Permission to be Bored: A Response

Mr. Stannard,

Having read your criticism of Permission to Breathe by Michael Laskey, I feel the need to be likewise critical of your article, not necessarily for that I disagree with you and the reasons supplied, but rather, much like yourself, I am seized by a need to be equal parts petulant and thoughtful.

I do agree with you that criticism is a difficult matter, that sometimes it might simply be better to pass a book on to someone else. A critic must necessarily be involved with the work and knowledgable in order to provide a well-rounded article; he or she must give the proper consideration before reaching a conclusion. I understand your frustrations, in that you seem torn in your duty to friendship but eager to make clear your position on poetry. This is commendable, but in the same instant one need question your supposed rational, your definition of poetry that would exclude the bearing of Laskey's work.

You seem one to favor a new and vital poetry, something that breaks through old barriers, stretches the limits of language with a revitalized poetical flourish. This is also commendable; however, the consequence is to say that Laskey's work is not that, or at least not to your liking. You make an emotionally charged argument but neglect the emotion in Laskey's own work. His poetry might be familiar, bound up neatly into succinct phrases, but this is a form of his choosing, perhaps a calm and wise reflection upon his own heartbreak.

Contemporary poetry seems largely involved with raw emotion, and I can not help but consider it a horrid voyeurism in other poets that would delight in another's pain with their lips pressed hungrily to a bleeding wound. If Laskey's work was this, tumultuous and pain-lashed through every syllable, would you deem it proper poetry?