The BBC lied. Perhaps not shocking news, but it should be. Those three letters (two the same) once symbolised - along with wartime propaganda - a sense of integrity, a sense of British decency. No more. A few years back, the elegant, if somewhat worthy film Quiz Show told the story of how the Golden Age of American TV in the Eisenhower Era was exposed for the sham it was - about as honest as a two-bit carnival in Idaho - but the story seemed remote from contemporary experience - we all knew, or thought we knew, that the Wizard of Oz was trumped up quackery, and that grand illusions and narratives were the order of the day; unflappable, cynical, we took our daily doses of TV with grains of salt leavening the laudanum - in a blissful opium dream, unwilling to consider the truth, or consequences. Well. If institutions like the BBC fix their contests and call-ins, for better TV, what else is fixed, in British society? Dossiers for war? Reports on police culpability in the shooting of innocents? Dear me. Everything is broken, as Dylan once sang. Say it ain't so, Joe, as the other song goes. But why so much dishonesty at the Beeb? I'd suggest one of the signature styles of the times is a signal failing of integrity, especially among the competitive younger generations. You see it in the suits and ties and purple shirts of Estate Agents everywhere, beetling about town in their tiny clown cars, jumping out to lie like a snake-oil huckster in Montana and sell you a subsiding shed for a mansion. They lie to us, to make money, to get ahead. Blair lied (ho hum), the spin doctors lied (yawn), now Comic Relief seems to have been involved in sexed-up phone-ins. What's next? Don't tell me someone might start fixing poetry contests, rigging juries, and promoting mediocre talents simply for fame and fortune? Resist the temptations of the BBC!
When you open your mouth to speak, are you smart? A funny question from a great song, but also, a good one, when it comes to poets, and poetry. We tend to have a very ambiguous view of intelligence in poetry, one that I'd say is dysfunctional. Basically, it goes like this: once you are safely dead, it no longer matters how smart you were. For instance, Auden was smarter than Yeats , but most would still say Yeats is the finer poet; Eliot is clearly highly intelligent, but how much of Larkin 's work required a high IQ? Meanwhile, poets while alive tend to be celebrated if they are deemed intelligent: Anne Carson, Geoffrey Hill , and Jorie Graham , are all, clearly, very intelligent people, aside from their work as poets. But who reads Marianne Moore now, or Robert Lowell , smart poets? Or, Pound ? How smart could Pound be with his madcap views? Less intelligent poets are often more popular. John Betjeman was not a very smart poet, per se. What do I mean by smart?
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