In Defence of Hollie McNish

It seems that the literary world is on entertainingly dismissive form again. I've talked about spoken word poetry a couple of times on this blog, and how my personal opinion is that while it can sometimes be too serious and on-the-nose in conveying social messages, the poets themselves are brilliant at what they do. So you can imagine my interest in seeing an article in PN Review apparently about the effect of spoken word on modern poetry, but in reality a critique of the work of Hollie McNish.

I do not claim to be familiar with Hollie McNish's work, but I did include her poem 'Embarrassed' in my Best of British Slam Poetry playlist on my YouTube channel. That poem is a great example of versatility in wordplay and rhyme to convey a social double standard. However, it seems that McNish's poetry has riled up the PN Review's reviewer, but the reasoning used to justify her criticism was something that was so hilarious I had to talk about it.

I should note before starting that McNish has already responded to the article in question, and since she hasn't named the author of the article in her response I will not do so either. She addressed the author's specific complaints, but I will address the overarching themes of the article which is the death of modern poetry via amateurism and ignorance.

The first thing to address about the PN Review article is the utter contempt for modern forms of poetry displayed by the author. In the first half of the article the author decries the current trend of posting poetry on social media and it's supposed 'dumbing-down' effect. The author attributes this to a desire for instant gratification from young poets. Of course there are a lot of problems with social media, especially its ill-defined rules and regulations, and the narcissim that often comes with sharing your whole life online, but in the right circumstances social media can be a useful tool. I see nothing wrong with poets sharing their material on social media platforms (technically I myself fall under that heading), as it helps to spread poetry to a wider audience than the establishment would seem to prefer.

The author goes on to bring Hollie McNish into the conversation along with Kate Tempest as poets who gained recognition online before being picked up by publishers. What follows is a critical mauling of McNish on the grounds of too much honesty, "slapdash" use of words, "faux-humility", insufficient education regarding the poetry canon, refuge in audacity, vanity, insulting her audience through use of a false working-class persona, and to top it all off the author accuses McNish of luring in her audience to purchase and consume deliberately bad poetry.

Several problems with this article. The first is that the author assumes the level of McNish's intelligence and education. She criticises McNish for lacking a literary mind, to the point that she uses the word 'mind' in quotation marks, and decries her ignorance of the greats of the poetry scene; Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Larkin etc, claiming that poets like McNish are pretending that they are the first to address taboo subjects in their work. Making assumptions about people's education and intelligence is not only childish in the extreme and equivalent to name-calling, it adds nothing to the author's critique of McNish's work, and she ends up reviewing the artist's personality rather than her poetry. Also, while a lot of reading is essential to the development of the individual poet, influences are not limited to the wider backlog of the poetry canon. Influences can come from anywhere, be it the literary or the visual arts, and to suggest otherwise resembles blinkered-vision.

On to the more amusing subject of elitism; the author notes that poetry can no longer be accused of being elitist due to poetry publications being afraid to critique amateur poets. She then asserts that we expect our doctors, hairdressers and athletes to be the best of the best (which in itself is a fair point), but to equate the live-saving and psychically demanding work of doctors and athletes with writing poetry is a bit unfair. The author goes on to accuse McNish of being a "warrior" intend on leading an "invasion" of poetry by amateur on the basis of equal opportunities.

This situation strikes me as somewhat self-fulfilling prophecy. There has long been a concerted effort to introduce poetry to the masses, which is essential if the art form is to thrive, and yet someone like McNish who is doing just that is criticised by a reviewer on the grounds of leading an amateur "invasion". Engaging new audiences with poetry is key to its survival, no matter what form it comes in. To disregard spoken word artists like McNish on the basis of their "amateurish" style is a bit like a classical music reviewer dismissing rock music on the grounds of "too much noise". Different styles and forms of poetry carry equal merit; just because McNish is not as polished or refined as the Wordsworths and Coleridges of this world does not lessen her value to poetry as the PN Review's writer seems to imply. To see a reviewer so frightened of poetry reaching new audiences is as amusing as it is ridiculous.

Another problem in the article is the claim that McNish is somehow attempting to bring poetry down to its base level by tricking her audiences under the pretense of representing the working class. This is a serious accusation to level at a poet, and although it is true that this kind of faux working-class persona can be problematic, I have not seen enough of McNish's work to comment on the validity of this criticism. What I can comment on is the suggestion that McNish is out to con her audience. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion; there are many who enjoy McNish's work, and others who don't, but to continually suggest that an audience has been tricked into liking her poetry seems like a concerted effort to discredit her as an artist, turning the article into a hit-piece rather than a straightforward review.

The reviewer also accuses McNish of "faux-humility", whereby she protects herself from accusations of substandard poetry by admitting her own flaws, resulting in praise from critics for writing honest poetry. Self-deprecation is an old tool of stand-up comedians used to endear them to their audiences, and I think its use in spoken word poetry is not necessarily a bad thing. If a poet exposes their flaws and shares their early poetic efforts before moving on to their current work (which is presumably of a higher standard) then it shows the progression of the artist. Anyone looking to take up poetry can see that an experience poet like McNish had to learn their craft, thereby creating a connection between the artist and the audience.

There are many other things in this article which trouble me, such as the reviewer's pretentious assertion that McNish's work would have enraged Schopenhauer (a long since deceased person who's opinion we can't claim to know), suggesting that publishers push her work because they feel it is all that working-class audiences deserve, and continually inferring that McNish lacks the education, the influences and the mindset to produce worthwhile poetry. The one that makes me laugh however is the suggestion that poets have a job. Not a job with a fixed hourly salary, but a moral obligation to "safeguard language" and to continually strive to make it memorable as a defence of "civilised values". The reviewer suggests that no one should be encouraged to listen to artists such as McNish because their work is based on "what I think", thereby making it irrelevant.

Firstly, poets are not obliged to do anything. If a poet takes their work that seriously, thinking that poetry is some kind of barometer of the state of civilisation, good for them. However, I'd like to think that poets write because they enjoy the act of writing, instead of striving to uphold some abstract company mission statement. As such, it is not my, McNish's or any poet's job to do anything unless they choose to. To ascribe this mission to all poets is obtuse in the extreme. And thus the assassination of Hollie McNish and her poetry is concluded with the suggestion that audiences should not be encouraged to listen to her work. It may have escaped the reviewer's attention, but each poet writes from their individual perspective, which is no less legitimate or worthy of reading than the next poet. It goes back to my earlier point of if the audience enjoys something, who are you to tell them they only reason they like it is because they've somehow been played?

The reviewer concludes her article by imploring a resurgence of intelligence thought, and that we can start by not celebrating "amateurism and ignorance in our poetry". For a piece in the professional poetry outlet which PN Review is, I am surprised to see such amateurism in critiquing a poet and her work and such a blatant underestimation of the intelligence of spoken word audiences. For what it's worth, all I have left to say is this; Hollie McNish is free to write whatever she wants, just as audiences and critics are free to like or dislike her work, and loftier poets are free to write what they want and to adhere to a higher mission if they wish. After all, poetry is subjective and it's beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

(Check out Hollie's own response to PN Review here. Alternatively have a read of the original article here. In the meantime stay tuned for more good stuff coming soon!)

Jumbo's Lament

I sit with my keeper in the dark
of my den, guzzling the whisky
he brings for me most nights.

When the toothache and memories
overtake me, I smash the cage
they made to contain my strength.

King of the Elephants they call me,
not my lineage of birth-right,
the first of my kind to see these shores.

Man has always been there
at the centre of my memory,
when they riddled my mother with spears,

snatched me from the grasslands,
when they chained and jailed me,
dragged their prize across the sea.

Then I met him.
A man unlike the others,
the first to see me for myself.

A man who sat apart from his herd,
who swore to protect and nourish me,
our first taste of friendship.

He dredged the disease from my skin,
guided me as my masters set me to work
carrying their children on my back.

Pain endures through the night.
It wakes me from my sleep,
from dreams of grass and acacia trees,

yet he is always there, whisky in hand,
to sooth the pain away,
his and mine, night after night after night.

(This poem was inspired by the recent David Attenborough documentary on Jumbo the Elephant, entitled "Attenborough and the Giant Elephant". There is also a video version of this poem available on my YouTube channel.) 

Belated Happy New Year!

Happy New Year everybody! Sorry I haven't been posting anything since last autumn; it's been a busy few months. I managed to get myself a Christmas temporary job over the festive period in the grand old town of Cardiff, so I've had to push back most of my poetry projects until now.

Thankfully, now that my real world job has eased up a bit, I can let you guys know what's going to be happening on this blog in the foreseeable future. In the immediate future I have a couple of poems which have been completed and are almost ready to be posted, along with an article about Hollie McNish and her recent troubles with a certain literary magazine. Aside to that, I'm also still working hard on my analysis of Suli Breaks' poem 'I Will Not Let An Exam Result Decide My Fate', and I hope to have that posted as soon as possible.

As for Frynwys, the village is as quiet as ever, although like those of you living in the UK, we've experienced a bit of snowfall during January, and at times the areas on my usual walk looked like something out of The Polar Express. Not that we have a railway line here, but if you added one in then you have the idea of how much snow was on the ground.

Anyways, here's to another great year of poetry and everyday adventures, and I'll see you all again soon.