Just yesterday I chastised Dan Chiasson, and today he publicly recants:
We've come to imagine that there needs to be a traceable, obvious connection between "style" in art and subject matter. An art of the people better have lots of swear-words and spitting in it. And honking horns. An art of the intellect should be about Big Ideas. An art of theoretical density has got to be unintelligible. An art of great beauty should mention snow fields and sunsets. Art by Southerners should be full of dirt-roads and hounds. If this sounds parodic, read around in contemporary literature with my inventory in mind. Contemporary literature is parodic.
Not only that, but today's Slate also reviewed Richard Wilbur's new book and ended by quoting the last line of the poem I quoted yesterday. If they'd also mentioned Michael Donaghy instead of this Derek Walcott fellow, I'd think Jacob Weisberg was reading this blog.
Seriously, it's wonderful to see poetry given this kind of coverage in a major online news outlet when it isn't April. And it isn't at all silly to claim Derek Walcott to be "the greatest living English-language poet."
I forgot to provide a link the other day: Jilly Dybka's Fair Territory.
6:26:11 PM 
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