The Woodlot

By Chris Banks

I was going to write a long post about Canadian poet Karen Solie’s new poetry collection Wellwater which has been shortlisted for the 2025 Forward Prize for best poetry collection, but I have always been a little intimidated by Karen Solie’s talent and work ethic, which is probably why I haven’t wrote about her extraordinary new book out with Anansi press. But then who will in Canada? Maybe Steven Beattie over at his subscription blog That Shakespearean Rag, or maybe a shout out at The Globe and Mail or Quill & Quire, but that is about it.

This, of course, makes me a little anxious and sad that Karen Solie, who I think represents the best of us, receives only meagre acknowledgement for her artistic endeavours which feels problematic, at least to me, given the amount of work she puts into her poetry practice–and then there is the obvious question: what hope is there for the rest of us?

I really, really wish I didn’t know the answer, but I’ve been thinking about a video “reel” the terrific teacher and American poet Ocean Vuong posted online last week about social media, and what they called people’s fear of “cringe culture” and what they say is so smart and really underlines the whole problem, not only with people not wanting to write poetry criticism, but with people taking risks in their own poetic work.

I was struck by many ideas Ocean Vuong touches upon in this video, and I wanted to tease out some of them here. First of all, the idea of sincerity as being “cringey” and young people worried about social embarrassment being the reasons they don’t throw the whole of their genuine selves into their art.

This is troubling as I don’t think you can be successful in poetry any other way. If you are truly seeking the genuine, the sublime, “the best-words-in-the-best-order”, whatever you want to call it, I think you can’t hold any part of yourself back and that includes sincerity.

Ocean Vuong states young students of poetry still hunger for the sincere, but they are equally suspicious of it, or at least they fear being vulnerable or truly genuine, because maybe they will be ridiculed or embarrassed by some poetry hall monitors. This is always a risk online, but in classrooms, teachers and professors can create an environment to ensure students can express themselves without fear of judgement or ridicule.

I myself have been the subject of ridicule for thinking out loud in online spaces several times over the course of twenty five years, and although I would be lying if I said it’s easy to push aside the “cringe” feelings naysayers want you to feel, I would say ultimately it is more important to me to express myself authentically in my poems, and in my online criticism, than to not say anything at all. Sincerity should be a superpower; not an albatross around one’s neck.

Another thing Ocean Vuong rightly diagnoses is that this fear of sincerity, of being earnest in one’s poetry and in talking about poetry, has led to a kind of cynicism as performance. This cynical attitude is a pose one sees all the time in online spaces where people decry the lack of good poetry literally anywhere and then offer up usually one or two sacred cows like Kay Ryan or John Ashbery as being…. you know…alright. Sigh.

What is the remedy for all of this? Well, I can tell you calling out people for their cynicism towards modern poetry will simply make them double-down on their cynicism towards modern poetry. And honestly, I don’t mind it when people make cynical social media posts (who knows what they are feeling at that moment?), but I don’t like seeing cynicism as performance in poetry critics. That kind of shield of righteousness smacks of self importance, or a defense mechanism, and self esteem issues.

In my own writing about other poets, I usually try to say what I think the poet is doing, and how well they are doing it, and I might point out something I thought might have been done better, but at no time do I think I am right. Or at least, I’m about as right as anyone who thinks critically and thoughtfully about a book of poetry. People can disagree with me, and disagreement is ok.

But there is something about social media and generations of poets raised on videogames that make some, not everyone, want to vanquish the poet or critic or “Big Boss Baddie” once and for all. Well, good luck with that. I’ve been “vanquished” quite a few times over the decades, and yup, I’m still here.

However, these kind of online disputes, with its mixed bag of passive-aggresive trolls and outrage “hunters” have led to something that Ocean Vuong has termed social media’s “surveillance culture” which is the real tragedy for young poets. How are poets going to grow if they are not allowed to take risks? To fail in public? How can a poet think openly and pursue their passions authentically if there is someone online who might snigger or chortle at their efforts?

I don’t have the remedy for online surveillance culture but I’m glad Ocean Vuong has identified it, and has started the conversation about its detrimental effect on poets. I think it stifles creativity and has had a significant “cooling” effect on poetry criticism in Canada. Twenty years ago, there were tons of paid online poetry review spaces and many poets engaged in poetry criticism, not simply because they saw it as part of the job description, but because it helped them think of their own poetic practice.

Now, most of those online paid poetry review spaces are gone, and young people are fearful of criticism, of upsetting others, of taking professional risks, but how otherwise does one grow as a poet? Every time I publish a new book, or post an essay or a review online, my heart jumps into my throat, and I feel a little shiver of “cringe” spasm through my nervous system, but I do it anyways. I think it is important to do it anyways.

Looking over the last twenty five years, I am a mostly sincere poet, and a wholly reluctant poetry critic. I say reluctant because like others in Canada, I really wish someone else would do the “heavy lifting” and create a website that engages with poetic discourse, one that hosts long-form reviews of brand new Canadian poetry books , allows others to learn to write criticism and essays on poetics, but unfortunately, few others seem to be doing it. Now go have a look at the Vuong video, and maybe think about writing some reviews this Fall which reminds me where did I put that copy of Karen Solie’s Wellwater and how do I really feel about it? Time will tell.

Chris Banks is an award-winning, Pushcart-nominated Canadian poet and author of seven collections of poems, most recently Alternator with Nightwood Editions (Fall 2023). His first full-length collection, Bonfires, was awarded the Jack Chalmers Award for poetry by the Canadian Authors’ Association in 2004. Bonfires was also a finalist for the Gerald Lampert Award for best first book of poetry in Canada.  His poetry has appeared in The New Quarterly, Arc Magazine, The Antigonish Review, Event, The Malahat Review, The Walrus, American Poetry Journal, The Glacier, Best American Poetry (blog), Prism International, among other publications. Chris was an associate editor with The New Quarterly, and is Editor in Chief of The Woodlot – A Canadian Poetry Reviews & Essays website. He lives with dual disorders–chronic major depression and generalized anxiety disorder– and writes in Kitchener, Ontario.