A poet chats
Anyone who says or does something unpopular loses their platform. But nothing is inherently unpopular; it's always only unpopular to someone. Therefore, it's highly subjective who is considered unpopular and ultimately loses their platform--or, conversely, receives one. But all this only applies to celebrities! Only artists with large audiences who fill the halls of the most prestigious venues are affected, right? Absolutely not! That's why I want to talk about the often overlooked niche of the German literary world. It ultimately serves as an example in which artists from other fields will find themselves reflected.
By René Kanzler
By René Kanzler
How long does it actually take to write a poem? That depends very much on the chosen form and the depth of content. Sometimes it's written quickly, but often you work on it for days, weeks, or even months. Inspiration, brainstorming, conception, and the craft of execution and revision all take time. Ideally, a linguistic work of art emerges that one day touches someone who reads it deeply, prompting reflection and empathy. Perhaps it allows the reader to rediscover and enjoy language, perhaps even enriching their everyday life. We all know such poems, or at least individual stanzas or verses, that have had this effect on us.
What does the poet receive for their extensive, socially and culturally valuable work? Unless you've landed in the haze of marketing and self-promotion by award-giving foundations and associations, the answer is simple: nothing. Although it's a work of art that can have a considerable, profound, and direct impact on people, paradoxically, in the end, it's worthless. Since 2020, the term "not systemically relevant" has been used to euphemistically express the disdain for artistic creation.
But nothing is too little. After all, you might get a like, perhaps a "nice" comment. Sometimes someone even reviews it--but no, not because the poem is worth it, but because it becomes a tool for the reviewer to present themselves as a service provider or cultural patron. Occasionally, a poem is published in so-called anthologies. The editors devise far-fetched themes for submissions, for which they collect other people's work. As a poet, you often have to relinquish rights and even pay a participation fee. Whether poems are published doesn't depend on binding quality criteria, but rather on the editors' whims. As a thank you, you receive a complimentary copy, which the poet may even have to buy. The anthologies hardly sell, but that's irrelevant. Either the editors are funded by an institution anyway, or the anthologies serve as a tool for self-promotion and marketing. A poet is only useful as long as they are useful to others.
In a way, those working in the arts and language deserve all of this. Many of them write prolifically, publish without reflection, and expect not just recognition for their work, but immediate acclaim. The number of prolific writers who don't care about artistic development is enormous. Every day they blast several texts onto the internet--similar to those who overload Instagram and other platforms with Reels. Quality gets lost in the quantity and often disappears altogether. Beginners look to these prolific writers for guidance, misinterpreting any presented numbers as success and skill. Of course, AI is also used to maintain this constant output. And even though the poem wasn't written by the author, it ultimately receives a name and a copyright notice. In a blind pursuit of numbers, reach, and undefined success, poets devalue themselves and the art of poetry. The stage of the poetic world should be occupied by only a few, ideally by just oneself. Other poems are not taken as an opportunity to be enjoyed or inspired.
They are either ignored or only noticed if the attention is expected to ultimately bring one's own work into focus: I'll compliment you in order to receive a compliment myself - cronyism on a small scale. In the battle for clicks, shares, views, publications, appearances, and awards, everyone is out for themselves. People talk behind each other's backs. Groups form for or against authors. Everyone benefits from someone else's crisis. Criticism takes place only on a personal level. Hardly anyone is capable of giving, or even accepting, constructive criticism anymore. The work itself - its content, context, and intention - is of no interest. This is one of the breeding grounds for cancel culture.
Quality declines, the mass production of mediocre work is misunderstood as the highest form of artistic creation, the narcissism of prolific writers becomes the accepted morality, and community spirit dwindles. The poem and the poet are increasingly losing their power and meaning. And when this happens to art, we all lose.
The irrational, emotionally charged antagonism in art and culture is something that has developed in German society over decades. The current debates, such as those surrounding Kay Ray, are merely the tip of a culturally and socially threatening iceberg. And we will not solve the problems and dangers that arise for all of us if we if we only look at the top.
15.12.25
©René Kanzler
René Kanzler (*1990) is a philosopher with a doctorate, a writer and a photographer. He deals with the philosophy of Stoicism, the ancient philosophy of the art of living and logic. In literary terms, he revives classic text genres with modern content as well as Karl Ranseier. It also provides texts on literary writing and cultural life in Germany in general - all in an effort to encourage more dialogue and enable a process of (self-)reflection.
What does the poet receive for their extensive, socially and culturally valuable work? Unless you've landed in the haze of marketing and self-promotion by award-giving foundations and associations, the answer is simple: nothing. Although it's a work of art that can have a considerable, profound, and direct impact on people, paradoxically, in the end, it's worthless. Since 2020, the term "not systemically relevant" has been used to euphemistically express the disdain for artistic creation.
But nothing is too little. After all, you might get a like, perhaps a "nice" comment. Sometimes someone even reviews it--but no, not because the poem is worth it, but because it becomes a tool for the reviewer to present themselves as a service provider or cultural patron. Occasionally, a poem is published in so-called anthologies. The editors devise far-fetched themes for submissions, for which they collect other people's work. As a poet, you often have to relinquish rights and even pay a participation fee. Whether poems are published doesn't depend on binding quality criteria, but rather on the editors' whims. As a thank you, you receive a complimentary copy, which the poet may even have to buy. The anthologies hardly sell, but that's irrelevant. Either the editors are funded by an institution anyway, or the anthologies serve as a tool for self-promotion and marketing. A poet is only useful as long as they are useful to others.
In a way, those working in the arts and language deserve all of this. Many of them write prolifically, publish without reflection, and expect not just recognition for their work, but immediate acclaim. The number of prolific writers who don't care about artistic development is enormous. Every day they blast several texts onto the internet--similar to those who overload Instagram and other platforms with Reels. Quality gets lost in the quantity and often disappears altogether. Beginners look to these prolific writers for guidance, misinterpreting any presented numbers as success and skill. Of course, AI is also used to maintain this constant output. And even though the poem wasn't written by the author, it ultimately receives a name and a copyright notice. In a blind pursuit of numbers, reach, and undefined success, poets devalue themselves and the art of poetry. The stage of the poetic world should be occupied by only a few, ideally by just oneself. Other poems are not taken as an opportunity to be enjoyed or inspired.
They are either ignored or only noticed if the attention is expected to ultimately bring one's own work into focus: I'll compliment you in order to receive a compliment myself - cronyism on a small scale. In the battle for clicks, shares, views, publications, appearances, and awards, everyone is out for themselves. People talk behind each other's backs. Groups form for or against authors. Everyone benefits from someone else's crisis. Criticism takes place only on a personal level. Hardly anyone is capable of giving, or even accepting, constructive criticism anymore. The work itself - its content, context, and intention - is of no interest. This is one of the breeding grounds for cancel culture.
Quality declines, the mass production of mediocre work is misunderstood as the highest form of artistic creation, the narcissism of prolific writers becomes the accepted morality, and community spirit dwindles. The poem and the poet are increasingly losing their power and meaning. And when this happens to art, we all lose.
The irrational, emotionally charged antagonism in art and culture is something that has developed in German society over decades. The current debates, such as those surrounding Kay Ray, are merely the tip of a culturally and socially threatening iceberg. And we will not solve the problems and dangers that arise for all of us if we if we only look at the top.
15.12.25
©René Kanzler
René Kanzler (*1990) is a philosopher with a doctorate, a writer and a photographer. He deals with the philosophy of Stoicism, the ancient philosophy of the art of living and logic. In literary terms, he revives classic text genres with modern content as well as Karl Ranseier. It also provides texts on literary writing and cultural life in Germany in general - all in an effort to encourage more dialogue and enable a process of (self-)reflection.
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