From Rich Villar:
Ugh, okay, enough metaphor. Here's precisely what I mean.
Acentos is right now formulating a plan for building an organization for Latino/a poets, something modeled after Cave Canem. One of the poets involved with the planning brought up an excellent point, which has had me thrown for a loop for quite a while, to the point where I've had to seriously rethink some things. What she addressed, more or less, was the need for vigilance. That in building an organization designed to remedy a historical slight (the overlooking of Latino poets), it is essential not to become the very same structure you criticize by virtue of your very existence. Couple that with a new book I'm reading, entitled The Revolution Will Not Be Funded, which argues that even the most well-meaning non-profits have become corporate caricatures of themselves, and you can see why my inner Keanu Reeves is currently muttering Whoa! to whoever will listen.
From Sheryl Luna:
This is an interesting conversation. I would like to add that one important thing for us to remember as U.S. Latino/a poets is that the work itself must come first. In a sense, ongoing discussions about Latino/as not getting enough attention with very little attention being to the work itself is problematic. Francisco [Aragon] has done a lot of work, but he tends to focus on connections more than strong work, and this in itself will not get Latino/a work anywhere in my opinion. We must support good work first and foremost. The new think-tank group El Labortorio out of Colorado hopes to put the focus on good strong writing first and foremost.
From Francisco Aragon:
I interpret the comment as saying: it is counter-productive to promote mediocre poetry by Latino/as. I don't think anyone would disagree with that. I know I wouldn't. Given that, what do we make of the comment below in light of what Letras Latinas is trying to do?
Is the writer of this comment suggesting Letras Latinas fold up shop; that its efforts do more harm than good? It borders on suggesting that---enough for me to write this post. Why am I bringing this up here? Because Letras Latinas' mission is one that has been articulated in good faith, and Letras Latinas is striving to do good by Latino poets & writers and welcomes reasoned feedback.
The most useful thing about the comment is that it has generated the question I pose as the title this post: "What constitutes 'strong' and 'good' work?" The comment doesn't specify what "strong" and "good work" means, nor give examples of (nor characterize) the work that led to the remark.
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Avril Lavigne's "Girlfriend" came on the radio yesterday (of course it did) as we drove home from the grocery store, and eight year-old Trystan made the point that this song has made her most popular album. "Yes, well," I said, "it's too bad it's not good, given her talents." Later, with some irritation, he dragged me over to his computer screen to show me the album ratings. "That still doesn't make it good," I said. He put his hands on his hips, exasperated: "It makes it POPUUULAAAR. And I like it. "
Had he asked--had it mattered to him--"so then what makes it not good?" I probably would have admitted that I'm just being snobby and that he shouldn't follow my lead.
But I know there's more at stake for me. That I was tempted to argue with an eight year-old. That what I find distasteful and disappointing in Lavigne's latest success is not its aesthetic failures, but its ethics. That what makes pop culture so catchy is also what makes it predictable, repetitive, iconographic, and ultimately traumatizing. That what is reiterated in its structures and in its forms is a seductive denial of reality, a fantastic nostalgic imaginary erotic monologuing, the cost of which, obviously, must be everything as you know it, given that living is so full of limitations.
That much as I'm loathe to admit it, I like my art good and good for me, thank you very much. What I love about that inner Keanu Reeves is that his sense of awe is almost infallible. He lacks the sort of discernment that would know how to build mainstream empires.
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How do you know you're on the margins? On the margins of what? Isn't there a mainstream in Latino poetry? Something that resides in the "popular" imagination as iconographic, self-reiterative, predictable, caricature-making, catchy? If I said: "you know, that Latino poet sitcom poetry" would you know what I mean?
I certainly don't mean any particular poet here. I mean something more profoundly generic.
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Except that maybe when you feel you're really down and out, the fastest way to get on the main highway is to hitch a ride on somebody's muffler. Or to pimp your ride a lot like theirs--especially when ya'll have already got so much in common. Only I hate that the art then becomes static, monolithic, and so quick to be perceived that way. Why is it that when readers--my students, say--pick up a book by a Latino poet, they think they already know what they're in for? There are giants in the industry, don't forget, novelists who have powerhouse agents and publishers behind them--they write poems too--and those are the poetry collections that sell inside the clubhouse. Nothing wrong with that. But readers' perceptions might be based on a mere handful of books.
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If I'm drawing on what I think is "good" and "strong" in poetry in general, I'd wish for a versatile art and a colossal diversity of (at least slightly iconoclastic) poets who were absolutely unwilling to position any one community effort against another. What Francisco Aragon has done, just about single-handedly with his many efforts, I think, is to create a stronger, more cohesive connective tissue (himself) between various established Latino poetry groups and organizations. He's worked hard to identify pre-published young writers and writers entering MFA programs and has helped them get their bearings in the publishing world and in the Latino writing communities through chapbook publication and word-of-mouth networking. He has (at last!) raised awareness in the poetry world about the rich diversity of work available to readers, should they choose to go looking. And he has provided venues, prizes opportunities, discussion forums, and visible publications where they didn't previously exist.
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Has he been discerning? If you've met the man you know he's incredibly discerning--that if you've gotten on his radar it's partly because he's got a sense of where you might fit into his vision for the wider world of Latino poetry down the road. He starts to imagine ways he might be able to light a fire under your derriere should you need one. And next to him, you probably need one. It's a little bit dizzying if you lack that kind of vision. It might make you want the world to be a bit smaller, a bit more manageable and "good," and to call that effort strong work and foremost.
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Well, that's a popular way to do things. It's become so popular to complain about the mediocrity of Latino poetry--to apologize, to assume we're not doing good work--that I hardly see how we stand to regain any sense of awe of the poetry we're writing without somebody calling even the most truly discerning among us Keanu Reeves. Oh we imagine he is, after all, such an easy target. The man (we are told) doesn't know how to buy a chair for himself.
And yet the man has become an empire.
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