Chapter 17, “A Diagnostic Report on Taiwanese Modern Poetry in the New Century: The Anti-Intellectual, Anti-Aesthetic Trends of Postmodern Poetry and Internet Poetry”
Keywords
Postmodernism, The Anti-Aesthetic, Decentralization
Preface
In The Book of Changes, Xici II, it is stated:
“When change reaches its limit, transformation occurs; through transformation comes adaptability; through adaptability comes endurance.”
This means that when things develop to their extreme and reach exhaustion, they must seek change. After change occurs, they become adaptable and capable of meeting new needs.
Approximately at the end of the last century, Taiwanese modern poetry began to enter a “postmodern condition.” Observed from the developmental history of modern poetry, this can be understood as the intention and practice of certain modern poets possessing “avant-garde” ideas who, believing that “when things reach exhaustion they must change, and through change they become adaptable,” eagerly sought innovation and transformation, hoping to lead a new trend.
Just as Romanticism was a reaction against Rationalism, “the postmodern” is likewise a reaction against the concept of “the modern.” Postmodernism succeeds Modernism, yet under the banner of “deconstruction” opposes the social systems and orders established by Modernism on the foundations of Pragmatism and Positivism. This is not merely a rebound in terms of values; within literature it further expands into “anti-tradition” and “anti-aesthetics.”
Postmodern “decentralization” signifies opposition to traditional central values and opposition to established aesthetic standards. It advocates “plural coexistence” and “a multitude of voices,” meaning that every member of a group is no longer controlled by any central authority. Every member enjoys equal rights of autonomy and may freely express opinions and display works, engage in communication and feedback, without relying on third-party intervention or accepting censorship.
As far as the author can remember, postmodern poetry in Taiwan approximately began in the 1990s with Lin Qunsheng, a Horizon poet, who published “Silence” (POETRY-BASIC) in Horizon Poetry Magazine. The entire poem was written in the computer language BASIC. Apart from the title, no Chinese characters appeared in the poem. The following year, Professor Zhang Hanliang selected it for inclusion in The Poetry Anthology of the Seventy-Sixth Year (Erya Publishing). At that time, the author was the founder of the Horizon Poetry Society and publisher of its poetry magazine.
Afterward came poets and writers such as Chen Kehua, Lin Yaode, Huang Zhirong, Hong Hong, Chen Li, Xia Yu, and later Ding Weiren, as well as poetry journals with postmodern linguistic styles such as Windball (2008), Toilet Paper (2008), and So Hot (2011).
Section One: The Appearance of Modern Poetry in the New Century
I. Postmodernism’s Exclusive Preference for Modern Poetry
In Taiwan, postmodernism has shown an exclusive preference for modern poetry. Only within the genre of modern poetry has it blossomed into strange and exotic flowers. In prose, fiction, drama, film, and other performing arts, postmodern modes of expression and performance have not become popular.
What does this phenomenon signify?
Does it mean that modern poets were unwilling to confine themselves to the continuation of traditional Modernism? Perhaps scholars such as Zhang Hanliang, who advocated postmodernism during the 1990s, possessed such awareness.
Or is it because modern poetry is small in scale and simple in structure, making it easy to handle, so that modern poets unwilling to remain unnoticed enjoy using it as a dumbbell with which to exercise their biceps?
The author reasonably speculates that most younger poets who merely followed the trend had no real conceptual understanding of what linguistic characteristics and formal appearances should distinguish postmodern poetry from modernist poetic texts. Consequently, they could only imagine its mysteries by observing the works of avant-garde poets such as Xia Yu, Chen Kehua, and Hong Hong.
II. Polarization and Differentiation Following the Rise of Internet Poetry
Since the emergence of Internet poetry near the end of the last century, these poems of uneven quality have spread and proliferated like Mikania micrantha. Internet poetry societies have appeared by the hundreds and thousands. Even long-established poetry societies refused to fall behind, planting their flags online, building virtual camps, accepting submissions through the Internet, and interacting with contributors and readers.
A very small number of online poetry societies periodically published electronic poetry journals, such as Ji Zhi Sha. Most online poetry societies merely provided a platform for posting. Whether a posted poem received responses depended entirely on the poster’s public-relations skills.
Posters liked one another’s posts. On the one hand, this was out of reciprocity; on the other hand, it was a form of mutual emotional support.
Internet poetry has produced polarization and differentiation:
(1) Those poets eager for recognition, together with the small number of poets possessing substantial creative achievements and considerable reputations, participated only in specific organizations capable of providing them with performance stages, such as newspaper literary supplements or poetry journals, including Taiwan Poetics, Genesis, and Mermaid Fish. They interacted only with poets within their own circles and rarely ventured into other “bandit-style poetry societies” lacking publications.
(2) Those aspiring creators still paddling beneath the surface, unable to enter the temple of the Muse, wandered among various online poetry societies. Their postings often amounted to nothing more than attempts to maintain visibility.
These two groups generally had little interaction. Their relationship was clearly stratified, resembling that between aristocrats and commoners.
The poetry of the former group possesses a distinct “literati poetry” style. However, poets within the same organization influence one another, increasing homogeneity and sometimes producing a situation in which individual identities become blurred, leaving only a collective style, as seen in Windball.
The poetry of the latter group is mostly plain and simple, lacking aesthetic value and displaying the characteristics of “superficiality” and “vulgarization,” qualities commonly associated with popular literature.
Section Two: Postmodern Poetry — Poetry of the Ugly
I. Anti-Aesthetic Poetry: Both Ugly and Noisy
Since postmodern poetry is a reaction against modern poetry, it inevitably proceeds in the opposite direction, overturning the scenic beauty and musicality emphasized in modernist poetry.
As a result, it falls into the trap of anti-aesthetics, displaying language lacking imagistic beauty and forms lacking musicality. Put bluntly, it is “both ugly and noisy.”
Even Xia Yu, revered by postmodern poets as a kind of “godmother,” could hardly be imagined writing regulated verse or ballad-style poetry—forms emphasizing rhyme and rhythm. Such orderly poetic DNA simply does not exist within her creative makeup.
II. Amoeba Poetry: Dimensional Types
Strictly speaking, postmodern poetry has appeared only as a small stream within a few poetry societies and journals possessing avant-garde and experimental spirits, such as Windball and Wild Ginger Flower.
Even among these poets, most were “crossing the river by feeling for stones” and “blind men feeling an elephant.” Their understanding of postmodern theory was partial and incomplete, and each interpreted it according to personal imagination.
Nevertheless, Taiwanese postmodern poetry still contains several dimensional types worthy of discussion.
Although their forms are diverse, they give the author the impression that “when things reach exhaustion they change, and through change they become strange.”
Apart from innovations in form and meaning, they provide readers with the amusement of wit and punning.
And then?
There is no “then.”
1. Playing with Words
(1) Collage
Chen Kehua / “Messages at the Station”
Amei Acao
I took the 11:37 southbound train first.
I do not hate you.
If the typhoon arrives tomorrow
Call: (00)7127ㄓ998
Left by Father. Children, remember me.
Let’s have the baby first and discuss later.
Money, do not wait for me anymore.
My home is not in Taipei. Echo:
What I owe you
Has already been found in work.
A very, very long time later, essence
And phenomenon conflict very seriously.
Hope you return home soon.
The three hens and the cabbages
Are all well.
Your most sincere love hurriedly from here
Returns to you.
This is a typical collage poem, performed through a mode of representation that remains faithful to the original appearance, fully expressing a sense of immediacy.
It consists of several messages randomly assembled together, yet it is difficult to dismantle and reconstruct them.
The poem presents a highly unstable state and may be regarded as a “random representation” of messages left on a station bulletin board.
Its improvised assembly not only changes according to the reading sequence chosen by each viewer but also remains in constant flux as time passes and messages are added or altered.
What idea does this poem ultimately seek to convey?
In fact, it uses the presentation of a certain fluid and unrestricted “phenomenon” to replace the communication of an abstract idea.
Texts of this type possess a high degree of indeterminacy. Consequently, the content of the poem becomes less important. Its primary significance lies in its form.
Xia Yu / “All the People Who Have Ever Loved Sit There Singing Loudly Together”
In the end it becomes music
Flowing out along the shattered cup
Every fragment rises by a semitone and finally
Becomes a fountain. On the afternoon of running away from home
Staring at the clock, watching the short hand
Move from 1 toward 2, completely feeling abused.
The dictionary lies open
On the tidy desktop, marked in red beside the words looked up:
Suitable for a funeral; gloomy. [Of steamships and trains]
Chimney. Farther away, more of them. Coarse willow-woven cotton cloth;
Exaggerated words. Greek cross-shaped, swastika-shaped.
All the people who have ever loved sit there beneath the window in a row
Singing loudly together, lightly immeasurable and possessing
A tendency
To disappear immediately.
“Suitable for a funeral; gloomy. [Of steamships and trains] / Chimney. Farther away, more of them. Coarse willow-woven cotton cloth; / Exaggerated words. Greek cross-shaped, swastika-shaped.”
Within these three lines, funeral, steamship, train, chimney, coarse willow-woven cotton cloth, Greek cross shape, and swastika shape are all concrete objects—visual images—arranged and collaged through three different modes of lineation.
Except for the concluding sentence, every line appeals to visual imagery. Each contains one or more concrete objects, forming one or more visual scenes.
The effect is that of leading readers through a succession of images while watching a short film.
As for what emotions, thoughts, or ideas the author truly intends to communicate, the literal meaning of the poem itself does not seem capable of fully providing an answer.
(2) Horizontal Leap
In addition to “image collage,” poets may also create “horizontal leaps” of imagery through the alternating use of long and short shots and the shifting of focal points.
Hong Hong / “New Life”
On the shelf are three apples.
They let me see the ocean.
I ride my bicycle into town and bring back fresh bread,
and together with a school of fish pass through the morning seaweed.
Last night’s poetry collection is like you asleep,
spread open on a full and satisfied page.
There is no need to add another line.
So I too put down my pen,
listening to the tide within my heart and within the papaya tree in the backyard
rising inch by inch.
In the first stanza, the imagery comes and goes in leaps, presenting interwoven scenes of land and sea:
“apples” → “ocean” → “town,” “bread” → “school of fish” → “seaweed.”
“Seeing the ocean from the apples on the shelf” may be understood as a movement of vision, because there is no spatial connection between the two.
“I pass through the morning seaweed together with a school of fish” is an imaginative scene tinged with Surrealism. From this, one may infer that the author passed through the coastal intertidal zone on the return journey.
(2) Jumping Cut
Qiu Huan / “When I Don’t Want to Sleep”
One must not lie,
write misspelled words,
or moderate love.
Deliberately barren, calm, occasionally smiling.
After getting up there is no need deliberately to fold the quilt,
shaking open the dream.
In a daze through a season of winter,
one must realize that a miserable life is better than a good death.
Then
eat a plate of fried rice with eggs,
and cleanse oneself.
This poem lacks structure. The preceding and following sentences cannot be connected, because each line is an improvised performance.
Indeed, the arrangement of the lines and the combinations of images in this poem do not exhibit obvious logical or causal relationships. Consequently, when one reads it according to the traditional “sequential reading method,” it feels as though the author pulls one sentence from here and another from there.
As for what the poem is trying to express, one can vaguely sense it, yet it is difficult to explain in a clear and orderly manner.
(3) Parody
Lo Ching / “A Farewell Letter About Farewell”
My dear, as if I were speaking to you:
The moment I pick up my pen,
I want to write to you.
The moment I grab a sheet of paper,
three lines, two lines,
before I know it I have written
to
here.
Since I have written to here,
I can only write
to
here.
Let us stop here.
Respectfully wishing you
peace and happiness.
Postscript:
What is written in this letter
is absolutely unrelated
to anything
not written
in this letter.
Another postscript:
If this letter
should happen to be seen
by historians,
archaeologists,
critics,
anthologists,
or voyeurs,
please kindly pretend
you have not seen it
and be merciful.
This poem by Lo Ching thoroughly practices the concepts of Postmodernism.
This letter contains no content and conveys no message. It deconstructs both the nature of the “letter” itself and the function of language.
When read, it appears to possess only the form of a letter, while its content is empty and irrelevant. Precisely because of this, it establishes a conceptual connection with the postmodern notion of the “collapse of theme.”
The poem also employs a form of parody. There is a slight sense of irony, yet it is merely a feint. It does not carry the intention of criticizing its prototype, Lin Juemin’s “Letter to My Wife Before Farewell.”
It may therefore be regarded as a purely formal and imagistic parody.
If this were a student composition exercise, it would probably receive comments from the teacher such as “incomprehensible” or “off topic.”
2. Matching-Game Poetry
Xia Yu / “Matching Game” 43
Envelope Thumbtack
Freedom Magnet
Sidewalk Fifth Floor
Flashlight Drum
Method Smile
Movable Type □ □
Writing Innocent
Royal Blue Dig
Looking carefully from top to bottom, and then from left to right, there are actually no clues by which connections can be made in this poem.
In other words, there is no standard answer, because meaning itself has been stripped away.
The form of “Matching Game” fundamentally borrows the format of elementary-school test questions. However, in this poem, the author deliberately removes the relationships among the items.
As a result, readers cannot find sufficient clues within the signifiers themselves to establish connections.
This is a “false proposition” version of a matching exercise.
Since it is not really a “poem,” it can only be regarded as a simple word game.
The intention is for readers, after pondering it, suddenly to realize that they themselves have also been “played” by the author.
3. Metalanguage Poetry
Within local modern poetry, there are also works that insert “metalanguage” into the lines of the poem, as though the author steps outside the poem itself to offer commentary.
This often produces a strong comic effect.
Examples include Xia Yu’s “Love” and Qiu Huan’s “Cooking the Night.”
Qiu Huan / “Cooking the Night”
The days of buying flowers have arrived.
I obediently bought flowers.
Placed them
inside
a pair of eyes.
(Omitted)
(Sorry.)
(Please continue reading.)
The days of buying seawater have arrived.
I obediently bought seawater.
(Really sorry.)
The final three parenthetical lines contain words of an interpretive nature.
These constitute “metalanguage.”
They function as interpretations and evaluations of the preceding “object language.”
This differs from explanatory narration inserted within a poem.
Such narration remains an extension of object language, whereas metalanguage steps outside object language and offers entirely new interpretations and judgments.
4. Feibai Poetry
Chen Li / “A Love Poem with Mistyped Keys Because I Was Sleepy While Typing”
Belovd dear, I swear eternal faifthfulness to you.
I miss those night bowles we spent together.
Those nights full of joye, delightt, and tender secrett affection.
I miss those wet poemms we chanted together.
Those vigorous and life-filled imagees.
In every long-intestined night such as tonight,
they bring me feelings both hungry and fully fed.
Dearr love, my love for you will never changge.
Though there are three thousand rivers of fleshh,
I drink from only one prostituute sip.
I do not wantt to leave you.
I do not want you to suffer sexual harasssment.
Our love is puree and cleann.
Like green plantts performing photosynthesis,
under sunlight and moonlight,
joining together without sleep and without shame.
Our love is divinely remainning.
As the title indicates, the entire poem results from “pressing the wrong keys while sleepy.”
Nearly every line deliberately embeds one or two typographical bugs.
These bugs are mostly homophonic substitutions—instances of phonetic feibai.
The comic effect is considerable and often provokes laughter.
“Humor and grotesqueness” constitute the author’s immediate impression of this poem.
Although the aesthetician George Santayana regarded such effects as a form of aesthetic value suggested by evil, it cannot be denied that they tempt readers onto wandering paths of fantasy.
The poem deliberately cultivates an atmosphere of wordplay:
“I miss those wet poemms we chanted together
Those vigorous and life-filled imagees”
“Dearr love, my love for you will never changge
Though there are three thousand rivers of fleshh, I drink from only one prostituute sip”
“Like green plantts performing photosynthesis
Joining together without sleep and without shame beneath sunlight and moonlight”
From the many homophonic substitutions, one not only experiences the pleasure of double entendre, but also notices that certain expressions genuinely permit multiple interpretations at the level of semantic structure.
This constitutes what may be called phonetic-semantic ambiguity.
For example:
“My love for you will never changge”
Does it mean:
- “will never change,”
- “will never be convenient,”
- or “will never be casual”?
Which is the surface meaning?
Which is the deeper meaning?
The question is indeed thought-provoking.
Poetry of this type is essentially a form of wordplay.
Used occasionally, it appears novel and entertaining.
If written in large quantities, however, it risks appearing to ride on the coattails of trendy Internet slang and unconventional character substitutions.
5. Imageless Poetry
In Xiaoyuan Remarks on Poetry, Zhu Tingzhen of the late Qing dynasty said:
“When writing scenery, emotion may reside within the scenery, or emotion may exist outside the scenery. When writing emotion, scenery may exist within the emotion, or scenery may arise from emotion. There has never been scenery without emotion, nor emotion without scenery.”
The contemporary writer Yu Kwang-chung stated in his essay “On Imagery”:
“Imagery is one of the fundamental artistic conditions that constitute poetry. We can hardly imagine a poem without imagery, just as we can hardly imagine a poem without rhythm.”
Whether ancient or modern, poets generally regard the notion of “poetry without imagery” as a false proposition.
Su Shaolian, however, promoted the concept of “imageless poetry.” On one hand, he declared:
“Poetry grows strong through imagery.”¹
Yet he contradicted himself by saying:
“Imageless poetry must not contain visual forms, but it may contain phenomena perceived through other senses.”
In other words, what he calls “imageless poetry” merely excludes “visual imagery” while retaining imagery associated with other sensory systems.
Let us examine the two poetic examples cited by Su Shaolian.
Hsia Yu — “Hibernation”
I merely wish to store enough love
Enough tenderness and cunning
Just in case
I awaken and encounter you
I merely wish to store enough pride
Enough loneliness and indifference
Just in case
The first-person subject “I” and the second-person subject “you,” together with the dynamic verbs “store” and “awaken,” are present in the poem.
The former possesses concrete and perceptible human images, while the latter provides action cues that guide visual perception.
None of these elements can be separated from visual experience.
Bai Ling — “Pendulum”
Left tick, right tock, how narrow is this angle of time
To swim in is life, to swim out is death
Tick, love has only just dawned; tock, desire has already reached dusk
Tick is the past, tock is the future
Through the gaps of tick-tock, countless presents pass through
Su wrote:
“This is a standard imageless poem. The poem consists entirely of sensory phenomena. Apart from phenomena, there is nothing but phenomena. Auditory phenomena include: tick, tock. Kinetic phenomena include: left, right, swim in, swim out, pass through. Conceptual phenomena include: narrowness, time, angle, life, death, love, dawn, dusk, past, future, gap. The ‘angle’ here is attached to the conceptual notion of ‘time’; there is no physical object upon which its image may be based.”
The author's objection is this:
“Angle,” “gap,” “dusk,” and “dawn” are all visible and perceptible visual images that can be identified.
“Swim in,” “swim out,” and “pass through” are all perceivable dynamic visual images.
Just as the word “flow” may refer to the movement of wind (air), the movement of liquid (water), or even the movement of light and time, how can these possibly be considered devoid of visual imagery?
Yet Su insists on redefining imagery as “phenomena,” claiming that these “knowable and perceptible phenomena” are not physical images possessing form and therefore cannot be called “imagery.”
Note:
Su Shaolian, On Imageless Poetry.
Original URL:
http://blog.sina.com.tw/poem/article.php?entryid=626462
6. Tongue-Twister Poetry (Rap Poets)
Hsiao Yi-hui — “Not”
Do you know that the way to leave a whirlpool is not to move?
Just like the way to leave today.
It is night again. I do not know where I am.
Clearly it is not the sea, yet there are so many waves.
Clearly it is not yesterday, yet nothing is different.
Are you asleep? Do you know that besides tomorrow
Where else can we go?
Are you asleep?
Pull back the curtains
And see other people's windows emitting light.
Those shadows that do not belong to us
All belong to better shapes.
It is night again.
How afraid I am that you may dream of a better version of us
And only then awaken,
Afraid that you may grieve because of that better version of us,
The way a map makes a lost traveler grieve.
Do you know that the way to end being lost is not to move?
Just like the way to remain in yesterday.
Clearly it is not the sea.
Someone keeps a boat forever moored in today's room.
Someone does not.
Someone gains happiness by giving up the voyage.
Someone does not.
Are we now already the better version of ourselves?
How afraid I am that tomorrow
Will still be nothing more than another bed.
And only then awaken:
“So arrival merely means no longer leaving a certain place...”
Are you asleep?
Tomorrow morning, do you know where you are?
Pull back the curtains and see your own window emitting light—
How afraid I am that you may grieve because of the morning,
Like a shadow
Making a thin and fragile person grieve.
The sun has risen.
Do you believe in yourself?
Open your eyes.
Tomorrow is right here.
Some have gone farther away.
Some have not.
Some grieve because they have not found happiness.
Some do not.
This poem won First Prize in the New Poetry category of the Twelfth Lin Rong-san Literary Award in 2016.
Because controversy arose during the judging process, the Canada-based poet Fu Shiyu specifically brought it to discussion on the Facebook group New Poetry Road.
After reading this first-prize-winning poem, I, an old and experienced reader, actually experienced the physical symptoms of dizziness and vertigo.
My immediate intuition was that it resembled a “sleep-talking rap.”
I then searched through my mental data bank and identified the poem's shortcomings one by one:
(1) Repetitive Sentence Patterns
Every section contains a recurring sentence pattern.
For example, in the first section:
“Clearly it is not...”
In the third and fourth sections:
“Someone...” / “Someone does not...”
There are also scattered occurrences of:
“Do you know...?”
These identical or similar phrases occupy approximately twenty lines, or about forty percent of the entire poem.
Such frequent use of repetitive sentence structures makes reading feel like listening to a tongue-tied speaker repeatedly stumbling over words.
(2) Imagistic Circling
Each section contains relatively few concrete visual images.
For example, the first seven lines contain only three visual images:
“Whirlpool → Sea → Waves.”
The third seven-line section contains only:
“Boat → Bed.”
Combined with the repeated sentence patterns, the progression of imagery becomes as slow as a slow-motion sequence.
The narrative axis lacks turning points and conflict.
The result feels like someone trapped in a cycle of self-talk, endlessly walking into the same wall.
(3) Uneven Sentence Length and Skipping Musicality
The lines fluctuate abruptly between long and short.
Their musicality resembles a skipping record.
Combined with the recurring sentence patterns inserted throughout each section, the poem also acquires a rap-like rhythm.
A skipping record mixed with rap creates a musical effect that is difficult to describe—awkward, rugged, and bizarre.
That such a peculiar poem could pass both preliminary and secondary judging rounds and ultimately win First Prize, despite receiving no points from two of the final judges, suggests that among the judges representing older, middle, and younger generations, more than half likely possessed avant-garde tendencies and postmodern aesthetic perspectives.
However, a question remains.
If a literary award competition exists to select works that ordinary poetry readers can understand and admire, should judges, during the evaluation process, consider not only their own avant-garde and aesthetic viewpoints but also the degree to which readers can actually receive and appreciate the work?
Section Three: Internet Poetry — The Anti-Intellectual Clamor of Many Voices
The rise of internet poetry can be traced back to the late twentieth century with Poetry Road, hosted by Hsu Wen-wei.
Later came the Blow the Drum Poetry Forum and the Xi Han Literature Network, which gradually diverged into separate streams.
Senior-generation poets and already established middle-aged and younger poets were largely gathered into the Blow the Drum Poetry Forum.
Meanwhile, emerging poets of the new generation frequently posted their work on the Xi Han Literature Network, practicing their craft and striving to attract attention.
I. Who Has Turned Modern Poetry Into Something Crippled, Foolish, and Ugly?
The popularity among readers of shallow internet-era poetry—spoken-word poetry (rap poetry), world-weary poetry, naïve poetry, riddle poetry, sleep-talking poetry, and skipping-record poetry—suggests a general decline in aesthetic standards and a collective anti-intellectual tendency fostered by fast-food culture.
This is undoubtedly connected to the dominance of impressionistic criticism within modern poetry circles.
Secondly, although these colloquial forms of popular poetry reflect the collective inner anxiety created by soaring housing prices, rising living costs, and generally low salaries among office workers in contemporary Taiwanese society, such direct modes of expression do not conform to the normal evolutionary pattern of mainstream literature.
Literature typically develops from simplicity toward richness and depth.
What we see instead is a deliberately engineered countercurrent of the age.
To call such manipulation a form of intentional anti-intellectualism would not be excessive.
If the postmodern skipping-record poetry of Hsia Yu and others constituted the first countercurrent of the early new century, then the shallow spoken-word poetry, world-weary poetry, naïve poetry, riddle poetry, and sleep-talking poetry of the internet generation constitute the second countercurrent.
Their shared characteristics include:
(1) Challenging the aesthetic values—rhetoric and beauty—that have historically guided modernist new poetry.
(2) Employing numerous formal experiments and fragmented syntax in an attempt to alter readers’ habits of reading poetry.
(3) Using wordplay to liberate poetic form and overturn modernist modes of writing.
(4) Shifting away from addressing readers and seeking reader resonance, instead focusing upon personal emotional release, satisfying the desire for self-expression, and aggressively seeking visibility.
After entering the new century, some modern poets, unable to devise innovations superior to those of earlier generations, began directing their efforts toward discovering ways to make new poetry crippled, foolish, and ugly.
As long as a group of supporters echoed and defended them, some readers who did not fully understand the situation would still be led around by the nose.
II. Establishing a Scholarly Theoretical Criticism of Modern Poetry
Regarding the tendency of online poetry toward superficiality and vulgarization, the leading figures such as Bai Ling and Su Shaolian may have to bear considerable responsibility. The “non-imagery poetry” they advocate is itself a kind of “aphrodisiac.” If modern poetry can remove imagery entirely, leaving only emotional vocabulary to shout hoarsely “I am a piece of firewood,” then these straightforward and colloquial forms—such as tongue-twister-like oral poetry, world-weary poetry, self-humiliating poetry, riddle poetry, dream-talk poetry, simple-minded poetry, and postmodern stuttering poetry—would have even more justification to be praised and promoted!
If these leading figures are aware of the trend of “degeneration” in these two waves of modern poetry, they should seriously consider how to use a systematized critical mechanism for new poetry (rhetoric, syntax, structural studies, narratology) to guide poets and readers back to the aesthetic norms and values of “modernism.” This is not a regression, but the establishment of a mainstream system of poetry criticism, allowing a structured and scholarly criticism to fully replace impressionistic praise-and-dismissal criticism, and to provide modern poets with a healthy and friendly creative environment. As the Qing Dynasty writer Zheng Banqiao said: “What is the use of praise when the itch is not reached; criticism that hits the bone is also excellent.” What poets should expect is a methodological (methodology) critique and appreciation of poetic texts: grounded in evidence (with theory), substantive (with content), and coherent (with logic).
The author will tentatively cite a poem by poet Lin Guang as a harmless conclusion to the strange but hollow and empty online poetry:
Lin Guang / “Wading”
As if by prior agreement
we crossed the wasteland of Facebook together
the depth or shallowness of the night was never the point
hush! lower your steps, words and emptiness
are playing hide-and-seek
The eyes are already very tired
artificial tears are merely a kind of deception
(but I still never knew where the tears went)
a group of rowers with faces or without faces
rowing on a vast lake surface
Fatigue is a shared language
some are packaged very splendidly
some are simply obscure to the end
some are so plain that even the soul is exposed
we row together toward a moonless distance
As if by prior agreement
we either press a like or give a heart
leave emptiness and words together on the shore
waving on one side, slanting on the other
walking toward another floating coordinate
The moment I first read this poem by Lin Guang, I laughed so hard I nearly “hyperventilated,” and almost “collapsed on the spot,” nearly “passed away.” This satirical work targeting contemporary online poetry certainly shattered the fragile glass of many mediocre poets’ hidden embarrassment, making them both unable to admit it applies to them, yet grinding their teeth in anger.
“We crossed the wasteland of Facebook together / the depth or shallowness of the night was never the point / hush! lower your steps, words and emptiness / are playing hide-and-seek.” The opening lines directly point to the “wasteland of Facebook.” Poems casually written and posted in real time on Facebook are like playing hide-and-seek: lowering one’s steps, posting it, and immediately disappearing, hiding to observe the reaction.
“The eyes are already very tired / artificial tears are merely a kind of deception.” Online poetry comes in endless streams; the eyes cannot keep up, and even eye drops are of little use. (But I still never knew where the tears went.) This parenthetical explanatory insertion seems to “make things worse,” almost deliberately so. Then the target appears: “a group of rowers with faces or without faces / rowing on a vast lake surface.” These attention-seeking, presence-asserting posters, even if their pasted-on trivial poems receive no response, still indulge in brief self-satisfaction. In truth, it does no harm. After all, “those who are not embarrassed are not the readers—the embarrassed ones are.”
“Fatigue. It is a shared language / some are packaged very splendidly / some are simply obscure to the end / some are so plain that even the soul is exposed,” in this passage the author simply stops pretending, directly taking the readers’ sense of fatigue as poetic perception, venting a grievance on behalf of the reader and indicting these online poems as “too painful to read through.” It identifies three strange types of poems that cause readers to feel impotent, to lose control early, and to want to swear loudly: “packaged very splendidly” (nightclub evening-gown poetry), “simply obscure to the end” (postmodern stuttering poetry), and “so plain that the soul is exposed” (Bai Ling-style simple-minded poetry). Of course, beyond these three categories, there are still some unmentioned targets left out, such as “tongue-twister rap poetry” and “naked genital-run poetry,” all of which remain among the neglected cases awaiting a later hearing to clear their grievances.
“We row together toward a moonless distance.” This line of accusation is in fact powerful and forceful. These rotten fish and spoiled shrimp are using bad poetry to hijack readers, “rowing together toward a moonless distance,” gradually blacking out the joy and anticipation of reading modern poetry, bit by bit. This passage is the most impactful, firing three sharp arrows in succession, making those poets with these three “symptoms” feel both guilty and flushed with embarrassment while reading it.
The closing section echoes the opening once again. These amateur poets who are enthusiastic about posting and self-entertainment “as if by prior agreement / either press a like or give a heart.” In fact, the liking or heart-giving among these poets is half based on “reciprocity in social etiquette” and half on “mutual warmth for survival.” Even if their works hardly qualify as serious literature, at least they “leave emptiness and words together on the shore,” harming readers’ eyes and teasing readers’ intelligence. After achieving their individual goals, they “wave on one side, slanting on the other / walking toward another floating coordinate,” then proceed to strain their brains again to mass-produce cheap, low-quality stall poetry, never caring whether readers are left “foaming at the mouth” or “twisting eyes and mouth out of alignment.”
Conclusion: Lin Guang, the elder brother, is gentle and refined. Regarding the phenomenon of online poetry being filled with mediocrity, he would not, like me, directly spit a mouthful of thick phlegm and stick bad poems onto the poetry wall as targets for repeated shooting. He merely writes a satirical poem, subtly reminding these amateur poets and gently urging them forward with a light whip.
As for myself, I have recently decided to “correct my path by reversing it,” joining the ranks of the “well-meaning but misguided,” no longer strictly exposing the flaws and defects in these poets’ works, but only selecting poems I personally like to analyze and comment on, so as to avoid “doing good while causing harm,” and being remembered with resentment by poets in their subconscious, even haunting me in their dreams without letting me go.
