I got into a heated debate with my friend the other night. We were talking about poetry, and she pulled out her copy of Milk and Honey by Rupi Kaur. I groaned. Flipping through the pages, I landed on a random poem in the book and explained why it was bad.
“It’s fake deep” I said. “She has nothing new or interesting to say. There are so many actually talented people. Why can’t we make them famous instead?”
I have to admit, this is not the first time I’ve lectured a friend about Rupi Kaur. I went into such a rage explaining Kaur’s work— her obvious trite sentences broken into lines to mimic poetry, the fake “deepness,” the disrespect towards ancient forms she claims to follow, the apparent lack of effort— that my friend donated her copy of Milk and Honey the next day. I felt triumphant.
Then I felt guilty. My friend had admitted to me that this was the only collection of poetry she’d ever enjoyed. Now that I have forced her to get rid of Milk and Honey, she wasn’t reading any poetry. I had berated and bashed the thing she loved and taken the enjoyment out of poetry, something that is supposed to be pleasurable and intimate to the person who is engaging with it.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the concept of bad poetry. In my first writing class my freshman year of high school, our teacher gave us a handout on what was “bad” and what was “good” poetry. She told us that our favorite series were badly written, when a poem we admired was actually bad, when our own work was bad. More than once, a student, myself included, came out of the classroom crying. Later, I became grateful that my teacher had been so harsh on me, because if she had coddled me, I would have been stuck writing bad poetry forever. I went back to my middle school and taught a lesson on ambiguity and vagueness, using the bad poetry handout. I wrote out a “bad,” cliched, vague version of “Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver and put it side by side with the original to show the students how to tell the difference between good and bad poetry. To my surprise, they all preferred the “bad” one.
For awhile, I’ve been thinking about The Alfred Joyce Kilmer Memorial Bad Poetry Contest held annually at Columbia, where participants write the worst poems they can come up with. The contest is based on a poem by Joyce Kilmer, called “Trees,” considered one of the worst poems ever written:
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
I also groaned the first time I read this poem. I rolled my eyes at its sentimentality, the cringe-worthiness of lines like, “sweet earth’s flowing breast,” and “intimately lives with rain,” the awkwardness of “upon whose bosom snow has lain,” the clichéd ending, “only God can make a tree.” However, I think it’s important to note that the first time I read “Trees,” it had been introduced to me as a bad poem. Reading it again, it’s not my cup of tea, but it is also not the worst poem I’ve ever read. I can see its merits— the careful meter, the seasons of a tree in anthropomorphic terms from infancy to old age, the humble assertion that poets are fools, trying to capture the astonishing natural world in words.
Because, when “Trees” first was published in 1913, it was a big hit. It made Joyce Kilmer famous. However, the age of modernism was beginning to take over, headed by Ezra Pound, Wallace Stevens, and T.S. Eliot. They covered more complex, stark topics in free verse. Rhymed poems about God and Trees were overly sentimental. Perhaps Kilmer wrote his poem in the wrong time period. Perhaps if it had been released in the Romantic period of poetry, it would be greater appreciated.
Criticism changes. Our idea of what is good changes. I haven’t changed my mind about Rupi Kaur. I still think there are poets who are more creative, who are doing new and interesting things and wrenching our heart strings at the same time, who go practically unnoticed outside the literary bubble, including some of my favorites: Rachel Zucker, Hala Alyan, and Aaron Smith, among many others. However, I want poetry to be accessible. Yes, I have studied writing in an academic setting for eight years, but I am not the gatekeeper of what is enjoyable to other people. I read poetry to be seen, to open myself to other perspectives. I write poetry because I want other people to feel less alone. If I am allowed to express myself; others should be allowed to do the same.
Another celebrity poet on the rise is Amanda Gorman, who I respect and admire greatly. She is a wonderfully talented writer, making a difference and making poetry more accessible to the masses. It is important to note that both Gorman, and the aforementioned Mary Oliver have been criticized for being “bad” poems. Critics have dismissed Oliver’s work as simplistic or too “inspirational.” More troubling is the criticism that Amanda Gorman has received, which has tended towards racism and belittlement. For example, her poem, “The Hill We Climb,” which was recited at the inauguration of Biden, has been dismissed by a critic from The Spectator, who picked apart the poems’ structure and grammar without any attempt to engage with the poets’ words and meanings.
Literary criticism maintains literary norms. Book reviews, literary journals, publishers, editors, agents, writers’ conferences, writers’ magazines, arts councils, grant-making institutions, literary scholars, and professors of literature work to maintain these norms, holding up “literary” writing with “domestic” subject matters, and dismissing “genre” or “minority or special interest” subject matter. For too long, poetry has been in the hands of literary snobs who enjoy being accessible only to the educated elite. It’s time for us to change the narrative.
For further reading:
https://www.afr.com/life-and-luxury/arts-and-culture/the-worst-bad-poem-in-the-world--its-a-competition-20181119-h18297
https://www.washingtonpost.com/entertainment/books/mary-oliver-did-something-rare-she-made-poetry-accessible-thats-not-a-bad-thing/2019/01/18/6aacf3ee-1b2d-11e9-88fe-f9f77a3bcb6c_story.html
Graves, Robert. “What Is Bad Poetry?” The North American Review, vol. 218, no. 814, 1923, pp. 353–368. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/25113107.
Fleece, Jeffrey. “Further Notes on a ‘Bad’ Poem.” College English, vol. 12, no. 6, 1951, pp. 314–320. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/371696.
Kearns, Rosalie Morales. “Voice of Authority: Theorizing Creative Writing Pedagogy.” College Composition and Communication, vol. 60, no. 4, 2009, pp. 790–807. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/40593430. Accessed 12 Mar. 2021.
https://www.cnn.com/2021/02/01/opinions/amanda-gorman-summons-phillis-wheatley-sinha/index.html
“It’s fake deep” I said. “She has nothing new or interesting to say. There are so many actually talented people. Why can’t we make them famous instead?”
I have to admit, this is not the first time I’ve lectured a friend about Rupi Kaur. I went into such a rage explaining Kaur’s work— her obvious trite sentences broken into lines to mimic poetry, the fake “deepness,” the disrespect towards ancient forms she claims to follow, the apparent lack of effort— that my friend donated her copy of Milk and Honey the next day. I felt triumphant.
Then I felt guilty. My friend had admitted to me that this was the only collection of poetry she’d ever enjoyed. Now that I have forced her to get rid of Milk and Honey, she wasn’t reading any poetry. I had berated and bashed the thing she loved and taken the enjoyment out of poetry, something that is supposed to be pleasurable and intimate to the person who is engaging with it.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the concept of bad poetry. In my first writing class my freshman year of high school, our teacher gave us a handout on what was “bad” and what was “good” poetry. She told us that our favorite series were badly written, when a poem we admired was actually bad, when our own work was bad. More than once, a student, myself included, came out of the classroom crying. Later, I became grateful that my teacher had been so harsh on me, because if she had coddled me, I would have been stuck writing bad poetry forever. I went back to my middle school and taught a lesson on ambiguity and vagueness, using the bad poetry handout. I wrote out a “bad,” cliched, vague version of “Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver and put it side by side with the original to show the students how to tell the difference between good and bad poetry. To my surprise, they all preferred the “bad” one.
For awhile, I’ve been thinking about The Alfred Joyce Kilmer Memorial Bad Poetry Contest held annually at Columbia, where participants write the worst poems they can come up with. The contest is based on a poem by Joyce Kilmer, called “Trees,” considered one of the worst poems ever written:
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
I also groaned the first time I read this poem. I rolled my eyes at its sentimentality, the cringe-worthiness of lines like, “sweet earth’s flowing breast,” and “intimately lives with rain,” the awkwardness of “upon whose bosom snow has lain,” the clichéd ending, “only God can make a tree.” However, I think it’s important to note that the first time I read “Trees,” it had been introduced to me as a bad poem. Reading it again, it’s not my cup of tea, but it is also not the worst poem I’ve ever read. I can see its merits— the careful meter, the seasons of a tree in anthropomorphic terms from infancy to old age, the humble assertion that poets are fools, trying to capture the astonishing natural world in words.
Because, when “Trees” first was published in 1913, it was a big hit. It made Joyce Kilmer famous. However, the age of modernism was beginning to take over, headed by Ezra Pound, Wallace Stevens, and T.S. Eliot. They covered more complex, stark topics in free verse. Rhymed poems about God and Trees were overly sentimental. Perhaps Kilmer wrote his poem in the wrong time period. Perhaps if it had been released in the Romantic period of poetry, it would be greater appreciated.
Criticism changes. Our idea of what is good changes. I haven’t changed my mind about Rupi Kaur. I still think there are poets who are more creative, who are doing new and interesting things and wrenching our heart strings at the same time, who go practically unnoticed outside the literary bubble, including some of my favorites: Rachel Zucker, Hala Alyan, and Aaron Smith, among many others. However, I want poetry to be accessible. Yes, I have studied writing in an academic setting for eight years, but I am not the gatekeeper of what is enjoyable to other people. I read poetry to be seen, to open myself to other perspectives. I write poetry because I want other people to feel less alone. If I am allowed to express myself; others should be allowed to do the same.
Another celebrity poet on the rise is Amanda Gorman, who I respect and admire greatly. She is a wonderfully talented writer, making a difference and making poetry more accessible to the masses. It is important to note that both Gorman, and the aforementioned Mary Oliver have been criticized for being “bad” poems. Critics have dismissed Oliver’s work as simplistic or too “inspirational.” More troubling is the criticism that Amanda Gorman has received, which has tended towards racism and belittlement. For example, her poem, “The Hill We Climb,” which was recited at the inauguration of Biden, has been dismissed by a critic from The Spectator, who picked apart the poems’ structure and grammar without any attempt to engage with the poets’ words and meanings.
Literary criticism maintains literary norms. Book reviews, literary journals, publishers, editors, agents, writers’ conferences, writers’ magazines, arts councils, grant-making institutions, literary scholars, and professors of literature work to maintain these norms, holding up “literary” writing with “domestic” subject matters, and dismissing “genre” or “minority or special interest” subject matter. For too long, poetry has been in the hands of literary snobs who enjoy being accessible only to the educated elite. It’s time for us to change the narrative.
For further reading:
https://www.afr.com/life-and-luxury/arts-and-culture/the-worst-bad-poem-in-the-world--its-a-competition-20181119-h18297
https://www.washingtonpost.com/entertainment/books/mary-oliver-did-something-rare-she-made-poetry-accessible-thats-not-a-bad-thing/2019/01/18/6aacf3ee-1b2d-11e9-88fe-f9f77a3bcb6c_story.html
Graves, Robert. “What Is Bad Poetry?” The North American Review, vol. 218, no. 814, 1923, pp. 353–368. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/25113107.
Fleece, Jeffrey. “Further Notes on a ‘Bad’ Poem.” College English, vol. 12, no. 6, 1951, pp. 314–320. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/371696.
Kearns, Rosalie Morales. “Voice of Authority: Theorizing Creative Writing Pedagogy.” College Composition and Communication, vol. 60, no. 4, 2009, pp. 790–807. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/40593430. Accessed 12 Mar. 2021.
https://www.cnn.com/2021/02/01/opinions/amanda-gorman-summons-phillis-wheatley-sinha/index.html
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