Language can do anything.
If you’ve read Emerson, you know how he says nature is a language, and the Poet, belonging to nature, is nature and speaks nature, and how do you like that?
Buying into this makes you either a brilliant genius or a complete fool.
If Emerson says you’re a genius, maybe that’s enough.
After all, you’re on his land, he knows Margaret Fuller, he went to the Harvard Divinity School, and he also knows T.S. Eliot’s grandfather, who founded a Unitarian church and a college in St.Louis, after he left Harvard.
Les Murray is slightly more skeptical. He’s got a wing-ding line:
Everything except language knows the meaning of existence.
What can you say to this? You dare not say anything. Or, you say a lot.
You can tell from this one line that Les Murray is a tough cookie, and probably wouldn’t have any problem punching Ralph Waldo Emerson in the nose, if it came to that. (I’m not saying it would come to that.)
Joe Green is a different creature. Funny and shy. He would apologize for being on Emerson’s land. “I’m sorry, sir. I was walking my dog and…”
Emerson would stare at him. Coldly. For ten minutes.
Joe would be talking away. Joe would get out his phone and ask if Emerson wanted to see pictures and stuff on the internet.
But let’s leave this scene. This is starting to get embarrassing.
Marla Muse: I don’t know why Waldo is so arrogant.
Emerson sermonized. That’s all he really did. Here’s Joe Green’s line:
I’m tired. Don’t even ask me about the gods.
Joe Green is the human poet, the most human poet there is.
Marla Muse: I’m sure he will be glad you said that about him.
I can’t wait to see who wins!
