…is prob­a­bly Joshua’s,* but a not-too-distant second reason to protest them is that such poems are almost always terrible.

Case in point: appar­ently the AP has solicited a number of famous poets to write poems for Obama’s, and judg­ing from the excerpts in this arti­cle (not a great crit­i­cal prac­tice, I admit, but not com­pletely unfair either) the best response a poet could make on being asked for an inau­gural poem is to turn tail and run, no look­ing back.

Since my last quiz was so pop­u­lar, I’ll give you a first shot at guess­ing which poet was respon­si­ble for which micro-​travesty of their craft and sullen art. Answers, as ever, after the jump:

1. “wake up & smell the possibility”
2. “May God, in this winter hour, shine on your coun­te­nance and teach you to bal­ance the heart’s poetry and the mind’s power.”
3. “the sun’s golden rafters”
4. “Each ques­tion uncurls a little whip in the air. Can we change tomorrow?”
5. “the bad years go up in a ques­tion mark of smoke”
6. “The land was never ours, nor we the land’s: no, not in Selma, with the hose turned on, nor in the valley pick­ing the alien vines. Nor was it ours in Watts, Mont­gomery — no matter what the frosty poet said.”

+++

a. Billy Collins
b. Gary Soto
c. Julia Alvarez
d. Yusef Komun­yakaa
e. Alice Walker
f. David Lehman

Today, while wait­ing for the another Demo­c­ra­tic sub-​advisor to make his or her next stupid or insen­si­tive public gaffe–oh, whoops–I found my inter­est piqued by this post from Harry Brig­house at Crooked Timber. With­out going too much into the meat of it, I can tell you that the post is a response to a response to an essay in which Simon Black­burn writes:

We can respect, in the min­i­mal sense of tol­er­at­ing, those who hold false beliefs. We can pass by on the other side. We need not be con­cerned to change them, and in a lib­eral soci­ety we do not seek to sup­press them or silence them. But once we are con­vinced that a belief is false, or even just that it is irra­tional, we cannot respect in any thicker sense those who hold it—not on account of their hold­ing it. We may respect them for all sorts of other qual­i­ties, but not that one. We would prefer them to change their minds.

Brig­house (like Lind­sey, his imme­di­ate respondee) wants to defend his abil­ity to have a “thicker sense” of respect for people whose beliefs he does not share. It’s a thought­ful argu­ment, con­ducted with a seri­ous­ness appro­pri­ate to one of the most impor­tant ques­tions about lib­eral society.

But what struck me read­ing the pas­sage today, with thoughts of irony riding high in my mind, was just how much the whole line of think­ing depends on words like “sincerity” and “honesty” and “good will.” An exam­ple, from Brighouse:

It is pos­si­ble to respect someone’s hold­ing of a false belief if you believe that the person is some­one of good will, and who has delib­er­ated care­fully, and hon­estly holds the belief given their non-​irresponsible reflec­tion on that delib­er­a­tion and their per­sonal experience.

Which raises a ques­tion that I’ll pose in the form of a quasi-​syllogism: if the abil­ity to respect a person who holds beliefs that we feel, believe, and/or know to be false is one of the nec­es­sary con­di­tions of a lib­eral soci­ety; and if that abil­ity requires that the hold­ers of those beliefs be people of sin­cer­ity, hon­esty, and good will; then what is the place (if any) of irony in a lib­eral polity?