Gioia and his supporters blame the university for cordoning off the practice and teaching of poetry, whereas the universitybased poets assert the health of poetry (and their role in its preservation) and lament the fact that poetry is unpopular. Both sides of this debate miss the point in not directly addressing more fundamental problems. Why is the term "famous poet" still an oxymoron? Why is poetry unpopular relative to other mass commodities? What can we do about it?

Those who try to sell it to mass audiences know that poetry, as a rule, doesn't sell as well as other massmarketed cultural commodities. Movies, CDs, "nonliterary" (i.e. no poetry) magazines, newspapers, and even novels all reap more profit. This might lead one to expect the "novelization" of poetry, but instead of an increase in narrative poetry, we find that poets often turn to writing novels for exposure.

If a mass market for poetry does indeed exist, then failure to sell mass quantities of poetry is a problem of supply. This was precisely the theory of Nobel laureate Joseph Brodsky. He believed that if an inexpensive (say $34) anthology of the best American verse were to be made available to the mass public, they would buy it. More specifically, he wanted this anthology displayed for sale (or at least consumption) in two key places: grocerystore checkout lines and hotel rooms all across America.

Unfortunately, it seems that Brodsky proceeded from a (somewhat) flawed premise. Brodsky was himself aware of certain problems before he died in January 1996, he admitted that his plan to distribute poetry anthologies was having trouble. Hotel chains were quite willing to place these books in some of their rooms, but only if the books were donated. Brodsky could have blamed the Gideons for ruining his market, but the hoteliers were expressing what many Americans feel about poetry: it should be there when and if I need it or want it, but I shouldn't have to pay for it they're only words, after all. This difficulty has only been partially surmounted, and that quite recently. The BookoftheMonth Club, which arguably brings more average Americans the option to purchase literary works than any other retail chain or catalog company, agreed to distribute the anthology. The fundamental problem of market indifference remains.

One can find many hopeful signs of a revival of interest in poetry on a mass level: the proliferation of regular poetry competitions, or "slams" in Chicago, San Francisco, Washington DC and elsewhere, the attention generated by Maya Angelou's inaugural recitation, and the large numbers of unknown and prolific poets and the growing number of small literary publications presenting their work. Even so, no one is getting rich, or even earning a living wage, in pursuit of poetry. Poems are, after all, just words.

A sober assessment of poetry's prospects could lead one to conclude that the principal intersections of poetry and mass culture will remain advertising (where many poets continue to find employment) and the use poets make in their poems of various cultural icons (Elvis, et al) in order to endow these talismans with new meanings. Even if it is true that a semiclandestine but quite substantial poetic demimonde is thriving out there beyond the groves of the academy, this has not yet translated into best-selling poets.

I say best-selling poets instead of poetry because this is precisely where the problem lies. One of the fundamental principles of selling cultural commodities on a mass scale is the principle of celebrity. As canny celebrities (or their PR firms) have long realized, fame itself is a commodity that can be repackaged and sold as consumer product. Brodsky's insight about the checkout line is on target, but the product he envisioned there, an anthology, won't sell if it has to compete with Hollywood, New York, and DC celebrities.

Fame and celebrity (of the marketable kind) is usually inherent in individuals rather than groups. The public consumes the product of and information about members of the entertainment, financial, or political elite. They clamor after it, and often enough the need for this commodity, celebrity, creates new commercial venues for its distribution and consumption. The powersthatbe in poetry the foundations, universities, established magazines and the various academies should focus their efforts on producing celebrity poets. If we wish to spread the gospel of poetry, we must have celebrity poets do it for us.

I realize that such an enterprise is fraught with peril, and I will probably be ridiculed for suggesting it, but I see no other choice. If we are serious about making poetry a more prominent feature of mass culture, we must have more prominent practitioners of the art. I readily acknowledge dichotomy of my view point. It sounds contradictory, perhaps even hypocritical, to urge the creation of a new elite for the masses to idolize, but that idolization will bring about more participation. We aren't lacking in raw material. There are literally scores of American poets consistently producing poems in the goodtooutstanding range. While acknowledging my nationalist bias, I would argue that the quantity and quality of poetic production in the United States today is second to none. Given that the quality of the poetry is not the problem, it seems reasonable to conclude that the problem is in creating marketable personalities (the "heropoet", "warriorpoet", "doctorpoet", etc.) for our most talented poets.

These identities must not be false, simply fuller, technologically and culturally au courant versions of the bio-blurbs we see in magazines and in the backs of books. This would require some sort of nationwide publicity infrastructure capable of immediate and massive mobilization when an important poet publishes a book or wins a major prize. Poets or their publisher would also be well advised to begin making poetry videos and marketing them for sale wherever opportunity arises.

A final corollary relevant to this discussion is the principle of elite misbehavior. The mass public consumes information about members of the elite, but most particularly information about real, alleged, or imagined misbehavior. When poets today misbehave or selfdestruct, almost no one pays attention. If the famous poets of a hopefully undistant tomorrow are anything like their less-famous forebears, one can reason that sufficient misbehavior will occur. It would stand to reason that this would serve to keep their names, faces and hopefully, their poetry in the public eye.

No growth is possible without risk; no plan worth pursuing is without danger. Egregious behavior by famous poets might lead to a widespread discrediting of poetry and poets, similar to the popular sentiment many professional athletes suffer under. The unfortunate example of Ezra Pound's treasonous broadcasts during World War II comes to mind. The first famous poet, if sufficiently depraved and subsequently demonized, could be the last. Also, the deliberate inflation of poetic egos might well extinguish their creative spirit. Given the seriousness of these risks, it is tempting to allow the status quo to continue.

But a generation that hates poetry would be, in many ways, better than a generation that is scarcely aware it exists. Strong emotion of any sort would be better than the malaise and ennui poetry is regarded with now. The present eclipse of poetry makes the creation of poetic superstars seem to me a risk worth taking.