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From:
Stoner James <[log in to unmask]>
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- Ezra Pound discussion list of the University of Maine <[log in to unmask]>
Date:
Mon, 30 Dec 2002 18:11:21 -0800
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Here is a simple definition elitist or élitist that works well.

Roget’s II: The New Thesaurus, Third Edition.  1995.

elitist or élitist

NOUN: One who despises people or things regarded as inferior, especially
because of social or intellectual pretension: snob. Informal : snoot. See
ATTITUDE, SELF-LOVE.

ADJECTIVE: Characteristic of or resembling a snob: snobbish, snobby.
Informal : high-hat, snooty, stuck-up, uppish, uppity. See ATTITUDE,
SELF-LOVE.

I don't think we need to complicate the definition of "elitist" or
"elitism."  It's DESCRIPTIVE of attitude of a person or group, and from my
position it is morally blameworthy, if I can be bold enough to state my
judgment.  Does that make me an elitist?  If I should blame a murderer,
finding his actions morally blameworthy, does that make me an elitist?

How does it fit certain Poundian's or other individuals or groups within
the poetry world?  Well, it has negative consequences and eliminates the
possibility of alternative positions. Such groups and persons are often
dictatorial, authoritarian (not authoritative -- a difference); they
despise, and believe others are inferior, whether its economically,
socially, intellectually, artistically, etc.  A person is NOT an elitist
merely because they have read Ovid, Homer, Chaucer, Dante, etc.  They are
elitist if they despise others for not having read these folks.  They are
elitist if they believe others are interior.  Now, “if this average Joe is
at a party where everyone is discussing the latest show that they've seen
on TV or the latest movie, is it his responsibility to change the subject
and get them interested in Chaucer?”  Well, if you are inclined to relate
Chaucer “stories” without an attitude that views these people as inferior,
and do so in an interesting way, you are likely to get people to listen.
Is it your responsibility?  Yes, if you believe it is important to you,
and you are genuinely interested in the topic, and want others interested
as well.  Do you believe it’s important, and can you discuss Chaucer
without sounding like some pompous stuffed ass?  I guess that’s the point.
 I have no use for poetry that is embedded with elitist’s attitudes as I
have defined them.  You will be charged as an elitist if you make others
feel inferior, if you despise them for not knowing Chaucer.  I often
discuss highly intellectual topics in everyday speech and people love to
discuss them, just for the mere pleasure of doing so.  I also value their
views of the subject.  So, I could talk about the Chaucer stories and
people can tell their own stories.  It’s mutual and reciprocal, and we
both learn something along the way.  You are charged as an elitist if you
carry the pompous, stuffy, snobbish, attitude—look upon them as inferior
and despise them as a result.  That is the way of fascism.

How does this relate to Pound and his work?  We can say Pound the person
is morally blameworthy because he was an elitist (I assume this to be
self-evident based on his biographical facts.)  Obviously, as Davis tells
us (in a review for the American Poetry Review), the man can be condemned,
but his work cannot be condemned because we should not judge “a particular
work of art to be immoral because of the author’s immorality, or the
immorality of his other works. “To do so would be to predetermine our
response. No, the work of art must be judged solely on its own merit,
which requires objectivity often to be affected only by its isolation.”
He goes on to say: “Now I take it for granted that a work of art can be
immoral. Nor do I think a convincing argument can be made that moral
criteria must be, a priori, excluded from artistic judgment, though their
inclusion there is not always applicable.   Moral criteria should intrude
into literary criticism only when moral issues intrude into the contents
of literature. Quite simply, the degree to which Pound’s fascist and
anti-Semitic opinions should enter into literary judgment is the degree to
which they enter into his poetry. Now such opinions appear in Pound’s
poetry only in his later work, The Cantos, and there very infrequently. In
an epic poem stretching some 800 pages there are, if one compiled the
passages, perhaps three or four pages of objectionable material. The
immorality of his verse is, after all, demonstrably slight.”

I would suggest that it could be argued that most of the Cantos, if looked
at as a whole, with it’s underlying elitist propagations, is morally
blameworthy, not merely because of anti-Semitic and fascist views, but on
the basis of its tone, the attitude—inferiority and despise.  Such an
argument might be wrong.  Nevertheless, if such an argument were indeed
true and supported, Pound should be taught, just as Baudelaire, should be
taught.  Underneath their elitist surface are aesthetic insights. The work
should be studied for its cultural significance, not so much for its
artistic or poetic significance.  We can learn much about Pound’s time
through his work.  He was a receptacle for which the elitist fascist
masses and leaders could pour their miserable poesy?


Poetic Encounter

“There you sit, all alone, with your pen in your hand,
In that darkened room like you’re
Buried in a pile of shit,” she said standing
At the door, mechanically straight;
Her feet bare, one shorter than the other.
He just kept writing.
She made only a sound.
“Writing that same old story,” she said. “Listen to me,
I am the world.”
He kept on writing; his figure, like a poem.
She pulled the pen from his hands.
“Give that back to me!”
“You sound like a child losing
A new toy. Open your ears. I said
It’s that same old story.”
“Yes, you, entering this room,
Day-after-day, spouting
That same old tune, breaking
Your own monotony.”
 “That’s not what I mean. Can’t
You just be like me and everybody else.”
“Do you have something to say? Say it well—
Something of substance or not.”
She stumbled on that left foot as she left the room.
“That’s what I thought.”
He pulled a new pen out of his pocket.

My name is James Stoner, not Stoner James.  I don’t smoke pot (unless you
twist my arm.)  My opinion changes often as well.



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