<![CDATA[ Dana Crum - Poet and Writer

<![CDATA[ Dana Crum - Poet and Writer - Blog]]>Sat, 22 Nov 2025 11:44:44 -0500Weebly<![CDATA[Someone Else’s Princeton]]>Thu, 12 May 2016 22:03:58 GMThttps://www.danacrum.com/blog/-someone-elses-princeton

It’s something nearly every Princeton alum has experienced. This feeling—while visiting campus—that the school is no longer yours, that it now belongs to the students streaming out of newly built Whitman College or typing notes in grand but frowsy McCosh 22. You envy these students’ youth. Certainly. But you also envy their enrollment. Now it’s they, not you, who peruse Herodotus on the bottom level of Firestone and party in 81 Spelman; they, not you, who enter the modern-day Parthenon that is Robertson and traipse beneath the rain, the Gothic dorms wet and a darker shade of gray.

As you plod past Whig and Clio, you feel not just older but invisible, like some tired ghost—or if visible, immaterial, no longer part of the school’s intellectual and social engine of precepts and exams, papers and problem sets, eating clubs and late-night Wawa trips.

But, in truth, there is more than one Princeton. There is the Princeton of the student. There is also the Princeton of the alum. And just as the students’ Princeton is no longer yours, your Princeton is not yet theirs. They know nothing of Reunions, where you dance under a tent, cup of beer in hand, and discover that yes, you do still have a few moves left; where you chat with classmates you haven’t seen in years and leave (apologetically) every ten minutes to feed your wailing infant or change his sagging diaper; where you encounter classmates who look great (for their age) and classmates, who, let’s be honest, look like hell. (But who are you to talk? You’ve lost all your hair.) And they most certainly know nothing of Advanced Parenting Calculus, which you studied: a) to figure out just how you’re going to pay your daughter’s unwieldy tuition bill; or b) to become so rich that the punch the bill packs feels more like a pinch.

As these varied Reunion experiences suggest, there is more than one Princeton among alums. Similarly, there is more than one among students. Because I grew up in inner-city DC, my Princeton experience was, let’s say, a tad different from that of many. Academically, I loved the school right away. But outside class and sometimes in, I felt dull and uncultivated. Many of my classmates—at the time, it felt like all—had summered in Saint-Martin, skied the slopes of Innsbruck and experienced the sublimity of La Bohème and Salome. They had attended schools like Choate and Stuyvesant, had no (discernible) gaps in their academic preparation and could speak with great eloquence.

At my inner-city high school, many of my peers had given me a hard time for sometimes “speaking proper.” At Princeton, my classmates spoke that way practically all the time. DC was segregated even in the late 80s, so in high school it was mainly at scholarship receptions in my senior year that I interacted with whites. Uttering words I used mainly when writing, they so thoroughly enunciated and so consistently exercised correct verb conjugation that it had seemed they were speaking a kindred but distinct language, like Portuguese instead of the anticipated Spanish. Conversing with them revealed I couldn’t speak standard English for long without feeling pressure on my lungs and aching to come up for air, to breathe the protean, metaphoric idiom that is “black English.” (Admittedly, “black English” is problematic: not every black person uses it, it varies by region and some blacks reject the concept altogether.)

By freshman year at Princeton, I could remain submerged longer. But not as long as my new classmates. So I worked harder, and soon I could remain submerged all day. This achievement, along with my grades, gave me confidence, which combatted the inferiority I felt for not having experienced operas and traveled overseas. And I learned to value my inner-city background and the rich cultural experiences it did provide. The perspicacity I demonstrated in precepts and the unique lunch-table contributions I made as someone who could quote, in the same breath, Slick Rick and T.S. Eliot earned me a place in the school’s student community. Upon graduation, Princeton was my Princeton, too, and it remains one of the most treasured experiences of my life.

To the relief, indifference or scorn of some, I am neither the first nor the last black male to enter Old Nassau by way of the inner city. As a sophomore, I got to know a freshman with the “same” background (he grew up in Brooklyn). His Princeton experience was both similar and different. Character traits, in combination with other factors (when you attended, hometown, race, class, gender, sexual orientation), make it such that any number of Princetons are possible.

An alum who is an administrator on campus shared an anecdote: during Reunions some older alums grumbled that the student body looks so different now, that it has so many people of color. The administrator responded that the student body should look different since our country looks different. (The U.S. Census Bureau projects that by 2044 whites will be the minority; people of color, the majority.) Perhaps, there are also alums who bemoan that the school now has more women and more individuals who are openly gay, lesbian, transgender or genderqueer.

But Princeton does not belong to any single person, group or generation. The school must evolve as the country evolves. That it does explains, in part, why it abides as a preeminent institution of learning, as what any sensible alum would agree is a constant but ever-changing gathering of some of the best young minds in the country and the world.

Though there are many Princetons, there is still one. And this Princeton makes the many possible. It exists not in spite of but because of the many, which together form, however improbably, a harmony beyond discord.

]]><![CDATA[Part 1 of “You Must Write Well, No Matter Your Profession. Here’s How.”]]>Thu, 26 Mar 2015 20:56:15 GMThttps://www.danacrum.com/blog/part-1-of-you-must-write-well-no-matter-your-profession-heres-how

Image courtesy of drsimpson.net.

Every professional must write well, not just writers.[1] Don’t think you are the exception to this rule because all you write is emails or memoranda. Your email could inadvertently offend a client and lose you business. A confusing or inadvertently misleading memo could cause coworkers or subordinates to execute project tasks incorrectly, wasting time and money and perhaps losing you business. That reports, presentations and website copy should be well-written is more self-evident. Just in case it’s not, imagine you own an Internet-strategy consulting firm. A potential client visits your website, sees innumerable grammatical errors and misspellings, and wonders what else you do badly. For fear of finding out, she decides not to hire you.

Your writing will improve exponentially if you get into the habit of using specific nouns and vigorous verbs. Nouns and verbs are the most important parts of speech—think of them as the chief building blocks—and generally the best nouns and best verbs are specific and vigorous, respectively. A noun names a person, animal, place, thing or abstract idea. In the context of a sentence, it states who or what is involved in the action or who or what is being described. The importance of nouns explains why they are typically the first words children learn.

To see how general nouns can weaken your writing, consider the following sentence, which a zoologist might write:

The animal can reach a top speed of 79 mph.

Animal is much too vague. It calls to mind no image, a vague image or an image different from the one the zoologist intends. And the reader is left wondering what animal moves at that speed. Is it the cheetah? But then again, don’t cheetahs max out at 75 mph? The below revision clarifies matters:

The gyrfalcon can reach a top speed of 79 mph.

The above revision not only clarifies which animal is under discussion. It also puts the cheetah in its place as simply the fastest land animal, outpaced by the gyrfalcon (which is in turn outpaced by the fastest animal of all, the peregrine falcon, which reaches 242 mph as it dives toward its prey).

Specific nouns are usually better than general ones. But not always. Let’s return to our zoologist. Let’s imagine she writes:

An animal is a multicellular living thing that differs from a plant by having cells without cellulose walls, by lacking chlorophyll and the capacity for photosynthesis, by requiring more complex food materials such as proteins, by being organized more complexly, and by having the capacity for spontaneous movement and rapid motor responses to stimulation.

Here our zoologist is justified in using a general term like animal because she seeks to supply a definition that encompasses animals as diverse as vertebrates, mollusks, arthropods, annelids, sponges and jellyfish. In short, she needs an incredibly inclusive term. Animal qualifies.

Specific nouns are not only typically better than general ones. They also reduce wordiness. Okay, so let’s pick on historians, for a change. A member of their field might write:

In a long, angry piece of writing the prime minister accused the neighboring country of ceasing to patrol the border, thereby allowing guns to pour into his war-torn nation.

The underlined phrase contains five words: the general noun piece, the adjectives long and angry, and the prepositional phrase of writing, which functions as an adjective and culminates with the general noun writing. The historian has used five words (and seven syllables) to say what could have been said in one word (and one syllable):

In a screed the prime minister accused the neighboring country of ceasing to patrol the border, thereby allowing guns to pour into his war-torn nation.

A simpler type of wordiness—one or more adjectives joined with a general noun—can also be eliminated with a specific noun: For instance, large book can be changed to tome.

Whichever parts of speech are implicated, wordiness is a sin committed daily. Verily I say unto you, Except for rare occasions, thou shalt not use many words when one will do. (Our historian is also guilty of using the hackneyed war-torn.)

Now that we’ve examined nouns, let’s turn our attention to verbs. There are two types: action and linking. An action verb—surprise, surprise—conveys action. A linking verb such as to be expresses a state of being, functioning like an equal sign, linking the subject either to another noun that re-identifies it or to an adjective that describes it. Because they express no action, linking verbs weaken your writing when used often. So, for the purposes of this installment of this column, when I say verb, I mean action verb.

If a noun provides information on who or what is acting or being acted upon, a verb describes the action and supplies the power that drives the sentence. The difference between a vigorous verb and a weak one is the difference between a punch and a tap. Even if you need to describe a gentle action, you should probably do so forcefully:

She placed her half-parted lips against his.

Placed will not do. It does not have the delicate, romantic connotation the scene requires. Nor does it have much vigor. Here’s an improvement:

She brushed her half-parted lips against his.

Brushed may not be perfect, but it’s better than the original verb. It’s also better than a vigorous verb a clumsy writer might use: dragged.

When the action is not gentle or delicate, a vigorous verb is needed as well. A novelist, describing a highway scene, might write:

An eighteen-wheeler sped past, loud like some heavy, sluggish rocket.

Sped isn’t bad. But it’s not great. A more vigorous verb is called for, one that conveys the speed particular to a vehicle that because of its size has more momentum than a much smaller vehicle traveling at the same speed would have (momentum, you will recall from physics class, is calculated by multiplying mass and velocity):

An eighteen-wheeler hurtled past, loud like some heavy, sluggish rocket.

Let’s say the same novelist describes a character speeding through a tunnel in a Mustang GT:

The ceramic walls of the tunnel moved past in a white blur.

Moved is general, weak and boring. Zoomed would be better but cliché. The below revision uses a verb that is vigorous and original and that captures the play of light:

The ceramic walls of the tunnel glinted past in a white blur.

Like specific nouns, vigorous verbs often reduce wordiness. When they do, the combination of concision and force creates a particularly vigorous effect. Let’s say a National Weather Service employee writes:

The storm gave birth to tornadoes that spread across the state, ripping up trees and blowing off roofs.

One vigorous verb could be substituted for three words—the verb gave, the noun birth and the preposition to--channeling more force in a smaller space, amplifying the power:

The storm spawned tornadoes that spread across the state, ripping up trees and blowing off roofs.

Arguably, the NWS employee should also substitute more vigorous and original verbs for spread, ripping and blowing (the later two are participles, but let’s not get pedantic). That said, he will improve the sentence significantly by simply making the change in the above revision.

Just as there’s a time to use general nouns, there’s a time to use weak verbs. Let’s return to our zoologist. Let’s say she wants to discuss the various ways in which humans locomote. She might introduce this topic with a sentence like this:

Homo sapiens walk in various ways.

She might follow this sentence with one that lists types of walking, using a vigorous verb for each:

Depending on their age, physical fitness or inclination on a given day, they will, for example, saunter or sashay or stride or plod or stomp.

In this sequence of sentences, our zoologist has skillfully used not only several vigorous verbs but a weak verb as well.

Specific nouns and vigorous verbs help make your writing concrete, which is generally preferable to it being abstract. Concrete words--eighteen-wheeler, falcon, stomp—appeal to the senses and enable the reader to imagine what’s being discussed. Abstract words--transportation, life, perambulate—refer to relatively vague ideas and concepts, do less to stimulate the imagination and carry less emotional impact.

Concrete comes from a Latin word meaning grown together, hardened. Abstract comes from a Latin word meaning removed from or removed from concrete reality. Remove your reader from concrete reality too often, and you will remove her interest in your writing. Ezra Pound advised poets to “go in fear of abstractions.” His advice should be heeded not just by poets but by anyone who puts pen to paper or, to update the image, fingertips to iPad.

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[1] The only way around learning to write well is to have contractors or subordinates write for you. Just make sure they know what they’re doing.

]]><![CDATA[Ismaaiyl Brinsley murdered 2 cops but U.S. justice system is complicit]]>Sun, 21 Dec 2014 00:49:01 GMThttps://www.danacrum.com/blog/-ismaaiyl-brinsley-murdered-2-cops-but-us-justice-system-is-complicit

I’m not saying Ismaaiyl Brinsley should have killed the policemen; but if you don’t want people taking justice into their own hands, here’s an idea, local/state/federal government: Fix this broken, racist justice system. Brinsley murdered the policemen. There’s no denying that. But the U.S. justice system is complicit.

An article on Brinsley's murder of the two cops.

]]><![CDATA[Shakespeare in a Do-Rag [a Shakespeare parody]]]>Tue, 11 Nov 2014 20:58:29 GMThttps://www.danacrum.com/blog/shakespeare-in-a-do-rag-a-shakespeare-parody

Shakespeare parodies are common today, but I wrote this one back in the mid-90s.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

SIDNEY, a sophomore at Princeton
JUSTIN, friend to Sidney, and a sophomore
BRANDON, a junior
LINCOLN, roommate to Brandon, and a senior
MIKE, friend to Brandon, and a junior
SHARON, a senior

[SCENE: PRINCETON UNIVERSITY, 1990]

[All the characters are black. All are male except SHARON. All grew up middle-class, except SIDNEY, who grew up in the inner city, specifically the Brownsville section of Brooklyn, New York.]

[Winds swirl through the black trees. Shakespeare lecture over, SIDNEY and JUSTIN stroll out of McCosh and pass Murray-Dodge, a squat brownstone building done in the High Victorian Gothic style. The building is home to the student-run Theatre Intime.]

JUSTIN Yo, it’s kind of hard to believe Shakespeare wrote in Modern English. His language sounds mad different.
SIDNEY    But what if we did talk like that? I mean, what if the guys I grew up with talked like that? That would be ill, right?

[SIDNEY stops and shoves out his chest. Turning to JUSTIN, he shouts with a deep, stentorian voice.]

SIDNEY    Nay, answer me! Stand and unfold yourself!
JUSTIN    Nay. If thou wert a bonny maid, gladly
Would I unfold myself, but as thou art not,
Sirrah, thy lustful lunge I parry.
SIDNEY                                  How
The multiplying villainies of nature
Do swarm upon thee! Knave, thou wish’st thou couldst
Unfold thyself for thou a wench’s privates
Hast not seen sith thy whore-mother birthed thee.
Come, come, thou speakest with a roguish tongue.
JUSTIN    Go, go, thou slayest with a trenchant tongue.

[They head deeper into campus.]

SIDNEY    I shall speak daggers to thee, but use none.
I am a lover, not a fighter.
JUSTIN Ay,
But may Venus favor thee, for in this sex-starved
Wasteland of Princeton, only she who rose
from the sea, that violet-crownèd goddess, mother
of Eros, can thy weather-bitten boots
guide to the open thighs of a Nubian
nymph. By Jove, so few do sprout from this
gray heath, ’tis easier to find the blessed
chalice that kissed Christ’s lips.
SIDNEY If thou art not
with the dusky one thou lovest, love the chalky
one thou art with.

[JUSTIN points.]

JUSTIN                      Hark! Behold! ’Tis Negroes
thrice!

[SIDNEY sees BRANDON, LINCOLN and MIKE loping across campus.]

SIDNEY    Auspicious day!

[BRANDON, LINCOLN and MIKE turn in the direction of the shouting. They spot SIDNEY and JUSTIN and walk over with puzzled looks.]

SIDNEY O noble cousins!
Worthy gentlemen!
BRANDON Ha! The two of you
sound like characters in a Shakespeare play.
SIDNEY    Right. But we’re black characters, and the play
Is set in the hood.

[The five of them stroll towards Witherspoon. LINCOLN looks over at BRANDON and grins.]

LINCOLN    Thou art an English major.
Thou shouldst be good at this.
BRANDON Shouldst, sirrah? Nay,
I am; I know not ‘shouldst.’ Swounds, thou shalt find
me apt. My arrow shall impale the hind.

[A green BMW M3 cruises past. A David Bowie song booms from within.]

SIDNEY    Stand, ho! What demon engine is that?
BRANDON ’Tis
a horseless chariot! And it playeth tunes
that maketh me want to boogie!

[Brandon gyrates his hips and swings his arms.]

BRANDON “Let us dance!
Put on thy red shoes and dance the blues.”
An afroed Aphrodite, methinks I see
an afroed Aphrodite.
LINCOLN Where, my lord?
BRANDON    In my mind’s eye, Lincoln. And yet, to say
the truth, a monstrous Gorgon have I seen
many a time and oft. Come, let’s away
to her most loathsome lair.
LINCOLN We’ll follow thee.

[As the five of them amble past Witherspoon, dead leaves rustle beneath their feet. They enter Mathey courtyard. There SHARON, arms folded, sits in a third-story window. A bare tree stands nearby. The five of them hide behind it. BRANDON steps in front of the others, spreading his stubby arms as if to protect them.]

BRANDON    Soft, now, Sir Philip Sidney. All of you,
If thou darest, cast thy valiant eyes upon
Yon beast in yonder window. This Medusa,
This vile Chimera--
SIDNEY: Could you stop? My God,
Brandon.
BRANDON    Ay, we beseech thee, Jupiter.
Save us. Upon thy eagle backed, swoop down
from the skyish head of blue Olympus and
with thy dread thunder smite this basilisk.
Cousins, what sunless, pestilent land suckled
her with poisoned breast, I dare not name. The word
alone could cause the very ground to quake
and stars to streak the inky firmament.
But this I can speak: Pimples left dark, gaping
craters on her already-troubled visage.
Her fatal eyes stand far apart like orbs
on the fell hagfish, which doth bore through prey,
Swallowing it from within. When she doth smile,
a black chasm that could engulf the Grand
Canyon doth yawn betwixt her blood-drenched tusks.
I shall scold this lumbering Leviathan,
This snarling hellcat. Sable men, stand back!

[BRANDON steps from behind the tree and stands beneath SHARON’s window. She looks down at him.]

SHARON    It’s you.
BRANDON How now, madam?
SHARON I told you: We’re
Through!
BRANDON    O most vile and insolent shrew! Lay not
That flattering unction to thy bruised esteem
That wings of lust carried me hither. Ay,
Our sometime bed must now be flung to Hades,
But ere that salve-like event, thy ears I shall
Assail once more.
SHARON Why do you keep talking
like that? Are you high?

[BRANDON points at the tree.]

BRANDON Madam, let it be known
Henceforth that thou hast fallen through an ugly
Tree, and yea, thou didst hit each branch, each leaf,
each hapless bird that sang therein.
SHARON Fuck you!
BRANDON    Woman, thy name is ugliness. Why wouldst
thou be a breeder of stank monsters? Get
thee to a menagerie!
SHARON Fuck you, you dwarf!
You midget! You’re too short! In more ways than one!

[SHARON slams the window shut, and they all—except Sidney—run, their guffaws ringing against the walls of Mathey. SIDNEY sighs and follows. JUSTIN stops. When SIDNEY reaches him, JUSTIN shakes his head. They catch up with the others, who are standing now and are no longer laughing as hard. Eying BRANDON, Sidney smiles.]

SIDNEY    Too short, huh? Ouch! It sounds like Sharon got
The last laugh. Makes you wonder if your friends
Were really laughing at you.
BRANDON Miscreant!
Darest thou wag thy tongue in noise so rude
Against me? Thou section-8 ruffian! Eater
Of government cheese!
SIDNEY Ay, rank homunculus,
I dare for thou art but a dissembling whoreson!
BRANDON   Slave! I shall pistol-whip thee and pimp-slap
Thy rump-fed mother! What sayest thou?
SIDNEY I say
thou knowest not with whom thou fuckest. Step
off, bitch. Or thy orbs I’ll blacken, thy ribs crack,
and thy stank buttocks embed my boot betwixt!

]]><![CDATA[Read my book of poems for free]]>Thu, 14 Aug 2014 15:54:56 GMThttps://www.danacrum.com/blog/read-my-book-of-poems-for-freeNow you can read my book of poems (online) for free. Not sure who made it available online, but it’s cool. It’s better to be read for free than not to be read at all. Well, sometimes it is. Certainly, in this instance. (My book has a small print run.)

]]><![CDATA[Adam Gopnik on Linguistic Relativism]]>Tue, 29 Jul 2014 18:24:39 GMThttps://www.danacrum.com/blog/adam-gopnik-on-linguistic-relativism

Adam Gopnik on linguistic relativism: “Whorfianism [is] the idea that our language forces us to see the world a certain way, and that different languages impose different world views on their speakers. It’s a powerful idea in the pop imagination. It sounds right when you say it. Yet ‘Whorfian’ relativism, at least in its strong forms, is one of those ideas that disappear under any kind of scrutiny. After all, if we were truly prisoners of our language, we shouldn’t be able to use it to see its limits clearly, or to enumerate the concepts that it can’t conceive…. What’s the allure of linguistic relativism? There may be solace in imagining ourselves prisoners of circumstances beyond our control—of language or horoscopes, of God or Capital—and so relieved of responsibility for what we do next. It may also be that linguistic relativism gives a kind of cheap knowingness that we all enjoy: you’re a prisoner of your tongue, but I’m the one who can show that you’re imprisoned. In truth, language seems less like a series of cells in which we are imprisoned than like a set of tools that help us escape: some of the files are rusty; some will open any door; and most you have to jiggle around in the lock. But, sooner or later, most words work.” (from Adam Gopnik’s article, “Word Magic”)

]]><![CDATA[An Excerpt from My New Book of Poems]]>Tue, 13 May 2014 01:46:20 GMThttps://www.danacrum.com/blog/an-excerpt-from-my-new-book-of-poems

The sky lights up like a blank TV screen
then blackens. What happens
to the soul? Does it

arrow north or south, a flock
of Arctic terns? Does it
stir the limp limbs

of a fetus
in its bubble? Or does it
crumble, a fist

of dry oak leaves?
I squat between a murmuring metropolis
and a cacophonous town.

I visit. I roam their streets alone.
Strange tongues point like fingers.

Read my book, Good Friday 2000, for free.

]]><![CDATA[I Came Out to My Mom As an Agnostic]]>Thu, 08 May 2014 19:56:13 GMThttps://www.danacrum.com/blog/i-came-out-to-my-mom-as-an-agnostic

Christ Carrying the Cross - El Greco

A few days ago, I came out to my mom as an agnostic. I thought it would be better if she learned it from me than from my book, which just came out, which I just sent her a copy of, which she has by now read. Her response so far? Silence. I'm not about to claim “admitting” agnosticism to your parents is as fraught as “admitting” homosexuality. But when your mom is from the Deep South, the Bible Belt, Alabama to be exact, the rejection and condemnation precipitated by your revelation can be extreme. (I realize the word “admit” has the wrong connotation. Sometimes words fail me. Or maybe I fail them.)

Read my book, Good Friday 2000, for free.

Read more poems about faith or lack of faith.

Read poems about family.

]]><![CDATA[A book JK Rowling published under a pseudonym sold badly until her identity was revealed]]>Mon, 15 Jul 2013 22:17:06 GMThttps://www.danacrum.com/blog/a-book-jk-rowling-published-under-a-pseudonym-sold-badly-until-her-identity-was-revealed

A book Rowling published under a pseudonym sold badly until her identity was revealed. This confirms some things we already knew about the publishing industry and consumer behavior. The article Publishers Lunch ran on this development appears below:

Rowling Published This Spring Quietly As "Robert Galbraith"

JK Rowling has confessed that she authored the crime novel THE CUCKOO'S CALLING, published in April to at least some positive reviews and very modest sales (441 print units in the UK, and about the same in the US, as tracked by Nielsen Bookscan). Rowling was unmasked by The Sunday Times "after it investigated how a first-time author 'with a background in the army and the civilian security industry' could write such an assured debut novel." Actually, as the paper's books editor Richard Brooks admitted, columnist India Knight was first set on the story by an anonymous Twitter tip (from an account that has since been deleted).

Rowling said, "I had hoped to keep this secret a little longer because being Robert Galbraith has been such a liberating experience. It has been wonderful to publish without hype or expectation and pure pleasure to get feedback under a different name."

Following the revelation, the book's online sales rank rose quickly. Mulholland Books in the US and Little Brown UK are going back to press -- hardly surprising, given the tiny inventory required up until now. Rowling's full statement indicates she has another "Galbraith" crime novel coming next summer, from the same publishers, and she intends to continue the Cormoran Strike series beyond that.

At least one other UK editor, Kate Mills at Orion -- another part of Hachette UK -- was offered the manuscript and turned it down. She said, "I thought it was well-written but quiet. It didn't stand out for me and new crime novels are hard to launch right now." And to an extent her instincts were right, given the poor sales. It's not clear how widely the Galbraith manuscript was submitted. Rowling's spokesperson said, "I can confirm the book was treated like any new novel by a first-time writer. We are not going into any more detail than that or commenting further."

]]><![CDATA[On Being Accused of Praising Eliot’s Poetry and Ignoring His Bigotry]]>Sat, 29 Jun 2013 11:38:25 GMThttps://www.danacrum.com/blog/on-being-accused-of-praising-eliots-poetry-and-ignoring-his-bigotry

During an online discussion on linkedin, someone castigated me for praising Eliot’s talents as a poet and ignoring his racist views. Here’s what I wrote in response:

You’re right to bring up what I will call "Eliot’s possible bigotry." I don’t always mention them, but I’m always aware of Eliot’s failings. Eliot was an extreme anti-Semite, according to Anthony Julius and others, though critic Denis Donoghue disputes the charge or tries to lessen it. If I refused to read a writer from the past (or present) for being racist, sexist, jingoistic (e.g., Kipling) or for being in some other way majorly flawed, there would be very few writers left to read. As a person of color, I have, my entire life, been reading writers whose craft I respect but whose political, social and personal views nauseate me. I’m not excusing these writers for their racism, sexism, etc. Not at all. What I advocate is seeing these writers’ merits as creators of literature and their flaws as individuals. Certainly, the two sides (creator and individual) can’t be completely separated. Maybe they can’t be separated at all. And I, for one, don’t try to. This is what Cornel West was getting at when he used the phrase “ambiguous legacies.” Writers, philosophers, intellectuals, etc., from the past have good things to offer present and future generations. But many of them also have much in them that’s regrettable, even despicable. Rather than seeing just one side of such writers, etc., I strive to see both sides. The good and the bad. Sometimes I might discuss one and not the other, but I assure you the other is in my mind. Sometimes I don’t bring up the other, but if I don’t, it’s because it’s a given. It’s an understood, if unspoken, fact. But it’s a given, an understood, unspoken fact for me, but not for every reader. So you’re on to something. I should bring up Eliot’s flaws while praising his merits lest others get the mistaken idea that I’m not aware of his plentiful flaws. I assure you: I don’t downplay his anti-Semitism (if indeed he was an anti-Semite) just because I admire his line breaks, musicality and striking imagery. I will never let racist/sexist/homophobic writers off the hook for their hateful beliefs and actions. To be completely honest, what I think of such writers is similar to what I think of America. This country has come a long way since the time of slavery, lynchings and marginalized status for people of color and women, and yet America is still full of racism, sexism, homophobia and other hateful thinking, behavior and policies. A major aspect of my existence has to do with seeing the good and bad in America, the good and bad in American writers, and really the good and bad in the world and its writers. And for that matter, the good and bad in me.

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