Paglia on poetry

I remember discussing college majors with a friend. I was an English major. He, an avid reader, was not, chiefly because he "didn't want to take something he enjoyed and turn it into work." I chose English, I said, because I got to spend four years reading. And if I could have found a career in which I did nothing but read, I would have happily embraced it.

Alas, after spending a good part of my senior year writing a thesis on James Joyce, I knew pursuing a career in English would entail a great deal more than just reading: I would be expected to write, too. And academic writing truly sucks most of the joy out of a work.

Which brings me to Camille Paglia's latest book, Break, Blow, Burn, a collection of 43 poems, each accompanied by an essay. The book is meant to introduce the general reader to poetry.

But does writing about poetry dim poetry's luster? Yes, says John Derbyshire in his review Paglia's book.

For this poetry lover, it was a glimpse of Hell. And what is burning in that hell is our poetry, for a thousand years the greatest glory of the English-speaking people, but now dead, smothered under the horrid rotten mass of literary academicism. We must have done something very terrible to have our birthright taken from us, to see it suffocated in dust like this.

Yes, but. I've always found that concomitant with the joy of reading is the joy of sharing. I'm one of those pests who, upon reading something I love, immediately want those near and dear to me to read it too. Then I want to know what they think of it. Isn't Paglia doing just that?

For example, reading about Paglia's book here inspires The Big Trunk to share some of his favorite poems.

And, pace Mr. Derbyshire, Paglia has made a career out of dissing the academy's rather stultified view of literature in favor of reading the literature for its own sake.