In reviewing Jefferson Carter's "Get Serious: New and Selected Poems," Jarrett Keene commits the critical fallacy of confusing the speaker of a poem with its author--a fallacy which, if we follow its arc to its logical conclusion, compels us to diagnose poets who employ various personae in their work--Norman Dubie springs to mind--as clinically schizophrenic. Such a narrow minded critical aesthetic confines poetry to the realm of autobiography and reduces the role of poet to
documentarian. More absurd is Mr. Keene's implied notion that the mission of poetry should be to turn lemons into lemonade. If Mr. Keene prefers whipped-cream platitudes of reassurance in response to life's frequent disappointments, he would be better served browsing the racks of his local Hallmark shop rather than risking his sense of well-being turning the pages of a book of poetry. I'm not suggesting we limit our endorsement of verse to the dark shadows of existential angst--or any other single creed for that matter--but I have a feeling if you enjoyed the spry wit and lyrical honesty of Carter's previous work you'll find much to like in his new poems as well.
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