Monday, September 9, 2013

One has to sketch.  One has to respond.  One has to write on things like cocktail napkins.

The sketch, a careful response, things said that you can't say in a quick hand shake.

Fictitious situation:

There will be pictures in the library, a small commemoration of President Kennedy's visit to Amherst, on its 50th.  That's all good.  What more could one want.

And yet, that President, of the United States, somehow captured the very essence of the place, of the education, of, even, the town.  He, in his speech, captured, not only the value of Robert Frost, but of the idea behind the education that is offered.  Poetry.  The ability to think.  The ability of symbolic language to express, to express even scientific truths.  The very essence of Amherst, the very essence of Amherst College.  Poetry, as a way of thinking, as a way of considering, as a way of saving human patterns from arrogance, as a way of saving that which is useful and traditional and worthy in a grand way.

One President, Plimpton, had a duty, which was to speak to a student body three weeks after the President of the United States had visited, about that President's death.  Plimpton made a very great speech, in fact, and one that should go down as a timely memory, with intimate reach, of the man, President Kennedy.

Poetry.  The gift of education.  The confidence, the understanding of an educated worldly person, who, by way of family wealth and pressure was able to exhibit and be a polished well-read educated traveled person.


And what can the present President of Amherst College do but acknowledge, say some nice words, point to a collection in the library, all well and good.

But to any poet, let's say, or maybe a politician, it would all seem very insufficient.  The town has to do something.   The town has to say, has to bring speakers.   The public has to do something.

Have Amherst High kids read what JFK said there, taking turns?  Have Amherst grads?
Something to stand up.  A volunteer effort.  Faculty comment.

The trite response, no one can blame.  That's how official people do their business, must do, and no more to expect from them but pleasantry.  President Plimpton's remarks on the evening of 11/22/1963 are something to be read.

Who am I to comment, but that in the true academy all are created equal, all opinions and offerings valued.  The leader of the free world, who has recently averted a nuclear catastrophe (over the Cuban Missile Crisis) comes to speak at a small college town in New England about the importance and necessity of thinking and decision-making in poetic terms, it strikes one as something worthy of some recognition, along with the thoughtful intellect behind such a speech, that itself really nails the academic town of Amherst, a very special place, acknowledging that which sets it apart, a poetry that leads back to spirituality and the desire to educate and inform in a liberal way.  I know, in terms of where we have come to now, no one would want to risk making any statement that might sound potentially as 'too weird,' or possibly inviting bad decisions, impractical ones as far as economic realities unwelcome in the eyes of possible corporate sponsorship as inciting chaos by evoking values deeper than market ones.  A college president must act like a CEO, mindful of the money.

Or, do we extend that cynicism to attribute the crafty politics behind every statement to include John F. Kennedy's speech at Amherst itself, as if it served to give a little pat on the head, make a polite recognition of an old poet passed away.  Therefore it's okay to say a few polite words about it, make a little exhibit in the library, because, well, it didn't mean that much anyway, and it was just something he had his intellectual team come up with to help him with his branding.

But, on the other hand, if you were to say, well, maybe JFK really thought that, that maybe you should read a line of poetry before letting LeMay send his bombers out to barbecue every inch of Commie lands, then you are tiptoeing up to the question of other powers that be who, in one way or another, may have such a poetic leader silenced, which then causes you to sound like your inviting an open door to conspiracy theorists.  Make a big deal of a speech, in short, and you'll end up sounding like a crank, therefore of insignificance as far as public discourse goes.  Then you'd have to go back and read, or listen to, other speeches of his, and find the intelligence of a well-read historically informed man in the prime of life.

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