Blog |
9/13/24
Apropos of this morning's topic--i.e., when plagiarists, like parrots, "squawk" and thus show themselves as they really are--I thought I'd present one more. We are back to Albert Pike (the... well, you know). Like Edgar Allan Poe, I strongly suspect he preyed upon unsuspected grieving widowers. Such unwitting victims are safe to steal from because they are unknown in the literary world, and yet in their time of pain, they sometimes rise to the occasion and write good poetry.
Then again, if they really don't have the gift, sometimes not so much.
The point is that Pike was so dense in his own artistic sensibilities, that he couldn't tell the difference. Unless I am very much mistaken, the following poem, taken from the December 2, 1848 Boston "Weekly Museum" and signed with his full name, was stolen from some hapless farmer who may have expressed his feelings quite sincerely, but whose poetry had no business being published in this literary newspaper. Probably, it was accepted on sheer reputation (which reputation Pike had gained dishonestly by stealing Abby's poems when she was a 14-year-old student in his class, in 1830).
Sorry about the blur--I've enlarged and sharpened it as much as possible. My AI co-pilot opines that:
The poem is filled with vivid imagery and heartfelt expressions of loss, making it a touching piece that resonates with anyone who has experienced the pain of losing someone dear. Pike’s use of language and the melancholic tone throughout the poem highlight the depth of his sorrow and the enduring love he feels for Isadore.
Then again, the AI co-pilot is a mindless machine, and Pike did not write this from his own experience--if he wrote it, at all. Personally, I think it's truly awful poetry. This poet could not possibly have written the magnificent verses stolen from young Abby Poyen.
Well, there's not much more to say about this. Pike should have been more careful whom he stole from, because this one is really a dud, meaning, from the artistic point of view--so much so, that he has exposed himself as a man of no discernment, whatsoever. No wonder, in the 1843 copy of "Poets and Poetry of America" that I have in my archives, editor Rufus Griswold euphemistically concludes his commentary by saying, of Pike:
He still writes occasionally for the literary magazines, but none of his later poems seem to be equal to those which I have quoted in this work.
Sincerely,
Stephen Sakellarios, M.S.
