Social media, bullying and poetry critique
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| The business of words keeps me awake... |
Then I saw the critique by Kia Alice Groom and Sonya Vatomsky – the two commenters on Facebook who were opposed to the language I used in the poem – posted at their online literary magazine, Quaint. That led to my discovery of their personal comments on Twitter. Both Groom and Vatomsky were dabbling in what is known as "subtweeting," one of the methods used by cyber-bullies. Rather than include my Twitter name in their comments to address me directly, they were doing so among their followers. I found it cowardly to personally attack me and not have the courage to include me in their actual bullying. That's when I decided to withdraw my apology and informed Georgia Center for the Book to keep the poem on Facebook.
Both Groom and Vatomsky said they did not know my work or me – I was just going to be the next privileged cis white male who needed to be taken down a peg or two. Ironically, they overlooked their own white privilege while claiming ownership and possession not only of Sexton's body of work, but her physical body as well. Their colonization of Sexton is far more patronizing, dehumanizing and silencing of the woman they claim is a "dead girl" victim of misogyny. Referring to Sexton as a girl, infantilizing her to make her part of their coterie, removes her power as an artist and woman. As they have similarly accused the poem, Vatomsky and Groom graft their own words, actions and thoughts onto Sexton also robbing her of her agency.
Perhaps the most damning tweet was in response to poet Emily Van Duyne: "Well, it's clear you don't get his metaphor. Probably no white man should ever speak again. That would fix this." Groom's response: "True." The wish to silence an artist – no matter their gender, race, orientation, faith – speaks volumes. It's a dangerous mindset and flies in the face of Vatomsky and Groom's argument. When another poet, Hannah Stephenson, objected to Groom and Vatomsky's language, they were both quick to claim their comments weren't personal. All evidence to the contrary.
Yes, the poem is open for interpretation, but Vatomsky and Groom go much further. The parsing of every line and metaphor in search of misogyny is one thing, but the duo's appropriation of the poem to play out some twisted necrophilia on Sexton is quite another.
The most disgusting part of the critique is the bizarre, sexualized imagery created by Vatomsky and Groom of exhuming Sexton's corpse. The use of the words “pristine” and “tight covers” seems particularly problematic, but are just further examples of a deliberate misreading of the poem. Both those words belong to the book selling trade, especially used and antiquarian books. Pristine is defined as a book in original condition, unchanged in any way. Tight covers are used to describe a book that's binding has not loosened to the point that pages will fall out. I plead guilty to the love of rare books and its nomenclature. Even the image of Sexton autographing the book is declared too intimate and the further sexualization of a dead woman. This section of the post goes beyond critique and into grotesque, craven autopsy. My "saving" Sexton was little more than an effort to "fuck, save and dismember" her, according to Groom.
The poem also, according to the assessment, tries to rob Sexton of her agency to commit suicide. If I were a time traveller, would I try to prevent Sexton from killing herself? Yes. Just as I would try to prevent someone – anyone – else from doing the same. The mind-boggler here is that general care and concern, according to Groom and Vatomsky, are just further examples of a man dehumanizing and humiliating a woman. According to Groom, suicide intervention shows a "lack of regard for women, and particularly for women poets." I wonder if the same holds true for my wanting to keep John Berryman and Paul Celan alive for a few more years?
If this is contemporary criticism and I'm out of touch with it, I will happily stay out of touch forever. This incident has also taught me a lesson that a personal experience doesn't always translate and that some people will interpret your experience to match their own solipsism.
As a gay man from blue-collar rural Georgia who is often dismissed from certain literary circles because he is not an academic, I am well aware of how demoralizing marginalization is – perhaps this is why my work so often attempts to give voice where there has been none. I will continue to give that voice, and precisely because of this kerfluffle I will continue to do so loudly. Thank you for reading this.
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Comments
You know I love that poem, and you know that I love you. I love the imagery of Anne Sexton signing that beautiful book. I love that you want to save books from an uncertain future. I love that you want to save Anne Sexton`s voice and I love that you will not have your voice silenced.
Anything they had to say that could have been constructive immediately was tainted by their immaturity and hateful rhetoric. It`s hard to take a "critic" seriously when all they do is personally attack someone.
Like I said yesterday, I pity them. Outrage is exhausting and it makes you mean. But they seem to want to be mean. That just makes me pity them more.
Love as always, sweetie.
I would have been much more interested in the first line of your poem, an expansion upon that.
I know it is hard to feel ganged up on, but unwittingly or not your poem features violence against women (I know, I know your defense here but do not think it is very strong, violence as a metaphor is still violence), and this is a hot button issue, as it should be, correct?
You mention yourself as a member of marginalized groups, would you not rally if you saw a poem subjugating a group of which you identified? If not, I am sad for you.
You appear to now be portraying yourself as the victim, and I understand that you must be surprised and upset at the reaction to your poem, but please understand you've written something larger than yourself that participates in a tradition where women are treated as objects.
Your poem no longer stands for just your poem now. Be surprised at the reaction, but is there not space to learn from it as well? I had empathy for you when I read the initial thread, but this self-pitying because people are calling you names seems unfortunate. A real lesson seemed in the making for you, and now you are resistant because people are angry. Can't both exist: that you are wrong and that they are name callers?
I know you are an individual and not the patriarchy embodied. I know you have feelings and are probably hurt and surprised.
But you are not the victim here. Please understand that.
But no one would say that about me, would they? Since I'm a woman, I can write about violence to women, right? Just not to men or children, and while I'm at it I'd better not try to look at anything in the world empathetically, because that would *surely* lead to a world view so inclusive I was allowed to include myself...
Sorry; I generally try not to rant (oh, who am I kidding?). It's just...the stupid...it hurts my head...
Those people need to go get a life.
Malcolm
--JP
It's also possible for someone to disagree with you and critique your work -- at that point, you reflect on what you've done and why people might be upset by it. And judging from some tweets and FB posts by Collin himself, he clearly has no interest in hearing criticism of any kind.
It's cowardly. You are cowards.
Josh Fernandez
fernandez.josh@gmail.com
Well, what do you know.
Not only does the human race have to suffer the imaginary slights, perpetual offenses and sanctimony of fundamentalist clerics and their militant adherents.
We must also endure the noisome terror of their secular equivalent.
Your appeal to some vague moral authority and demand for Collin's repentant 'self reflection' is as about as legitimate as the fatwas issued against writers who broke the mullah's blasphemy laws.
Ignore the harpies, Collin.
I liked your poem and, and, so much, your reasoned response to the attacks. I would have been sobbing on the floor and cursing for days, but you are obviously keeping it together.
Oh, and a question came to mind, why do the heathen rage?
You ordered a rare, pristine edition of a signed copy of one of Sexton's books. You weren't there when it was delivered. You "metaphorically" rush to "save" the book, to get it into your hands. You turn over the delivery slip, get the package, the outside is wrapped in tape, which you cut with a car key. Inside the box, the book is wrapped in newspaper and masking tape. In "rescuing" this book, you muse on how you wish you could have similarly "rescued" or saved Sexton herself. You weren't able to do that, but you were at least able to pick up your copy of her book, which you obviously treasure and will take care of, as the poet would have wanted you to do. That's a rather flat, workman-like reading of it, but it's the gist of it. I don't think the cyber-stone-hurlers understood the poem at its most basic level.
I once ordered a rare copy of an anthology of poems that was lost by the post office. I always remember with a certain angst how it was lost, so I can relate.
Ellen Lindquist