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As I write, it is June, four months before the fall Arts & Letters will be printed and ready for distribution in November. When I count back to issue one, I am astonished to realize that Arts & Letters debuted only fifteen months ago, in March of 1999.

Since our first year, as promised, we have published an eclectic range of literature, commentary, and artwork, featuring contributors both new and distinguished. I am pleased to announce that Robert Gibb has won a Pushcart Prize for his poem “Folding the Fox” published in our fall 1999 issue and scheduled for reprinting in the fall anthology The Pushcart Prize XXV: Best of the Small Presses, 2001 Edition. Congratulations to Gibb for this honor.

The Arts & Letters tradition of excellence continues in this our fourth issue, which includes new work by Don Mee Choi, Xue Di, Karen Kunc, Charles Simic, Liz Waldner, and Miller Williams, among others. Readers will enjoy Denise Low’s recollection of the Bardo “Death Journey” of novelist William Burroughs, accompanied by remarkable images of Burroughs by his official photographer Jon Blumb (whose photograph of the Bardo bonfire is featured on our cover). Edward Bok Lee’s interview with Xue Di provides insight into the Chinese dissident poet’s work in exile but also his ongoing connection to contemporary China. Kim Hye-sun is a contemporary poet who, according to her translator Don Mee Choi, does not receive significant attention in Korea, where poetry by men is taken more seriously. Keith Hendrix conducts a jazzy interview with Charles Simic, whose life and poetry are a volatile mix of U.S. and European influences.

And then there is Dinty Moore’s eyewitness account of Nelson Algren’s shorts.

     

*

 

This summer, as I write, I am thinking again about Dana Gioia’s Atlantic Monthly essay “Can Poetry Matter?” (May 1991). Actually, I’ve been thinking about that essay for the last decade—a proper span of time to reflect upon an inquisitor’s question and attempt a response. Like many polemical essayists, Gioia was both right and wrong depending upon your point of view.

Gioia wrote that one could “see a microcosm of poetry’s current position by studying its coverage in The New York Times,” where the lack of coverage reflected “the opinion that although there is a great deal of poetry around, none of it matters very much to readers, publishers, or advertisers—to anyone, that is, except other poets.” Essentially, Gioia’s viewpoint came down to two arguments: 1) that only other poets valued poetry; and 2) that poetry lacked commercial or political clout. What mattered was measured by numbers of books sold and how much (or in this case, how little) the culture invested in poetry. Other arts were represented by concert halls, museums, and fine arts centers. Symphonies, exhibitions, and the ballet attracted millions of dollars in private foundation and government support, drew thousands of patrons, and received significant coverage in newspapers, magazines, and even television. In the literary realm alone, poetry was unimportant compared to novels, which might have tens or hundreds of thousands of copies in print, compared to a book of poems which might be published in an edition of fewer than one thousand copies. Who among poets could stand againt Stephen King, or Joyce Carol Oates?

Who can argue with Gioia? The new Mapplethorpe exhibit will “matter” more than the contemporary reading series at the public library. Mapplethorpe will generate a hundred times more money, more media attention, and more attendance than the poetry series will. And the numbers will prove what matters in our contemporary culture. Gioia granted that individual poets might have lucrative and influential positions in academia, but in the general commercial and political realm, where numbers represented sales and opinion polls, poetry did not matter.

     

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In March, Arts & Letters celebrated its second annual spring festival, featuring Miller Williams, Judith Ortiz Cofer, Jaimy Gordon, Billy Collins, Juergen Strunck, and Marion Dane Bauer. Attendance at readings ranged from fifty to one hundred people. Strunck and Gordon worked closely with our university’s creative writing and arts students, while Marion Dane Bauer worked with children, local public school teachers, and the university’s teachers-in-training. The general public attended workshops, lectures, and exhibitions, traveling to Milledgeville from throughout Georgia, and from as far away as Alabama, Florida, South Carolina, North Carolina, Virginia, and Memphis, Tennessee. In all, a few hundred people’s lives were enriched by the festival.

In May, we hosted our first Arts & Letters Creative Writing Workshops, featuring Bret Lott, Margaret Gibson, and Dinty Moore, as well as the A&L editorial staff. Again, our numbers were more intimate, but writers from thirteen different states and the District of Columbia made the trip to Milledgeville. These men and women ranged from teachers at colleges and high schools to a semi-retired member of the diplomatic corps, a retired lawyer-businessman, and a North Dakota poet, farmhand, and oil rig worker.

This year, as we publish our fourth and fifth issues, Arts & Letters will have paid regular contributors and contest judges about $10,000 in honoraria. Our 1999 and 2000 prize winners in fiction, poetry, and drama will have received awards totaling $6,000. That’s $16,000 to Arts & Letters writers since the spring of 1999. If I were to total up the honoraria to visiting writers, writers-in-residence, and special workshops faculty, that figure would nearly quadruple. Even so, compared to financial figures associated with the Atlanta Symphony or High Museum (not to mention such institutions as the Joffrey Ballet or New York Metropolitan Museum of Art), Arts & Letters and the programs we sponsor do not matter.

 

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In 1991, Dana Gioia lamented that the general public did not read or value poetry anymore. He argued that, although individual poets were never best-sellers (despite exceptional sales by such poets as E. A. Robinson, Carl Sandburg, and Robert Frost), readers eagerly awaited the latest edition of Louis Untermeyer’s or Oscar Williams’s famous anthologies of poetry published in the first half of the Twentieth Century. At the end of his essay, Gioia made six “modest proposals,” all of which were directed towards ways of making poetry more sensitive and more accessible to a larger public audience.

There is a large part of me that wanted back then and wants even now to agree with Gioia. But whenever I reread his essay, I am uneasy with the way his argument focused on poetry’s unimportance to the larger and more powerful forces of advertisers, publishers, and the commercial media. Furthermore, Gioia reveals his nostalgia for the modernist era. He concedes that poets never really had a “mass audience,” but he is more impressed with the way they had created in the first half of the Twentieth Century an audience that included a “cross-section of artists and intellectuals, including scientists, clergymen, educators, lawyers, and, of course, writers.” Gioia longed for that elite audience who “constituted a literary intelligentsia, made up mainly of nonspecialistists [presumably those artists, intellectuals, scientists, clergymen, educators, lawyers, and “of course, writers”], who took poetry as seriously as fiction and drama.”

I think that, finally, Gioia’s idea of what mattered was determined first by how many people bought poetry books and literary journals; and second, given that the numbers for poetry and the other literary arts would never challenge the “mass audience” of popular culture, by how many of the right people cared about poetry (and presumably other marginalized artistic forms). If you were the editor of The New York Times Book Review, a Nobel Prize-winning scientist, or a priest at St. John’s, you mattered.

Lee LaMarr told me that his week in Milledgeville for the May workshops was “life-changing.” That man’s story, however, did not appear in The New York Times. His story did not even appear in The Atlanta Journal & Constitution. Lee is just one man from North Dakota.

What finally bothers me about Dana Gioia’s essay is this: At the heart of his arguments, Lee LaMarr does not matter.

 

*

 

At the May 2000 Creative Writing Workshops, Arts & Letters awarded four full-tuition ($599) fellowships to Jeff Bens of North Carolina, Elizabeth Kerlikowske of Michigan, John McKernan of West Virginia, and Elly Williams of Maryland. Both the Arts & Letters spring festival and May workshops will continue in 2001. Both matter.

In this issue, I am proud to recognize our 2000 Arts & Letters prizes winners and honorable mention selections. In poetry, Frances Mayes selected poems by Ann Pelletier as our poetry winner. In addition, Mayes singled out poems for honorable mention by Mary Elizabeth Parker, Jane R. Shippen, Anthony Russell White, and Margaret Young. In fiction, judge Janet Kauffman chose for honorable mention stories by Andraya Dolbee and Austin Ratner which appear in this issue. Kauffman chose Harry Bloom’s short story “Shapes” as the winner of our second annual competition.

I want our readers to know the story behind Harry Bloom, who passed away in 1996. Harry taught for many years at SUC Oneonta in New York state, where he devoted his life to teaching, specializing in the English Romantics and the American Renaissance, then later in his career offering courses in Hemingway and Faulkner. Although he published a novel in 1959 (Sorrow Laughs) and never stopped writing, he did not publish again, focusing instead on his commitment to teaching. Before his death, he and his wife collected a book of his short prose pieces and she promised to try to publish these stories. Over the past four years, Harry Bloom’s wife, Dorothy Bloom, has edited and submitted her husband’s fiction to literary publishers. Harry Bloom’s prize winning story is one of those pieces.

Of course, given Dana Gioia’s argument, Bloom’s story does not matter.

 

*

 

Our poetry and fiction winners receive a $1,000 prize, and they and our final judges will also be our guests October 27-29 for our first Arts & Letters prizes weekend.

I am also pleased to announce that our final judge in drama, Christopher Durang, has selected “Starfish Memories” by Roy Sorrels, whose one-act play will appear in the spring 2001 issue of Arts & Letters. The editors are planning to produce the play at the spring Arts & Letters festival, March 14-17, 2001, as part of the university’s one-act play festival.

     

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I want to thank Christopher Durang, Janet Kauffman, and Frances Mayes for their careful reading and judgment. I apologize to them if their hard work does not matter.

I hope that our judges, our contributors, and our readers can join with the editors of Arts & Letters to help spread the word about what matters. Tell the editor at your newspaper. Tell your local librarian. Tell the owner of your local bookstore. Tell the National Endowment for the Arts. Here are dates again to remember:

     

October 27-28, 2000: The Arts & Letters Prizes Weekend

Arts & Letters #4 published

March 14-17, 2001: The Arts & Letters Spring Festival

Arts & Letters #5 published

May 21-26, 2001: The Arts & Letters Creative Writing Workshops

 

Tell your neighbors. They don’t even have to be poets or writers.

 

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