This Poem Tastes Funny

Recently, I received a package in the mail from a professor at my MFA program. It's a poster advertising a reading to celebrate 25 years of the Tom McGrath Visiting Writers Series. The reader, looking thoughtful with a stem of glasses on his lips, is Billy Collins.

I laughed when I unrolled the poster. I don't like Billy Collins. I mean, I really don't like Billy Collins. I'm sure every poet in my MFA program knew that I was adamantly against Collins' brand of poetry (I know the professor who sent me the poster knew—he was my thesis chair). If they didn't know, they could read about it—the first section of my thesis is partly devoted to critiquing Collins, particularly his use of humor.

Now, I'm not saying that Collins' is “wrong” in his use of humor or anything like that. My argument revolves around the idea that he really doesn't try as hard as he could. Sure, a reader could interpret one of his poems in x amount of ways, but one, I think, doesn't really have to apply themselves too much to “get it.” In my research for my brief discussion of Collins, I came across an interview where he said that “poetry should be transparent” and that “there's an awful lot of bad poetry...about 87 percent of the poetry in America is not worth reading.” One can assume anything that is not transparent, not easy to get on the first read, not difficult to understand, is not worth reading. Well, that's excluding an awful lot.

What Collins' does not talk about, and what seems to get lost in a lot of discussion about “good” and “bad” poetry, is taste. The literary theory class I'm in pokes at my brain and makes me want to ask, “But, does taste really exist?” And yes, it does. It has to exist. If there were no such thing as taste, Collins would love that 87% of poetry he currently dislikes. If there were no taste, I would like Collins' poetry.

But where does taste come from? How do I know what I like and what I don't? Saying, “I like making the familiar unfamiliar,” is true, but, that seems to be Collins' modus operandi too, though there are different results. Can I just say that my gut tells me what I like? Can I say that growing up in “flyover country” makes my imagination work harder? I don't know. These are questions I can't answer.

I don't know how many poems in the world I'd call “awful,” but I don't think 87% is close. I couldn't even count that number of poems. Collins' taste must be narrow in scope though if 87% are not worth reading. 87% of people who buy poetry from chain bookstores, such as Barnes & Noble and Borders, probably buy Collins' books. He has broken sales records for poetry (I know, this is hard to believe, it's poetry after all). Every time I have been to a chain bookstore, I have seen Collins' name staring at me from a handful of book spines. My professor told me over 400 people came to hear Collins' read. Almost every reading I attended while I was a MFA student, there were around 25 people, maximum. Does this mean I have bad taste? Am I missing something here?

I will give Collins credit though—I am happy that poetry is still being read other than by those of us in the Academy or graduate students in English. One of the things that poetry, or literature for that matter should do, is entertain. Many people are entertained by Collins' poems. That's especially telling today, where electronic media dominates the entertainment landscape.

So, I'm going to put the poster up in my cubicle. I'm not sure what my professor told Collins about me, if anything, or if he read my thesis introduction. Collins was nice enough to sign it though, in what appears as a cheerful scribble. This reminds me that I stole a poem idea from Collins and even got the poem published. I hope it's the most awful poem ever written.