
Garrison Keillor – anecdotalist, radio host and laureate of small-town wholesomeness – is publishing a book of poetry, 77 Love Sonnets . Interviewed about the book , Keillor found himself discussing the reaction to an anthology he published a few years ago; specifically, the admired modernist poet August Kleinzahler ‘s full-frontal assault on Keillor’s “appalling taste” . I looked it up: a dismissive review that took two and a half thousand words in the dismissing. It’s been said that criticising PG Wodehouse is like ” taking a spade to a souffle “. This was something similar; and if you hit a souffle with a spade, you get egg on your face. Keillor’s taste in poetry may differ from Kleinzahler’s, and his understanding of what it’s for may differ – caricaturally, he thinks it does the soul good, and that makes Kleinzahler wince with embarrassment. (Not that the does-you-good school of thought isn’t without well-respected adherents: FR Leavis , for instance, or George Eliot , who said: “If art does not enlarge men’s sympathies it does nothing morally.”) But it strikes me as odd that the response is not indifference but active rage: “The indefatigable and determined purveyor of homespun wisdom has wandered into the realm of fire, and for