Now Close the Windows

Vermonters, your next poet laureate awaits you

This post’s title is borrowed from a poem by Vermont’s first poet laureate, the ever venerated Mr. Robert Frost. Vermont is not the only state that claims him as their own, but we do love what is well-tended, good-natured, and timeless, which many of Frost’s poems are. 

Robert Frost is a hard act to follow. He read at a presidential inauguration for starters. His work has wormed its way into American pop culture. We know that nothing gold can stay, that good fences make good neighbors, and that we should consider the road less traveled. A modern-day Aesop, a preacher, a sonneteer for the church of earth. In fact, Frost’s imprint was so profound, the laureateship had been vacant until 1989 when burly baritone Galway Kinnell was bestowed the honor. From then on, Vermont’s had a succession of state poets (as they are commonly known). 

This year, Mary Ruefle’s four-year tenure as Vermont’s Poet Laureate closes and another deserving poet (hopefully) succeeds her. A symbolic post mostly, the laureateship comes with no expectations except that the honor be accepted. 

What is this “honor” exactly and why does it matter? The modern poet laureate is a role that came over from England, and to this day confers an authoritative recognition of achievement in the field. The qualifications have always been light: be a resident and publish good work. By this measure, anyone who has had some success in placing their poetry could be the next poet laureate. Technically yes. But the title still carries an air of hallowed seriousness to it, a gravitas. Those laurels, they are heavy. 

Most of this I attribute to a.) The deliberation is carried out of the public eye, save for the initial open nomination period and the proclamation signed by the Governor and b.) Pfftt. Poetry. What is that even?

Poetry is a state of mind and a way of being. It is magic and incantation. It’s an aura. A vibe, ya feel? Poetry is rhythm, a missive, a mantra, a memory. Everyone can write poetry–I firmly believe that and it has been the core value of PoemCity as we designed it. But is everyone a poet? 

The public nomination period closes on Monday, so I’ll keep this brief. The Vermont Arts Council, which administers this program,  invites nominations (self-nominations are allowed) to add to the pool of those under consideration. From then on, they will take it from there, twirl their magic wand counterclockwise, and ✨ BOOP ✨ we should have a newly minted poet laureate.

A public comment period for any deliberation of consequence is a good standard operating procedure. For a careless public that doesn’t take part, this allows those in power to do as they wish. For a discerning public that participates in the process, the outcomes have a better chance at skewing towards the will of the people. Better but not perfect. It is my desire that everyone put forward a nomination for a poet of their choice. Let’s reinvigorate the list of potential candidates. 

But first: what do we want from our state poet? The award is only $1,000, which each year (spread over four years) is not even enough to pay for a hot air balloon ride. If poetry is a vibe, to what frequency are we attuned? If poetry is an incantation, what is our secret wish? If poetry is a way of being, how are we doing? 

The poet, in their manner, their profession, through their works, deeds, and legacy can represent any of these. I would challenge the secret society of judges to consider the state of Vermont poetry—the state of Vermont’s people really—and make their selection to reflect an aspect of the times. If Mary Reufle’s erasures, their one-of-a-kind responses to the canon lit by old white men, the ways she blacks out everything but the necessary—the way top secret documents are censored—if she was the state poet for the COVID age, who will represent our reemergence? What kind of poet do we want and need for the bodies that have been forever changed by this pandemic, for the lives we must now lead?

Originally, I wanted to offer some poets for your consideration, Vermont is home to so many poets that it is hard to select just a few. In this article, Chard deNiord listed quite a number of Vermont poets. I suggest you familiarize yourself with a few of these writers. 

I’d be remiss to not mention two folks who are publicly asking for public nominations from others. They are Toussaint St. Negritude and Djeli (also known as Bill Forchion).

Good luck, and do your best to seed the ballot with at least one person whom you would want to win. Here’s one of my favorite poems by Robert Frost. This is exactly how I feel when wandering the city streets alone at night. 

Acquainted with the Night

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.

(1928)

Photo: Robert Frost’s gravestone in Bennington,VT courtesy of Daniel Barlow.

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