Classical poem in cursive script, by Wang Wen. Wikimedia Commons.
By Jillian Towne, Assistant to the Professional Writing Program at Champlain College
Flipping through Burlington-area poet, writer, and professor T. Alan Broughton’s latest book of poetry, which was traditionally published through the Carnegie Melon University Press, one poem particularly caught my eye. Titled “How Poetry Nearly Died,” the poem addresses a situation in China during which poetry was outlawed by the government:
After the poets were killed, birds tried
to compensate and sang until they fell.
Too tired to fly, they littered the parks.
Stars winked out one by one, knowing
they’d never be compared to eyes again.
Leaves, roots and rocks looked alike,
and even the breezes went limp,
no longer stroked by metaphors.
The Emperor decreed that language
was reserved for his proclamations,
but when he spoke he choked on ashes.
Young girls waited by their windows
in the evening until they forgot what
they were waiting for, and mothers
in gardens below put ears to ground
hoping to hear the earthworms sing.
Soon everyone wore brown, and wine
tasted like muddy water. Somewhere
beyond the last village, a boy confused
by the first leaf of fall drifting in the wind
believed it could be a butterfly, imagined
the sound of butterfly and leaf in words,
and all the blind in the cities, stumbling
into light and rainbows, could see again.
Poem used with permission of T. Alan Broughton
As I read the poem, I wonder whether poetry really is in danger? As a self-publishing and print-on-demand initiative, is the Champlain College Publishing Initiative harming or helping? Is self-publishing the death of poetry, or a rebirth of creative and artistic freedom?
I visited Alan Broughton at his home in Burlington to see what a lifetime of writing and publishing poetry had taught him. As a poet myself, and someone involved in the inner workings of the Champlain College Publishing Initiative, I was curious to find out what he might have to say about the role of publishing, especially among the rapid changes we’re seeing now.
“Most of us that write poetry are fearful that it’s dying in a culture that’s totally obsessed with pop culture and big splashy things,” Broughton said. “Pop culture thrives on easy and quick.”
Knowledge of today’s audience directly translates into how Broughton goes about writing poems. “I work hard to make my poems accessible…a person should step in and think, ‘I think I get that,’ and then [the poem should] have the complexity to be something that slowly unwinds once they feel at home.”
Broughton’s ideas about the purpose of poetry resonated with me; the notion that a poem should welcome, comfort, and entice a reader while also causing them to keep coming back and reexamining the lines seems perfect to describe the experience that I hope to lend to my readers.
Broughton finds that while print-on-demand isn’t something that he’ll be exploring, it’s a “healthy” move for publishing. The old-school verses new-school publishing conversation is interesting. In one corner of the ring you’ve got old-school printing presses, editors, warehouses full of books, and in the other corner is instant-publication, a knowledge of the economy of waste, and the possibility of never selling a copy. What will this generation make of print-on-demand and self-publishing? What will become the new new-school?
Broughton was brought up in the old-school, print publishing system, and says that as “an old fogy—self publishing has always been called vanity press, looked at somewhat sneeringly.”
With more and more poetry self-publishing and available online, hazards abound. “There needs to be some sort of judgment process going into it— the traditional process is bruising and hard on your ego. With blogging [and other self-publishing forms], you’re making the decision,” Broughton says.
Broughton “believe[s] deeply in revision,” and finds that there is not the same sense of editorial process with new forms of publishing. “It takes 2-3 months generally for a magazine to respond… I’ve discovered that by taking it out of my hands for those months I’d get a rejection and I’d want to send them out again…when I go back I’ll suddenly see all these things that can be revised.” I agree with this point. Revision is healthy, necessary, and proof that you’re not the same bratty poet you were in freshmen year who thought that her poems were perfect and that teachers just didn’t understand where she was coming from. But is rejection necessary for revision? I’d like to think not. It seems to me that there is not a lack of revision in print-on-demand and self-publication; rather, that sense of revision must be much more self motivated. And, regardless of who is printing your book, the poets who are motivated enough to edit their work are the poets that traditional presses are going to be drawn toward, anyway. The responsibility has shifted from a press-assigned editor to the yourself, your best friends, and perhaps a professor or two, but the vitality of revision is still very much alive in what we do at CCPI.
With this process of self-revision and publication, who decides what is good? In the old school, writers with MFA’s who were properly publishing by proper presses and put into anthologies labeled “Best” by those presses were considered good. Broughton noted that while this system is imperfect and often turns out inferior work, he also felt that the process of academic review was necessary to determine worth. Now, poetry is available online, through independent publications, as well as in the more traditional formats. A recent article in The Chronicle of Higher Education, titled “The New Math of Poetry” suggests that if Sylvia Plath, Allen Ginsberg, and Robert Frost were to have self-published or printed in indie “zines,” we’d be reading completely different authors in our literature and poetry courses. It goes on to say: “The new math of poetry is driven not by reader demand for great or even good poetry but by the demand of myriads of aspiring poets to experience the thrill of “publication.” The article went on to mention with a tone of disgust (DISGUST!) that at the current rate, over 86 million poems would be published in the 21st century.
At first, this made me think that perhaps what we’re doing here is all wrong. With traditional publishing there is an “economy of waste” as Tim Brookes says, with bruised warehouse copies stacked, ripping and collecting dust until they are deemed unusable. Is there an economy of waste in this new form of publishing, too? How does one find “good” poetry amongst all of the poetry that is available? Does this redefine what “good” poetry even is? Does the wealth of poetry currently available indicate that poets will never be discovered, even though they are “published?” Do I have a future in a world filled with college students in English and Writing programs working on their chapbooks while jacked up on caffeine in the evenings?
Then, the urge to slap university press directors with copies of their own pretentious anthologies overwhelmed me. The concept that new forms of publishing produce a larger volume of poetry, and that this is worrisome seems barbaric to me. How can there be too much poetry? Stingy presses that are only interested in printing poems written by men and women who have paid thousands upon thousands of dollars to get a piece of paper that says they are a Master of Fine Arts should get off of their high horses already. If the new-school implies that the amount of poetry and poetic opportunity is increased, sign me up!
Broughton’s hope for younger poets is that there will be a future in traditional publishing, but he recognizes too that online and self-publishing poetry is an interesting and healthy move for writers, as it allows them to explore new avenues and technologies. He admits that when he is invited to have his work featured on websites that feature poets and authors, many of which also offer self-publishing or print-on-demand services, he is happy to take part. In his opinion, the Champlain College Publishing Initiative is helping young writers to develop a support system and a method for promotion, much like a small, independent press would.
I think what is important is to remain vigilant toward old and new school alike. The old-school approach of denying publication based on what degree the poet holds seems archaic and in need of an update. Likewise, print-on-demand and self-publishing poets and writers should be sure to take themselves as seriously, if not more so, than those being published traditionally. Revision is key. The editorial process is key. Tim Brookes’ mantra of bearing in mind your own self-worth is key. As Broughton said: “no matter what form of publishing you’ve got to put the energy into you.” Self-publishing, to me, represents a healthful and energetic progression toward an entirely new mode of self-expression: where is the harm in that?
