Henry David Thoreau begins his essay “Walking” with the following words:
I wish to speak a word for Nature, for absolute freedom and wildness, as contrasted with
a freedom and culture merely civil—to regard man as an inhabitant, or a part and parcel
of Nature, rather than a member of society. I wish to make an extreme statement, if so I
may make an emphatic one, for there are enough champions of civilization: the minister
and the school committee and every one of you will take care of that.
I’ve often thought of revising his words, applying his “extreme statement” to the contemporary poetry scene. I might begin as follows:
I wish to speak a word for X poet’s work, for its absolute tenderness or beauty or genius
or insightfulness, as contrasted with the fads and hype merely boring—to regard X poet
as a central part of my life as a reader, rather than what the poetry scene says I should pay
attention to. I, too, wish to make an extreme statement, if so I may make a risky one, for
there are enough champions of the celebrated poets: the critics and prize committees and
every one pulling from a limited pool of presses will take care of that.
And so I shall begin considering some of the books I adore, setting out on a sort of crusade, "preached by some Peter the Hermit" in me, "to go forth and reconquer" my reading life from the hands of those continually trying to tell me what poetry I should value.