Despondent Poets

[softlyfalling]

I am not permitted to delete, it seems

[abu nuwas]

That is very interesting, and congratulations on the video.

My first reaction was to query the methodology. The fame of the suicides, at least, indicates that it was not considered necessary to select at random, from a pool of known suicides. That may not be relevant, but, it may not be the case that they all were suicides. See this on Esenin (go straight to the bottom). I do not like quoting RT, which is just a government mouthpiece, but it does raise the question.

http://russiapedia.rt.com/prominent-russ...ey-esenin/

My second thought was that it tallies with my experience of people, never mind poets. There seems to be a strong tendency for mentally disordered people to concern themselves with themselves. They seem not to have the luxury of taking an interest in the doings of others, and at the same time (big generalisations) their sense of humour, and ability in particular to laugh at themselves. Yes, I -I -I... <i>I</i> shall have to rein in my speech....

[billy]

mmm, i wonder if these suicides would still have been suicides were they not poets? i suspect they would. i dare say that most suidiciders in or out of poetry follow a similar pattern. withdrawn, self flagellating (is that the word?) while non suiciders would be more extrovert, able to mix and enjoy life's extremes.

but surprisingly the amount of words with negative emotion (for example, "hate") or positive emotion ("love") did not vary significantly between the groups.

i'm not surprised, after people have written poetry for a while, they tend to shy away from such words and instead use imagery or other device to show them. such words are classed as intangibles. if you read plath though, you will find that hate, fear, and emotions in general litter her poetry.

nice vid

[abu nuwas]

I also wondered about using some people who are still living-- that seems weak, as does the number of people involved. I was rather hoping that a predilection for anapaests, or terza rima would be indicators of some strange phenomenon -- to say nothing of dactyls....

[rowens]

Winter won't die this year. It's relentlessly coming back to see me. I'm going stir crazy in this town. This whole town is one room; or rather one stockroom in the back of a Wal-Mart.

People find the pathological context in writers and artists more entertaining than their actual work sometimes. The work does or doesn't have its own merit, but the writer's life and way of working is just as stupid as any other work people do. I think it's more useful the more stupid it is. There are writers that neurotically edit everything they write until it's good writing; and there are writers that psychotically impose their writing onto what is good. And all of that's done with different levels of failure and success; and rightly so.

You have good writers, that do their work, entertain, inspire, inform, disturb, get paid, get laid, and live like any decent human being should, or any decent human should want to. And there are snobs and slobs. The snobs are offended and embarrassed by the slobs; and the slobs are bored and angered by the snobs. And the levels of success and opportunities for recognition, and the truth in the merit of the work and the dignity of the person doing the work are the same whether you're a snob or a slob, neurotic or psychotic or both, or an all around decent and respectable hack writer.

But whether what I say is true, or something else altogether is true, or nothing is true: whatever. There still remains the question if life is worth living. And I say that life isn't worth living, but making it worth living is worth something. And for a writer and artist to continue to make life seem worth living even for their own self, is what drives them to extreme acts of art, of crime, or despair and death. Because ultimately, all the things people are obsessed with, from money to homes to cars to food to love to sex to comfort to excitement to danger to truth to fights to joy to passion to sadness to hope to hopelessness are utterly pointless and incidental. Anger is stupid, love is stupid, writing is stupid, and all terribly useful. Nothing I do is incidental. Because I'm perfectly happy being superstitious and stupid. And when I start to feel a little too intelligent and honest about myself and the world, I get drunk, or don't drink at all for weeks, both gather the same effect, and I say things or do things or write things that shatter any reputation of intellectual integrity I might have shown to others or myself. Because life is just too painful to be right all the time.

[billy]

I also wondered about using some people who are still living-- that seems weak, as does the number of people involved. I was rather hoping that a predilection for anapaests, or terza rima would be indicators of some strange phenomenon -- to say nothing of dactyls....

i think that more free and blank verse poets topped themselves than sonnet writers, etc

---

Winter won't die this year. It's relentlessly coming back to see me. I'm going stir crazy in this town. This whole town is one room; or rather one stockroom in the back of a Wal-Mart.

People find the pathological context in writers and artists more entertaining than their actual work sometimes. The work does or doesn't have its own merit, but the writer's life and way of working is just as stupid as any other work people do. I think it's more useful the more stupid it is. There are writers that neurotically edit everything they write until it's good writing; and there are writers that psychotically impose their writing onto what is good. And all of that's done with different levels of failure and success; and rightly so.

You have good writers, that do their work, entertain, inspire, inform, disturb, get paid, get laid, and live like any decent human being should, or any decent human should want to. And there are snobs and slobs. The snobs are offended and embarrassed by the slobs; and the slobs are bored and angered by the snobs. And the levels of success and opportunities for recognition, and the truth in the merit of the work and the dignity of the person doing the work are the same whether you're a snob or a slob, neurotic or psychotic or both, or an all around decent and respectable hack writer.

But whether what I say is true, or something else altogether is true, or nothing is true: whatever. There still remains the question if life is worth living. And I say that life isn't worth living, but making it worth living is worth something. And for a writer and artist to continue to make life seem worth living even for their own self, is what drives them to extreme acts of art, of crime, or despair and death. Because ultimately, all the things people are obsessed with, from money to homes to cars to food to love to sex to comfort to excitement to danger to truth to fights to joy to passion to sadness to hope to hopelessness are utterly pointless and incidental. Anger is stupid, love is stupid, writing is stupid, and all terribly useful. Nothing I do is incidental. Because I'm perfectly happy being superstitious and stupid. And when I start to feel a little too intelligent and honest about myself and the world, I get drunk, or don't drink at all for weeks, both gather the same effect, and I say things or do things or write things that shatter any reputation of intellectual integrity I might have shown to others or myself. Because life is just too painful to be right all the time.

people top themselves, some are poets, maybe suicide drives one to write a few sad poems first who knows. i can't really say i care one way or t'other. what some of the suicides did though, was bring some good poetry to the fore. plath and co would be a l less famous had they not took the time to top themselves, as far as i can tell rowen all living people are bad case studies when it comes to understanding suicide

[rowens]

All suicides were living people once. And all of them wrote their poetry before they killed themselves.

Maybe this study will be useful for people that want to intentionally use only nonsuicidal words in their poetry, then kill themselves anyway. Or maybe they can intentionally use more suicidal words than ever before, yet remain alive, becoming inspiring sources of strength and perseverance.

[billy]

yeah but doesn't that just show us about the dead ones?

is it possible to use the dead poets in order to see who will be next?

[abu nuwas]

It is interesting, though it does not contradict the research, that, after Esenin died, there was a spate of deaths in the Russian poetry world, including Mayakovsky, and seemingly something similar in the US. It is suggested that Randall Jarrell's death 'loosened the grip on life' of Robert Lowell, and Berryman. There is also a suggestion, as with Esenin, that Jarrell did not intend to kill himself at all, though this interesting article in my favorite journal, concludes that he did.

http://www.vqronline.org/articles/1982/s...l-jarrell/

PS it is really pronounced 'Yesyenin'

[billy]

didn't some people kill themselves after elvis died because they couldn't live without him, i'm waiting for queen elizebeth to die so i can top myself.

[rowens]

Maybe the History Channel can do a show called the Dead Poet Code. And concerned people can chase after poets, warning them of their imminent deaths as laid out in their choice of words.

It's one thing to be depressed or have bad things happen around you. Then you dig into it, think about it all the time, even when you're not depressed, so you can write hundreds of effective poems over a few decades. Adrienne Rich wrote about world issues, and dwelled on them. She might have killed herself too, if she dwelled on herself. Maybe not. A person's mind is a dangerous place.

Depression is no good. You don't feel anything, somebody could tell you your son just died, and you know you should feel something but you don't. That's real depression. It comes in phases at first, but if you don't find some way to fight it from coming again, after a while the so-called phases can last years and years. That's when people just end it the old fashion way.

---

I think that supernatural ideas can help with depression. I think they're better than killing yourself: Although maybe not for the people around you. For instance, I'll feel the darkest, unbearable depression weighing down on me, and I just want to die. Then I say, "Some witch must have put a spell on me" and I activate all those zany areas of the mind that lots of people are ashamed to take advantage of these days. And I go through the rituals of the belief. I don't go out trying to kill witches or anything like that; I just try to get one to fall in love with me, which is lethal enough.

I think poets use similar ideas in their writings to ward off depression and other fatal things. But there's often a fine line between imagination and madness that many people can't see. And then the poet's intellectual dignity makes them ashamed of being seen as superstitious or crazy. Luckily I've worked out a way not to be ashamed of any of that. Actually going insane is what remains one foreseeable problem. But I've set traps for those bits of creeping madness too.

[Heartafire]

This has been most interesting thread to follow albeit a sad topic.
Rowens I have posted this most profound comment from you in a place where I can to refer to it when I feel the need.
"Because life is just too painful to be right all the time".
Thank you for these words of wisdom.
Heart

[serge gurkski]

I am not permitted to delete, it seems

Hi. I understand you hurt. Still, this was a fine contribution to consider.
As to moribund people, I agree with your quotes; Yes. It is about being able to relate to other people. That ability might save you from killing yourself. No one wants anyone but complete arseholes dead.
I liked your video (more the singer actually) on youtube. I wish you would not want to delete that.
If you feel offended because of the way you have been treated here, be so noble and still leave this fine contribution you made here.
And do not leave.

at Edward: I did not know anything about Jarrell. Thank you for the link.

As to suicide i d really like to expand the topic: Think of Camus and also of Foster Wallace.
i am thinking of my ex-gf.
Anyway, i don't know if life is worth it.
I hate death.

i hate life less than death.
Could that be a starter? (I hope.)

cheers

serge