Schmoozing with the poets October 12, 1985

  

I woke up late this morning.

It might have helped if I had gone to sleep earlier than seven. But alas, these weekend blues are destroying me.

I’ve been overworked for a while. But only last night did I realize just how much I need a vacation.

Part of this has to do with the news that Orson Wells died and all the talk about his younger days, his stretched-out genius he had when he first started in entertainment. And I stayed up to hear all about his life and why people think he’s great.

While the media accounts tell us about how much Hollywood loved him, in truth, few people in Hollywood actually did.

He was too much his own man, and as in politics, the entertainment world revolves around a hierarchy of who owes who, and if you’re too independent, people don’t trust you.

Wells bucked too many established Hollywood doctrines, and so never really was accepted, and his success despite this made the situation worse. No one could forgive him for being successful without the help of the Hollywood elite.

Although he proved too powerful for them to destroy, they could never forgive him.

Unfortunately, Hollywood isn’t the only industry where this kind of thing takes place. If you don’t kowtow to the system, the system eventually works to destroy you.

Wells is being honored today because he managed to transcend the system of petty people, his unique genius allowing him to thrive and more, overcome. He created masterpieces that could not be denied.

Unfortunately for those like us with far less genius (if any at all), the way to get ahead is not to buck the system, but to play the game.

This is something all artists should know.

This is why Michael has failed with other poets, in particular with those groups of poets he would most like to be accepted by. He wants to be among them, yet at the same time, separated from the intense favoritism that comes with being together with them.

In some ways, I’m worse. I tend to see the artistic social scene as a waste of time. All I want to do is write.

I like other poets and writers more for their art than their gift of gab. So, when it comes to a choice between socializing and creating, I create. I want to be around other writers because they inspire me, especially if they happened to be better at the craft than I am. I take them as a challenge and try to bring myself up to their level.

I’m also aware that the social scene doesn’t guarantee success.

When I first arrived at William Paterson College, the predominant literary figures there were Michael Reardon, Joel Lewis, and the editorial staff of the literary magazine. Lewis tended to be a prominent socialize. Reardon was more studious and the darling of the English Department, seen as the next great poetic talent. But Reardon got too heavily into socializing, taking up with the St. Marks poetry scene in Manhattan where he and Lewis encountered the upper crust of the Beat scene, including the likes of Allen Ginsberg. Lewis was particularly adept at flattering these superstars of the underground poetry scene and playing the proper political games that allowed him to walk among them, huge names in the Beat movement that contributed to his magazine and gave him credibility few poets could get on their own. Reardon, a super star on campus, became a minor celebrity at St. Marks, though made his living teaching back here at the community college.

Michael envies their success, and would like to be part of that cabala, but they would not invite him, partly because of their own inflated sense of importance, but largely because Michael is too much like Orson Wells, wanting to be apart, but also wanting to maintain his personal status as a Maverick.

The irony in all this is that Lewis and Reardon have invited me instead, and I have the Groucho Marx philosophy in which “I don’t want to be a member of club who would have someone like me as a member.”

I ought to be flattered. I know there is much I could learn from Reardon and Lewis, who are indeed great poets, but I’m put off by the social aspect, this need to schmooze, to waste time I might better use creating something.

Move over Orson, I just hope I have enough talent to make it anyway.

 

1985 Menu


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