The Art in Odd Places Indianapolis exhibit, the Indianapolis Museum of Art opened The Office of Art Grievances with two locations in the downtown exhibit space. The project provided a fun way for patrons to tell art curators and programmers of the city’s prestigious museum what frustrates them about art.
According to event promotional materials, complaints filed would be processed and attempted to be remedied. All complaints would then be “permanently filed.”
“The project creates a feedback loop between audience and institution, ” museum representatives wrote, “and an opportunity to examine the things about art that cause us distress and angst.”
Distress and angst. Not only does art cause distress and angst, it’s often born out of those same conundrums in the artist herself. In other words, without distress and angst would there even be art? But if artists deal with their inner turmoil through their expressions on the stage, canvas, or paper, how does the art patron or consumer deal with his distress and angst?
And what about poetry specifically? Surely the line would wrap around the city if there were an Office of Poetry Grievances?
I decided to find out.
On a recent sunny morning, I opened up my own little Office of Poetry Grievances right in the back room of our home by asking this simple question on Facebook:
Do you hate poetry? Why? Be honest, but be nice. If you could file a formal complaint with The Office of Poetry Grievances, what would your chief beef with poetry be?
I’ll admit I was nervous about the post. In my narrow-mindedness, I thought only poetry detractors would show up. I doubted my limited mediation skills could handle a barrage. But what happened instead surprised me.
True, a couple of poetry haters came. I hesitate to call them that, though, because they were just being honest. One friend, an engineer, called poetry “an inefficient use of words.” When I tried to remedy her complaint by sharing a sparse poem I thought was also just funny, she said it was “annoying.”
That same engineer later recalled a childhood rhyme she used to sing in school, “going to first and your pants start to burst . . . ”
“I thought that was funny, ” she said. “Is that considered poetry?”
I said yes, I thought that could be considered poetry—albeit crude. I considered her complaint resolved and permanently filed it.
Another friend lodged this grievance against poetry: “If it can’t go on a spreadsheet, I will never understand it.”
I offered her this haiku by Dave Gledhill:
Work is a prison
filled with white spreadsheet walls
and blank, empty cells.
When I didn’t hear back from her, I filed her complaint, too. Permanently.
The surprise came, though, by how many poetry lovers showed up. Friends and relatives I didn’t even know liked poetry defended its merits, including my own sister—though she did confess that she “sometimes think(s) people are trying too hard to be weird and deep.” A former coworker told me she writes poetry. I never knew. And many others I did know loved the genre lodged real grievances about the ways poetry is misused—“opaque, off-putting, poetry I can’t find my way into . . . makes me feel dull, ” one friend wrote. Some issued grievances against the culture of poetry, the way poets read poems aloud “really slowly and oddly, emphasizing words in strange places” or against the “tedious approaches” to teaching poetry. Some lamented poetry of the past, longing for its language and form and soul.
I responded to each complaint, trying to listen and ask questions and providing suggestions but not answers. When the discussion died down, I realized how many conversations I could have with people now around the issue of poetry, conversations that began as grievances. And I marveled over how very much like poetry itself was this process of waiting and listening and responding.
At the IMA’s Office of Art Grievances, there were forms and lines and desks. It was formal. It was ironic. At my Office of Poetry Grievance, it was all about the rhythm that emerged from the give and take of the conversation, and way we danced around the comment thread, engaging then retreating, embracing yet being careful not to step on each others toes.
Even our complaints became a poetry of their own.
Photo by Gemma Stiles, Creative Common license via Flickr. Post by Charity Singleton Craig, co-author of On Being a Writer: 12 Simple Habits for a Writing Life that Lasts.
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Do you have a list of “poetry grievances”? Maybe it’s time for you to explore poetry through the gentle guidance of NEA Fellow and published poet Tania Runyan.
How to Read a Poem offers delightful advice on how to explore poetry for enjoyment and meaning. Uses images like the mouse, the hive, the switch (from the Billy Collins poem)—to guide readers into new ways of understanding poems. Excellent teaching tool. Anthology included.
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Monica Sharman says
The “chief beef” made me smile!
I read “conversations that began as grievances” and right away thought of this:
http://janefriedman.com/2014/10/30/dealing-with-critics/
“Born to Excel” was the perfect response to the spreadsheet grievance!
Such wisdom in this: “I responded to each complaint, trying to listen and ask questions and providing suggestions but not answers.”
Charity, this is one of the best posts I’ve ever read! It stimulates other ideas, too. For example, what if I opened an Office of Parenting Grievances? Or an Office of Students’ Grievances (good thing I have only 2 students)?
Charity Singleton Craig says
Monica – Thanks so much for your comment. The whole exercise was really interesting, because I wasn’t necessarily intending to hold court when I first posted on Facebook. I just wanted to understand people’s legitimate concerns. But before long, I realized that I had a real opportunity.
I love your expansion of the idea. I think our society currently hits two extremes when it comes to discussion – both products of an online culture. We are either too nice — all agreement, likes, +1s. Or we are horrible to each other — snarky, sarcastic, biting. I think people are hungry for real conversation. I see some of that going on, but I am excited for how much more there could be after this experience. Yes, let’s open all kinds of Grievance Offices, and really listen to people before we file them permanently! 🙂
Monica Sharman says
Forgot to mention—reading the title and then seeing that photo cracked me up!
Maureen Doallas says
Love this, Charity. I hope your new office never closes.
Grieve not thy words be
bitter spent upon a like
of two or three. When we
from Facebook take a hike,
we make a life of poetry.
Charity Singleton Craig says
Excellent, Maureen! You’ve expressed this beautifully. I hope it never closes either. I think when we hear each other’s complaints, really listen, then we don’t necessarily convince each other of anything. But maybe we say this with our openness: I hadn’t thought of it that way before. Or, I know you better because you’ve shared that.
Ironically, I think a lot of poetry exists in this kind of openness.
jerry says
Brilliant.
Lane M Arnold says
Somehow I missed the FaceBook dialogue on poetry…how it creates tension in its presence (or absence) of words.
You made me rethink what delights me and disappoints me about the art of words in poetry.
Charity, be sure to update your resume…you are the official Office of Poetry Grievance ambassador.
Charity Singleton Craig says
Thanks, Lane! I’m sorry you missed the conversation, too. I think you would have added a lot. Now that you are thinking about your delights and disappointments, what grievance would you file against poetry? I’m listening!
SimplyDarlene says
Oh my land! So much of these grievances ring true in my house. My engineer husband detests poetry for the same reasons as your friend… he says all he needs to know is “Roses are red, violets are blue, I love you”… and the crude “heading for first-burst, rounding for home-foam” one you mentioned!
I agree with the deep and weird stuff too. Sometimes I just don’t get it, but that’s okay. Most folks just don’t get me. And fyi, I’m not putting up a grievance box because my motto is: if you don’t like it, go away. 🙂
Thanks for this piece, miss Charity!
Charity Singleton Craig says
Darlene – Some people expressed a similar sentiment about their own poetry over on my Facebook thread. I have a feeling that poets often feel marginalized if they are operating outside of a nurturing environment, and a little of the “take it or leave it” is probably necessary for long-term survival!
Any complaints you would like to lodge? I have my pen and form ready!
Jen says
This is pretty great. And I certainly agree with the frustration over the poetry culture trying to be “weird and deep.”
On a similar note, I’ll never forget when, in my freshman literature class, the teacher asked everyone what they thought of poetry and several people yelled “boring!” Then she got everyone to sing “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.” Complaint resolved. 🙂
Charity Singleton Craig says
Jen – Love that story. It does sound like your teacher permanently file that complaint!
I wonder, do your complaints — or any poets, for that matter — affect the way that you write poetry? Or do you think poets are every guilty of the same things they complain about other poets? (I ask, because I would suspect this of myself.) I wonder what we do with that?
Thanks for joining this discussion! And for formally lodging your own complaint! Hopefully I haven’t tried to be too weird or deep in my comments. 🙂
Marcy Terwilliger says
You know what, wouldn’t it just be nice to find friends like us who loved poetry? To sit on the floor, take off our shoes, pour wine, hot tea, eat chocolate and everyone just say it. Express it, enjoy it, read it, laugh about it, and have a meaningful evening for once. People will listen to mind if I don’t read more than three, then I have to explain it. I need to find friends who write it, live it, enjoy it.
Charity Singleton Craig says
That does sound nice, Marcy. Though I suspect that even if we had friends who all loved poetry just like us that there still might be some grievances to air. But over tea and chocolate with friends? That just sounds like a wonderful conversation. Thanks for joining this one.
Marcy Terwilliger says
at the end of line three the word should be mine.
Carol A Stephen says
There’s a course online called ModPo (Modern & Contemporary American Poetry) where a lot of scientists and engineers and non-poets enroll for one reason or another. They begin as skeptics, poetry haters, and fearful of poetry often because of how it was taught.
By the end of the course (I’ve enrolled 3 times now) there are far few haters and hostiles.
Some of them even become poets in the process. The course is winding down now, but people can sign up till Monday and work through it. Or enroll next September. Offered by Coursera. It gives people a way inside poetry different from what they may have experienced before.
There are also lots of opportunities to argue for and against poetry in the discussion forums.
AND NO…I have no vested interest in promoting this course. I just know how it took away my fear about studying literature.
Carol
Charity Singleton Craig says
Thanks for this, Carol. What a great opportunity for anyone interested.
Megan Willome says
Love that last line!