POETRY
35
It is not only the stature of Kark Marx as a revolutionist or as a
man which is of primary importance to the revolutionary poet. Nor is it
the revolutionary stature of Lenin, Liebknecht or Dimitroff, of
1~
Hill,
Tom Mooney or Sen Katayama-all of whom have appeared as heroic
figures in our poetry. It is the peculiar and personal aspect of their lives,
experi.ences, personalities, which finds a responding chord in ours: a contact
which, when touched off, produces poetry.
Who are our revolutionary poets and what do they seek and represent?
I tried to answer this question recently and found the answer difficult,
so great is the confusion among our poets. Particularly is an answer
difficult if we seek to examine the poetic material which may influence
a poetry revival in America.
All crf us can think of several poems which have been notable, which
have laid the basis for such a revival. At random:
A Strange Funeral in
Braddock,
by Michael Gold;
When the Coc.k Crows,
by Arturo Gio–
vannitti; one or two others. But a revival depends not on scattered poems,
but on poets who are continually productive.
Who are these poets? Again we must eliminate many names; at least
until the time when their "work establishes their right to be included
among the
active, producing
revolutionary poets.
Alfred Kreymborg, author of the mass recitation
A'merica, America,
a much overrated piece of verse, has not written anything rcvolutiona.ry
since it was published a year ago, unless he wishes us to consider his feeble
satire in doggerel as revolutionary verse. I think Kreymborg as a poet
was best in his early lyrical pieces, in which, incidentally, the lyricism
was in the thought, the: conception, rather than in the writing.
Maxwell Bodenheim's recent revolutionary attempts
h~ve
all failed.
His best verse appeared in
Minna and Myself
and other very early volumes.
Herman Spector, who wrote several excellent poems about seven
years ago, rarely writes or publishes poetry today. The same seems to be
true of Joseph Kalar, author of
Papermil/
and
Now That Snow Is Falling.
Kalar, never a very prolific writer, has given up poetry to devote himself
solely to fiction. Norman Macleod, most prolific of all the poets allied
with the working class, has never become sufficiently integrated with this
class to write a really revolutionary poem. His main concern, at least
in his published work, seems to be with themes which, if they are not
individual, are treated in a highly individualized manner. Langston
Hughes has not produced a single revolutionary poem which compares
favorably with his early work in
The Weary Blues and Fine Clothes to
the
leu·.
He too has forsaken poetry, to the enrichment of American
fiction.
