, and those who
would from the UK, are not known by most.
Q - Do
you agree that online magazines have transformed the poetry scene? It seems to
be widely accepted that the Internet has democratised poetry, and encouraged
experimentalism, but — looking solely at prize-winners and publishing lists at
the bigger houses — you could be forgiven for thinking that old hierarchies
remain firmly in place. Are we perhaps in the early stages of a long-term
shift?
A - I’m
not sure if that’s true, there certainly is a shift taking place, but it is not
something unique to poetry. The internet changes the means by which we
communicate, it opens boundaries at a speed never before possible, but I think
it is possibly a misnomer to associate the prevalence of online poetry journals
with a rise in experimentalism. We are less tolerant, as a poetic culture, of
the new now than we were one hundred years ago. The internet is so democratic
that it is almost endless, and thus, while it has the potential to fashion new
modes of the poetic, and make dynamic new poets well known, is that really the
case? Has any poet become well received because of their presence online? The potential
may remain just that. I do think though that there is a change afoot, but that
the presence of internet magazines is simply one part of a larger progression.
The main reason for the change is probably because the status quo simply isn’t
that popular with a new generation of poetry readers. I don’t know anyone of my
age, who is interested in poetry, who buys up the latest book by the major
prize winners they are already long familiar with. There is undoubtedly the
climate for change, if we are active in making it happen and do so without
sabre rattling. No doubt the online poetry community will play a part in that
change.
