Where Have You Gone My Blue-Eyed Son?: The Disappearance of the American Poet-Critic

I have coined a new but necessary hyphenated noun here: poet-critic. Think of Thoreau, Whitman, Guthrie (father and son), John Lennon, and Bob Dylan. These voices were unique in their criticism of our culture because of their poetry. The poetry makes the message timeless.

I have coined a new but necessary hyphenated noun here: poet-critic. Think of Thoreau, Whitman, Guthrie (father and son), John Lennon, and Bob Dylan. These voices were unique in their criticism of our culture because of their poetry. The poetry makes the message timeless. How often we quote Thoreau, “The mass of men, etc…” and feel a shiver go down our spines; or, Guthrie’s “This land is your land” with its simple, kid-friendly, but deeply critical and ironic message. And do you find yourself changing the station when John Lennon’s Christmas song comes through, with its haunting suspended and minor chords? Bob Dylan’s cultural criticism goes without saying.

Eminem could’ve been—and I argue (and urge)—still could be one such poet-critic in those same ranks. Call me crazy, but the boy can write, just not yet about anything of universal value.

The problem with Marshall Mathers is one of form over content. He is adept at rhyming, and assonance, but the content is entirely subjective. Even in the realm of the cultural ironist—where he has almost treaded some ground (consider “White America,” “I’m a Criminal,” “The Real Slim Shady,” and “The Way I am”)—he still isn’t a cultural critic.

What is a cultural ironist exactly? As far as I’m concerned they hardly exist. Howard Stern could have almost been one. In the last years of his FM radio show, he was highly critical of Bush and would often point out how similar content on Oprah’s show would go uncensored while he was getting fined. But this was backyard, standing-on-the-corner ranting and raving. It wasn’t anywhere near the real level of cultural criticism that he was capable of.

But back to Eminem—and I think it’s important that I stop here to state very plainly that I love Eminem. There were many months where I walked around listening to “The Eminem Show” and “The Marshall Mathers LP.” I still can’t listen to “Haley’s Song” without getting a bit chocked up. He is brilliant with tone.

In “White America,” he is almost a social critic. He raps about the hypocrisy of middle-income white suburbia. But that is nothing that involves taking a risk. We all know that white suburban America is entirely hypocritical and non-reflective. It is the proverbial vampire of the world: look in the mirror, and see no reflection. But once again, yawn, who cares? It doesn’t excite me. Where was Marshall Mathers on the invasion of Iraq? Where is he now on the economy?

I care about this because the poet-critic occupies a unique and necessary place in the criticism of any culture. The poet-critic embodies not just criticism, but love. And I care about this in relation to Eminem because he could be critical, ironic, f-word and all, and make us think, and get us riled up.

But it is not just Mather’s fault. It is our fault for not correctly comprehending the potential of our icons, for not understanding their location on the cultural landscape. Mathers himself, in accordance with popular consent, mistakenly compared himself to Elvis. Yes, they both became wealthy and popular from using what were originally African-American forms of expression. But, this comparison is a mistake for two reasons. First of all, The Beastie Boys were the first white boys (twenty years prior to Eminem) to become rich and famous from rap; there’s nothing new and interesting about Eminem doing so; on the other hand, Elvis was basically the first to do so with blues. Secondly, Elvis is from the repressed era, and sings at the repressed level; he never had any potential to be a social critic. The comparison between Elvis and Eminem is coincidental at best, and is ultimately superficial.

The disappearance of the poet-critic is a magic trick. We have collectively problematized our expectations of the kinds of criticism that we expect from the voices of our icons. Eminem just serves as an illustration of our misapprehension. We are living in a day and age where sarcasm lies beneath the thin ice of real discussion and social criticism. The biggest present danger to free speech is not so much in what our government might do, but in how we trivialize serious matters. Bob Dylan, John Lennon, Guthrie, Thoreau, all spoke with an unwaveringly serious voice. That voice is missing now, not because it doesn’t speak, but because we just don’t expect to hear it.