Anyway, a family story goes that a mule by the name of “Mike” kicked me in the head when I was a child, and that mulish attack upon my physical person is the origin of my aversion to being called by the nickname “Mike.” I do not remember the kick in the head, and I do not recall ever hearing any of the details of the story about getting kicked in the head. I do know that, for the longest time, I did not like to be called “Mike,” and when your name is “Michael,” as mine is, you get called the abbreviated version a lot, especially by strangers who think they are being friendly and informal but who are actually insulting me by disrespecting my preferences in nomenclature. I suppose strangers can be forgiven their assault upon my predilection NOT to be called “Mike” because they do not know of my partiality, but, sometimes, I wonder if respectful persons should always assume that people do NOT want to be identified by labels given them by others; rather, people usually prefer to be associated with a name they choose themselves or of which, when chosen for them, they approve. In case you might want to know, while it worked for the fictional Pyle cousins of Mayberry, please never call me either “Gomer” or “Goober.” That would just be weird and insulting.
Nearly as insulting to me as a poet are the labels foisted upon those who write primarily in “traditional” verse forms as I do. Perhaps, the terms themselves are not so offensive as the associations with the terms “Formalist” or “Neo-Formalist.” Ira Sadoff, among other Twentieth and Twenty-First century critics, has claimed that the Formalists and Neo-Formalists believe that poetry “can be saved” only by returning to the metrical and rhyming forms of yesteryear, and that they believe that all context and content can be sacrificed in order to satisfy the restrictions of traditional verse forms. Well, I do not accept either of those claims as applying to me. I do believe that poetry needs to be saved, but I do not believe that the return to metrical and rhyming forms is the only means of poetry’s salvation. I could go on and on about how poetry needs to be, at the same time, both undemocratized and unintellectualized, which seem opposite actions but are not, but I will not discuss it further here. It is not relevant to the discussion of names and labels.
I write primarily in traditional verse forms not because I have faith that meter and rhyme can ever prove successful as living saviors or sacrificial martyrs of poetry. I would never victimize context or content for anything, meter or rhyme--or to position myself as a darling of the latest fad or a loyal representative of a particular workshop. I will always write as I feel, as the words and ideas make the self-same music upon my soul. I write in free verse as much as I do in particular forms especially in rough drafts. But, I submit a poem to a publisher, and the publisher labels me a Formalist or Neo-Formalist. Like my experience with Mike the Mule, I do not have much remembering of the details of when this first happened, but I fear that this type of labelling does little but fuel the prejudices of those critics whose lives would be so much easier if all poets could be pigeon-holed under these types of simplistic identifiers. Oh! And once a Formalist, always a Formalist, right? Yes, and the only good Indian is a dead Indian, according to General Philip Sheridan. The biases inherent in both statements are not that much different at all.
Remember the Life cereal commercials, “He likes it! Hey, Mikey!” That was worse for us Michaels than a dozen mule kicks to the head. I hated it, and I thought we would never get past it. Then, as a young adult, my very good buddy and long-time outfielder on the Lower End Softball team Terry Adams randomly started calling me “Mikey.” I quickly figured out that I didn’t hate it when Terry called me that. He wasn’t being demeaning, and he wasn’t associating me with particular characteristics. Neither he nor I could have explained it in sophisticated terms at that time, but I realize now that we had a special relationship as an outfielder and shortstop who played together for decades, and calling me a name based on that special relationship was okay. Nobody else called me Mikey, and only one other person ever has since then, and that is a person with whom I also have a special relationship. It is a rare and special occasion when another person can change your attitude about what you would like to be called or how you would like to be categorized. When it comes to names, labels, designations, titles, and terms, the associations and the relationships of all participants in the moniker, nickname, or appellation should be carefully considered because, quite frankly, you never know who has been kicked in the head by a mule named Mike.