The HyperTexts

The Folly of Wisdom
by Michael R. Burch

A poem of mine was recently declined after initially being accepted by the editor of a small journal because it had (gasp!) been published 20 years ago by another small journal. Let me quickly do the math. I will assume, perhaps over-optimistically, that 100 people read my poem, on a planet with a human population of approximately 7.89 billion. ... If I have done the math correctly my poem has been read by, ta-da!, .0000012% of potential readers!

Now imagine that every record label limited its songs to being heard by 100 individuals. After a handful of people have heard a song, apply a Mafia-like kiss of death and make damn sure no other label picks up the song and releases it.

If record labels operated like literary journals, no one would know who the Beatles or Stones are. Paul McCartney and Mick Jagger would be neither rich, nor famous. Think of all the disappointed groupies! And think of the millions of potential listeners who would have missed out on great songs like "A Day in the Life" and "Sympathy for the Devil." Then there are potentially life-changing, world-changing songs like Bob Dylan's "Blowin' in the Wind" and Sam Cooke's "A Change is Gonna Come." The world might be a darker place to live, without the influence of such songs.

Record labels try to get as many people as possible to listen to their songs. The editors of most literary journals, in my experience, keep poems from being read by larger audiences. Perhaps not intentionally, but does it make any difference if you maim me intentionally or by accident?

It also bears noting that record labels pay their artists while most small journals don't. When I discussed this issue with my colleague, the Irish poet Martin Mc Carthy, he observed: "I like sharing my work. I'd share my work anytime with anybody who's interested in it, and the sad truth is that so few readers ever get to see it — no matter how good it is — and the rewards are so meagre in any case. So why crush the poorly paid? Why make nonsensical rules to harm them?"

Why, indeed?

Is there a compelling reason for small journals to demand first publication rights, or is it mostly "monkey see, monkey do?" I suspect the latter. Why do royals wear purple? Because in ancient times purple dye was very expensive and thus a sign of wealth and prestige. Today purple dye is, I suspect, no more expensive than any other color. Times change, but human thinking doesn't always change with the times.

Ironically, the title of the rejected poem was “The Folly of Wisdom.”

The common wisdom often turns out to be folly. The earth is not flat. Tomatoes are not poisonous. White genes are not superior to other genes. Following lemmings over a cliff is likely to have drawbacks. And it is folly, in my opinion, for small journals to demand first publication rights.

Why?

First, in the entire history of literature, no reader was ever harmed by reading a good poem twice.

Second, what is the purpose of publishing poems? As a longtime editor and publisher it has always been my goal to help readers connect with the better poets. Do I care if a poem has been published and read elsewhere? Yes, I care, but I see that as a plus, not a reason for rejection. I want the poets I serve as an editor and publisher to succeed, and the last thing I want to do is inhibit their success. John Masella, who critiqued this essay, noted that "The rising tide truly lifts all boats here." The more publications successes poets have, the more they are able to build on those successes. 

“The more, the merrier” is my motto when it comes to readers reading good poems. "Help, don't hinder" is another.

When I founded The HyperTexts over 30 years ago, I accepted previously published poems from day one. In many cases I even agreed to allow “non-sharers” to publish poems first, then waited patiently for my turn, to the benefit of the poets and their readers.

Sharing poems has always been a win-win situation, in my experience.

What happens when the vast majority of small journals all demand first publication rights? Once a poem has been published, it becomes an orphan. Nay, a pariah. A pariah poem that is read by a handful of people, then damned to the literary version of Limbo.

I consider this very unfortunate and am glad never to have been part of it, other than as an occasional victim of the irrational system. From this day forward, I will think of the nonsensical system as “The Folly of Wisdom.”

This is the poem in question. You can be the judge. How would anyone be harmed by reading it more than once?

The Folly of Wisdom
by Michael R. Burch

She is wise in the way that children are wise,
looking at me with such knowing, grave eyes
I must bend down to her to understand.
But she only smiles, and takes my hand.

We are walking somewhere that her feet know to go,
so I smile, and I follow ...

And the years are dark creatures concealed in bright leaves
that flutter above us, and what she believes—
I can almost remember—goes something like this:
the prince is a horned toad, awaiting her kiss.

She wiggles and giggles, and all will be well
if only we find him! The woodpecker’s knell
as he hammers the coffin of some dying tree
that once was a fortress to someone like me

rings wildly above us. Some things that we know
we are meant to forget. Life is a bloodletting, maple-syrup-slow.

Published by Romantics Quarterly in 2004.

The HyperTexts