Think of a profession that you associate with physical labor … bricklayer? Janitor? Lumberjack? What about a profession associated with education … professor? Lawyer? Scientist? And what about a profession associated with wisdom? What would you say?
For me, I would say the poet.
The poet explores reality, themselves, ideas, feelings and language itself via their art. Their work exists not only to entertain but to deepen comprehension of living and experience itself. For many centuries, the role of the poet was much appreciated in society; today, I personally feel as though people couldn’t care less about this profession or artform, or at least don’t take it as seriously as they should. I think it would be helpful to reinvigorate the people via the recipient of the American Academy of Arts and Letters Award in Literature and Cornellian, Alice Fulton, MFA ’82.
About 22 years ago, The Sun interviewed Fulton. I think that still holds value and recommend you check it out. Still, it was 22 years ago, so I reached out to Fulton and asked her a few questions. Hopefully they can prompt the students and faculty here to think intensively about poetry and beyond.
CP: What is poetry?
AF: I’ve noticed that “poetic” often is a description applied to things that have nothing to do with poetry by people who’ve never read an actual poem. I think that’s a misuse of the word. Poetry is a written text. It’s made of language that withholds and implies, that resonates rather than expounds or explains. Its components include subtlety, freshness, concision, music or rhythm. Those aspects seem intrinsic. Unlineated works can be poetic, but the poetic line, with its intentional enjambments, allows for resonance and ambiguity: for instance, parts of speech or syntax can shift over the enjambment. I like poems that surprise, that are in some way original and free of cliche. Poets need to read vast amounts of poetry, old and new, but especially old, in order to recognize worn territory and not reinvent the wheel. As I wrote in an essay, we imitate when we think we innovate, and we innovate when we think we imitate.
CP: How do you see your role as a poet playing out in your life? What sort of influence do you want to have?
AF: It’s easier to think of how my life plays out in the poems than vice versa. Though “poet” is part of my identity, I don’t self-consciously assume the role of poet. That role comes with a lot of cultural baggage and misunderstanding. To most people, the label “poet” sounds pretentious or silly. And as Robert Frost said, “poet is a praise word,” so applying it too often or too freely to oneself might be a little narcissistic. Despite these misgivings, I do think that poetry has changed my life. Writing poetry led me to think more deeply and widely — about cultural and intellectual issues as well as the great lyric themes of time, death and love. Writing poetry, devoting my life to it, also gave me the chance to teach and help others encounter the possibilities of language in new ways. I hope studying and writing poetry encourages students to think about subjects they might not have encountered otherwise. It might sound smarmy, but I’d like to be an influence for the good, to promote compassion toward human and nonhuman animals. I hope my poetry, and sometimes my presence, might make a very small contribution to that large effort.
CP: How would you convince people who typically are disinterested in poetry to give it a shot?
AF: A close friend’s enthusiasm for a poet or poem might be a good introduction. A poem you love can be a great catalyst for interesting conversations. And it’s good for people to read poems that reflect their own feelings or situations in some way. For instance, I’d encourage all Cornell students to read “Ithaka” by Constantine Cavafy, a simple poem that I find very moving because of my own experience here. People also can discover poetry by chance, on their own, though that requires luck.
Personally, I wouldn’t try to convince anyone truly uninterested to read poetry. But if the subject came up and they were open to it, I’d suggest some of the classic poets I loved when I first began to read poetry: Shakespeare’s sonnets, Emily Dickinson, Sylvia Plath. Robert Frost is accessible, surprising and charming. Among contemporary poets, for people who haven’t read much poetry, I’d suggest Lyn Lifshin (beat, confessional, lyric, feminist, protest, post-Dickinson); A.R. Ammons (spiritual, nature, lyric tradition, post-lyric, romantic, post-romantic); W.D. Snodgrass (confessional, formalist, political, protest, romantic and post-romantic traditions); Diane Wakowski (beat, confessional, narrative, diaristic); Rita Dove (formalist, history, biography, lyric); Colleen McElroy (lyric, history, oral tradition). A few of these poets are close to a narrative prose model, which can be comfortable for readers who haven’t read poetry. I also think writing poetry is a great way to appreciate and sometimes become enthralled with its possibilities. When people, poets in this case, are very good at something, they make it look effortless. But if you try it yourself you realize that the qualities you admired don’t come readily. It can take years of devoted practice.
CP: What is a poem of yours that you wish more people not only read, but understood fully?
AF: I’ll name a few. Writers tend to be most engaged with their most recent book. From my newest collection, Coloratura On A Silence Found In Many Expressive Systems, I’d like readers to read and understand “Netherlandish,” which has both mystical and worldly implications. From my book Sensual Math, I’d pick “Southbound In A Northbound Lane,” a feminist, rebellious poem that suits this cultural moment. From Felt, “The Permeable Past Tense Of Feel,” a poem that addresses animal suffering in the context of ecology and the environment.
Caidan Pilarski is a junior in the College of Arts and Sciences. He can be reached at [email protected].