Poet-Judges Naturally Choose Poets Like Themselves
Which brings us to the profile of the typical contest judge. Who better to select the best collection of poems than a widely published, celebrated poet — a winner of many prestigious awards in his or her own right? Oddly enough, if the goal is to have contests decided by impartial brokers the standard profile leaves much to be desired.
When I ask poet friends if they plan to enter a particular book contest and the answer is “No,” the negative is always followed by the assertion: “There’s not a chance in hell that X (or Y or Z) would like my work!”
We need only mention a few superstar poets who have also judged contests — John Ashbery, Billy Collins, Louise Gluck, Jorie Graham, Richard Howard, Philip Levine, Sharon Olds, Charles Simic, C.D. Wright — to remind ourselves that poets become famous for recognizable subjects, tones, and styles. They are often affiliated with partisan aesthetic movements: Mainstream, Confessional, New Formalist, New York School, Language Poetry, etc. Many have an-nounced their predilections via essays or interviews in books and journals.
Asked to name four or five of the best contemporary poets, W.H. Auden quipped, “It isn’t a horse race, you know.” Race tracks have an absolute method for measuring and determining winners, as do golf, tennis, shot put, and most competitive sports. Poetry contests are more like Olympic figure skating or Dancing with the Stars. Preference for one contestant over another (given the most qualified judge in the world) is ultimately subjective, unverifiable; there truly is no “accounting” for taste.
Still, it’s quixotic to pretend that poet judges will not prefer work akin to the sort that they write and espouse. No matter how good the poetry, it’s unlikely that a “New Formalist” will award a prize to a “Language Poet” or vice versa. My poet friends are right not to waste their 20 bucks.
It might make more sense to have contests judged by non-poetry-writing English professors — specialists in American literature who have no aesthetic horse at the starting gate. It would also rid contests of distracting po-ethical concerns that occasionally arise from inevitable connections between poet-judges and contestants who frequently associate and socialize in classrooms, workshops, and at writers conferences.
Needless to say, my suggestion is a non-starter. Though English professors would probably be more objective and impartial referees, they lack the name recognition crucial for a successful poetry contest. The more famous the judge, the more entry fees. As always, po-biz trumps ars poetica.
Contest Publishers Don't Need to Generate an Audience
Someone flicks a switch with an ad or two and the poetry express gallops down the track! The P.O. saddlebags get fuller and fuller as the deadline approaches. Six months after it passes, the lucky finalists are announced by letter or email. Then the judge weighs in, and the publisher proudly announces the name of the winner and title of the book. A year or so later (lente, lente, oh horses of the write) the book finally appears. A few copies are sent with a press release to literary journals for “possible review." (Don’t hold your breath; rather than deal with hundreds of prize-winning books, most editors throw up their pens in despair and review none.)
With no direct commitment to the poetry it should not surprise us to learn that contest publishers are minimalists when it comes to marketing their winners. Whereas a traditional publisher must sell hundreds of books to remain solvent, and must therefore take potential readership into account when selecting manuscripts, the contest publisher need not be concerned with readers at all. Having met his expenses in advance, and in some cases even turned a profit, he need not sell a single copy of the prize-winning book. The first edition was, in fact, sold-out before it was a tear or twinkle in the judge’s eye to readers who bought it blind, knowing neither title nor author.
It is routine practice for contests to throw in the winning book as a consolation prize for non-winners. In most cases losing poets constitute the main readership for award-winning books! May I suggest that they are perhaps the least likely critics to receive the book favorably? — that many of them begin reading with a question that would not be asked by readers of a traditionally published book? (“How could Judge X possibly choose these poems over mine?”)
