There is a difference between propaganda and political art. Both
attempt to influence viewers or readers to take some sort of action
— whether it is to support this leader, protest that one, take up
arms, or lay them down — and both tend to lack nuance and
self-criticism, but propaganda more so. Propaganda is organized,
and not always by governments; political art is not.
In the July 2012 issue of Rethinking Marxism, we
have a selection of Occupy poetry, edited by Thom Donovan, that is
somewhere between propaganda and political art. It is no surprise
that these poems rail against policemen, businessmen, and
capitalism, and are peppered with a bit of theory here, a “praxis”
there, but what is most striking is simply how bad these poems
are.
Perhaps wanting his selection to seem open and representative,
Donovan writes (in an effort, surely, to raise Orwell from the
grave) that he “only” offered a “few directives” to the poets: “1.
That they exemplify questions or problems integral to their
poetry/poetics; 2. That they take into account the ongoing
struggles for collective freedom and justice that the occupations
represent; 3. And that their contributions be based in
text/language.”
There is nothing noteworthy about telling poets to apply their
beliefs about poetry to their work (“directive” 1) or asking them
to use words (“directive” 3), though why he would have to specify
these things is beyond me. But his demand that they “take into
account the ongoing struggles for collective freedom and justice
that the occupations represent” is exactly the sort of limiting
directive one finds in propaganda. In the eighteen poems included
in the selection, for example, no poet “took into account” the
struggle within the Occupy movement to act justly towards each
other or other citizens. There is little nuance and no
self-criticism.
And little quality. Most of the poems are mind-numbingly boring.
In Josef Kaplan’s untitled piece, for example, we get a recycled
graduate school paper: “De Man’s book gives us two aspects of
Marxism: Machiavellianism and Marxism, and the historical
materialism and practical criteria or canons of historical and
political interpretation.” Who even reads Paul de Man anymore? And
how can Marxism be an “aspect” of Marxism?
Brian Ang gives us a sort of Hegelian chart that contrasts
“anti-community” (“A danger of community is its immanent cultural
valorization leading to illogical thought and ineffective praxis”)
with “totality” (“Considering the totality of knowledge combats a
danger of considering partialities of knowledge leading to
illogical thought and ineffective praxis”).
We also have the predictable overuse of the phrase “f—k
yourself” and its cognates, which I suppose is there to make the
poems feel revolutionary, as well as disconnected syntax and a bit
of toying with the fonts to make the poems seem experimental. There
is even a spoof Frank O’Hara’s “The Day Lady Died.”
I am sure Donovan would accuse me of missing the point. The
poems are perhaps clunky and boring on purpose, to prevent them
from being co-opted by the market. Or perhaps the fragmentation and
occasional image of violence is meant to shock us out of our blind
enslavement to capitalism’s masters. But this sort of reasoning has
been used too much, and no one is buying it anymore.
The fact is Donovan’s selection is not just bad poetry, it’s bad
propaganda. A number of poets, even great ones, have written poems
that are either straightforward propaganda pieces or highly
political. The Russian poet Vladimir Mayakovsky, for example,
produced anti-German posters for the Russian State Telegraph
Authority (ROSTA) and poems such as “Left March! For the Red
Marines: 1918” with stanzas like this:
Rally the ranks into a march!
Now’s no time to quibble or browse.
Silence, you orators!
You
have the floor,
Comrade Mauser.
Enough of living by laws
that Adam and Eve have left.
Hustle old history’s horse.
LEFT!
LEFT!
LEFT!
I like Mayakovsky’s work, if only for its exuberance, and this
is far from his best. But as far as propaganda goes, the poem has
the value of being clear and inspiring in a simple sort of way,
using syntax and repetition to effectively stir his audience’s
emotions.
The only piece that comes close to inspiring any sort of action
or empathy is Dana Ward’s “From ‘A Trip Back in Time’ for Anne
Boyer,” which imagines life “after the fall of Capital.” Reflecting
on the time right after the “golden threads” of Occupy “swamped”
capitalism and overthrew its “desecration,” Ward writes: “Lovers
swooned in the high grass & clinging vines hung down like hair
from the sun.” Musical notes float across the air and, I kid you
not, “open stardust fractals of its matter.” There is at least
something of the appeal of “flower power” in this poem, even if it
is hopelessly naïve.
Not all bad ideas produce bad art, mainly because people are
inconsistent. Truth breaks in here or there and salvages what might
otherwise be of little lasting value. In this respect, I wouldn’t
be surprised if there were some good poems written during the
Occupy movements last summer, but these are not those poems.
