I agree with this wholeheartedly. I think the emphasis on capturing the small moments of small lives has had its time; poets should shift towards the grander.
I first discovered Elijah Perseus Blumov when New Verse Review published his intriguing—albeit controversial—essay The Iron Lyre back in January of this year. It made a great impression on me. Since then, I have been checking out Mr. Blumov’s other work at various intervals, and I am very impressed with his skills as both a poet and an essayist. In addition, he possesses a real gift for analyzing poems.
So it goes without saying that I was excited to see that a follow-up to The Iron Lyre had been written. I knew it would be extremely good, but it ultimately surpassed even my high expectations. I apologize in advance for sounding effusive, but I honestly love this essay so much. Elijah perfectly describes what I feel poetry must aspire to, and he does so in a way that I never could. See this passage for instance:
“A poem is monumental when, like a literal monument, it attempts to permanently memorialize and glorify a particular experience, idea, or series of events. A monumental poem is a statement of something that is always worth saying, and is accordingly built to last.”
This is precisely what I think of truly great poetry. At the same time, I love that Elijah does not “prescribe one aesthetic sensibility for all”, which I feel is very important. There is absolutely zero need to limit ourselves to one or two “approved” styles.
Last but not least, I would like to point out just how good this essay’s conclusion is:
“There will be readers a thousand years from now who will wish to read the great, monumental literature of the previous thousand years. We owe it to them to write it.”
Amen! I offer my sincere thanks to Mr. Blumov for writing this monumental essay and to Mr. Knepper and the rest of the editorial team at New Verse Review for publishing it.
P.S. I am well aware that I have not used italics where appropriate. Unfortunately, Substack is currently being buggy, and I can’t for the life of me get the toolbar to appear that would allow me to format the text.
This is the sort of note that writers dream of getting. Thank you so much for this abundance of kind words-- you've made my day. I'm so glad that you've gotten so much out of my writing, and I'm grateful to have you on my team. Feel free to get in touch anytime!
I am very touched by your lovely response to my comment, and I was so happy to read that it made your day! I was happy to write it, and everything I said was very well-deserved.
I am delighted to be on your “team”, as you put it, and I will be in touch with you very soon. Thank you so much for such a kind invitation!
I wonder how much self-awareness goes into writing monumental poetry (or any literature)? There are certainly examples of writers setting out to do something great and it being accomplished, but I think a lot of great writing comes from being full of great things then writing and “stumbling” onto something great. At least that’s been the case in my experience.
I think that the importance of serendipity often has an inverse relationship to the size of the poem. Lyrics often come in fits of inspiration, whereas dramas and epics require a great deal of vision, revision, ambition, and planning (which is not to say that they cannot arise from stumbling upon an intriguing idea). Ultimately, “readiness is all,” as Hamlet says. If we prepare ourselves spiritually and educationally to write great poems, and shoot for the fences every time, we will be readier to answer the call when inspiration strikes.
I saved this post and the Iron Lyre one when they appeared but only just now got back to them. There's much I would like to say but because I'm tapping this out laboriously on a tablet I'll be brief. I was thinking along similar lines back in the mid-'70s so am very much in sympathy. My life went in another direction but in retirement I have taken up a philosophical poem which might be seen as related to your monumentalist project. I'm even in a very casual way a metal fan, an unanticipated development that happened when I was around 60. Anyway I look forward to reading more of your work and following this campaign.
O boy! You got some nads bro. I really want to see this monumental poetry now. But I'm willing to wait a long time for the good stuff. Good luck to you!
Your name--Elijah Perseus Blumov (!)--almost has me convinced this is written as parody. If nothing else had done so, that little ditty by Shelley, "Ozymandias," would, one hopes, have dealt a death blow to the "Monumentalist" program. There are things in this world whose "action is no stronger than a flower." And isn't it presumptuous to use the collective pronoun "we" throughout your "manifesto"? Speak for yourself, and leave off prescribing what "we" should do. Build all the "monuments" you want. The rest of us might not be capable of such loftiness.
Peter, thank you for reading. As for my name, I would offer to show you my birth certificate or my passport— it’s all there. My siblings have the middle names “Psyche” and “Phoebus.”
As for the essay, I fear you may be misinterpreting it in two key respects. Firstly, the use of “we” is a convention of manifestos, and in any case does not refer to all people but to “the Monumentalists,” that is, myself and those who agree with me.
Secondly, if you read the essay again, you will see that I am not advocating that we all write a certain way or strive for the same goals. Artistic diversity is important, and you are of course welcome to write whatever kind of poetry you like. I am simply advocating that we carve a place in contemporary poetry for a monumentalist aesthetic and attitude.
“Ozymandias” is a fine poem, but surely you cannot think that Shelley himself did not have monumental ambitions— consider “The Triumph of Life,” “Prometheus Unbound,” “Adonais,” or the dozen other long and lofty poems he wrote. The longevity of “Ozymandias” itself (to say nothing of the enduring fame of Ramses II) testifies against the moral of the poem. Besides, even though all will eventually pass away into the dust of history or entropy, creating ambitious art built to last for a few thousand years is a valuable and noble activity. If you have no desire to participate in that activity, you may go your own way without bitterness.
Thanks for the thoughtful reply. I was just having some fun with you and your “manifesto.” Your name really is extraordinary: One of the best I’ve seen.
I did read the part where you emphasized that you aren’t prescribing any particular approach for others, and I do know that “we” is a conventional form of address for manifestoes. I just couldn’t help tweaking you a bit. If you think of a spectrum with gravity at one end and levity at the other, I tend to fall toward the levity end, you (based on your manifesto) toward the gravity end.
I haven’t read Shelley in years. I know he was ambitious, brilliant, an important poet. The “moral” of his poem “O” popped into my head as I read your manifesto, and I just threw it out there. I was speaking from a place of ignorance (I do a lot of that!).
In any event, I enjoy these little literary jousts. I’m going to give you a follow (I’m an old broke guy, can’t afford to subscribe; new to Substack, not sure how this money business works) and look forward to reading your stuff in the future. You might even convert me to Monumentalism!
Thank you for your kind, gracious words, and for the follow! I appreciate good sportsmanship, and I think the levity folks are necessary to prevent the gravity folks from descending into bathos. Courts need their jesters to remain sane and reasonable (hence the prevalence of satire in the "Age of Reason"). People who initially know me for my writing or my podcast are often surprised when they meet me in person to find out how lighthearted and goofy I can be. I feel like I maintain a healthy balance, I just happen to put all my severity into art and frivolity into life. But I appreciate other mixtures!
This is a wonderful and very compelling piece.
As the proverb says, “Where there is no vision, the people perish.”
Kudos to the author!
Thank you so much, David!
I do agree that this is a fabulous essay.
I look forward to reading this!
I agree with this wholeheartedly. I think the emphasis on capturing the small moments of small lives has had its time; poets should shift towards the grander.
I first discovered Elijah Perseus Blumov when New Verse Review published his intriguing—albeit controversial—essay The Iron Lyre back in January of this year. It made a great impression on me. Since then, I have been checking out Mr. Blumov’s other work at various intervals, and I am very impressed with his skills as both a poet and an essayist. In addition, he possesses a real gift for analyzing poems.
So it goes without saying that I was excited to see that a follow-up to The Iron Lyre had been written. I knew it would be extremely good, but it ultimately surpassed even my high expectations. I apologize in advance for sounding effusive, but I honestly love this essay so much. Elijah perfectly describes what I feel poetry must aspire to, and he does so in a way that I never could. See this passage for instance:
“A poem is monumental when, like a literal monument, it attempts to permanently memorialize and glorify a particular experience, idea, or series of events. A monumental poem is a statement of something that is always worth saying, and is accordingly built to last.”
This is precisely what I think of truly great poetry. At the same time, I love that Elijah does not “prescribe one aesthetic sensibility for all”, which I feel is very important. There is absolutely zero need to limit ourselves to one or two “approved” styles.
Last but not least, I would like to point out just how good this essay’s conclusion is:
“There will be readers a thousand years from now who will wish to read the great, monumental literature of the previous thousand years. We owe it to them to write it.”
Amen! I offer my sincere thanks to Mr. Blumov for writing this monumental essay and to Mr. Knepper and the rest of the editorial team at New Verse Review for publishing it.
P.S. I am well aware that I have not used italics where appropriate. Unfortunately, Substack is currently being buggy, and I can’t for the life of me get the toolbar to appear that would allow me to format the text.
Dear Shannon,
This is the sort of note that writers dream of getting. Thank you so much for this abundance of kind words-- you've made my day. I'm so glad that you've gotten so much out of my writing, and I'm grateful to have you on my team. Feel free to get in touch anytime!
Warm regards,
Elijah
Dear Elijah,
I am very touched by your lovely response to my comment, and I was so happy to read that it made your day! I was happy to write it, and everything I said was very well-deserved.
I am delighted to be on your “team”, as you put it, and I will be in touch with you very soon. Thank you so much for such a kind invitation!
Warm Regards,
Shannon
I wonder how much self-awareness goes into writing monumental poetry (or any literature)? There are certainly examples of writers setting out to do something great and it being accomplished, but I think a lot of great writing comes from being full of great things then writing and “stumbling” onto something great. At least that’s been the case in my experience.
I think that the importance of serendipity often has an inverse relationship to the size of the poem. Lyrics often come in fits of inspiration, whereas dramas and epics require a great deal of vision, revision, ambition, and planning (which is not to say that they cannot arise from stumbling upon an intriguing idea). Ultimately, “readiness is all,” as Hamlet says. If we prepare ourselves spiritually and educationally to write great poems, and shoot for the fences every time, we will be readier to answer the call when inspiration strikes.
I saved this post and the Iron Lyre one when they appeared but only just now got back to them. There's much I would like to say but because I'm tapping this out laboriously on a tablet I'll be brief. I was thinking along similar lines back in the mid-'70s so am very much in sympathy. My life went in another direction but in retirement I have taken up a philosophical poem which might be seen as related to your monumentalist project. I'm even in a very casual way a metal fan, an unanticipated development that happened when I was around 60. Anyway I look forward to reading more of your work and following this campaign.
Thank you so much Maclin, and this is great to hear! I wish you only the best in achieving your aspirations-- may Apollo be with you!
O boy! You got some nads bro. I really want to see this monumental poetry now. But I'm willing to wait a long time for the good stuff. Good luck to you!
Your name--Elijah Perseus Blumov (!)--almost has me convinced this is written as parody. If nothing else had done so, that little ditty by Shelley, "Ozymandias," would, one hopes, have dealt a death blow to the "Monumentalist" program. There are things in this world whose "action is no stronger than a flower." And isn't it presumptuous to use the collective pronoun "we" throughout your "manifesto"? Speak for yourself, and leave off prescribing what "we" should do. Build all the "monuments" you want. The rest of us might not be capable of such loftiness.
Peter, thank you for reading. As for my name, I would offer to show you my birth certificate or my passport— it’s all there. My siblings have the middle names “Psyche” and “Phoebus.”
As for the essay, I fear you may be misinterpreting it in two key respects. Firstly, the use of “we” is a convention of manifestos, and in any case does not refer to all people but to “the Monumentalists,” that is, myself and those who agree with me.
Secondly, if you read the essay again, you will see that I am not advocating that we all write a certain way or strive for the same goals. Artistic diversity is important, and you are of course welcome to write whatever kind of poetry you like. I am simply advocating that we carve a place in contemporary poetry for a monumentalist aesthetic and attitude.
“Ozymandias” is a fine poem, but surely you cannot think that Shelley himself did not have monumental ambitions— consider “The Triumph of Life,” “Prometheus Unbound,” “Adonais,” or the dozen other long and lofty poems he wrote. The longevity of “Ozymandias” itself (to say nothing of the enduring fame of Ramses II) testifies against the moral of the poem. Besides, even though all will eventually pass away into the dust of history or entropy, creating ambitious art built to last for a few thousand years is a valuable and noble activity. If you have no desire to participate in that activity, you may go your own way without bitterness.
Thanks for the thoughtful reply. I was just having some fun with you and your “manifesto.” Your name really is extraordinary: One of the best I’ve seen.
I did read the part where you emphasized that you aren’t prescribing any particular approach for others, and I do know that “we” is a conventional form of address for manifestoes. I just couldn’t help tweaking you a bit. If you think of a spectrum with gravity at one end and levity at the other, I tend to fall toward the levity end, you (based on your manifesto) toward the gravity end.
I haven’t read Shelley in years. I know he was ambitious, brilliant, an important poet. The “moral” of his poem “O” popped into my head as I read your manifesto, and I just threw it out there. I was speaking from a place of ignorance (I do a lot of that!).
In any event, I enjoy these little literary jousts. I’m going to give you a follow (I’m an old broke guy, can’t afford to subscribe; new to Substack, not sure how this money business works) and look forward to reading your stuff in the future. You might even convert me to Monumentalism!
Thank you for your kind, gracious words, and for the follow! I appreciate good sportsmanship, and I think the levity folks are necessary to prevent the gravity folks from descending into bathos. Courts need their jesters to remain sane and reasonable (hence the prevalence of satire in the "Age of Reason"). People who initially know me for my writing or my podcast are often surprised when they meet me in person to find out how lighthearted and goofy I can be. I feel like I maintain a healthy balance, I just happen to put all my severity into art and frivolity into life. But I appreciate other mixtures!
Thank you so much, my friend. You're not too shabby yourself!