Happy Canada Day. In both official languages, and half an hour later in Newfoundland. Also, today is the feast day of Saint Oliver Plunkett (I was married in a church named after him, in Blackrock). Also, welcome to the deep summertime - enjoy it while it lasts these next eight weeks or so. And, finally, take stock: this is the second half of the year - with autumn and December ahead now - and the first day of the rest of your life. Well, okay, that last part was a bit much, but it is tempting to take it one day at a time, especially in the slowing laziness of this hottest and most humid of months. As for Canada - it's doing well - it had a brash Olympics, has an economic model the Tories have stolen, and has a few good poets, some darn fine film directors, actors and comedians, and world-class prose writers. Go on, Hug Shatner today, have a beaver's tail. Even, for a moment, imagine moving to Ottawa, world's safest, calmest capital - imagine skating on its canal.
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....
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