The Demise of Poetry

As another brisk New England winter draws to a close, one more of Harvard Square’s beloved blossoms has been killed by frost, never to unfurl its tender petals again. But this frost is not the same frost that snaps at the ears of red-cheeked students; it is rather an icy Cantabrigian apathy that has gnawed upon many of the Square’s most august institutions. The dead flower is the Grolier Poetry Book Shop.

Unless a buyer is found, Grolier will close down soon after more than 75 years of continuous operation. During that period it provided more than poetry to the community; Grolier transformed itself from a bricks-and-mortar building into part of the soul and essence of the Cambridge neighborhood. Poets including e.e. cummings ’15, T.S. Eliot ’10 and Allen Ginsberg were once frequent visitors. And so, when Grolier closes its doors for the last time, when the last slim volume passes over the counter, the entire city will be poorer for it.

The crass will question the utility of a store devoted to selling poetry, and praise the invisible hand that slowly strangled the hapless business, squashing an enterprise that prospered through the Great Depression and under nine U.S. presidents. We abhor this attitude. Too much of Cambridge’s history is being lost for the embrace of this blasé worship of capitalism—red in tooth and claw—to be permissible. In 2000, the historic Bow & Arrow Pub served its last pint, culminating a decade of the Square’s cultural decline. In 1992 customers literally wept at the closing of J.F. Olsson’s—a fixture on Brattle Street for 107 years. Financial troubles led the once popular Wursthaus restaurant to disappear after 79 years. And just a few years ago, Harvard Square’s Tasty restaurant, still a legend in Harvard lore, was replaced by that symbol of corporate decadence—Abercrombie and Fitch.

How many clothing stores, arriviste restaurants and watch shops does the Square need? Abercrombie and Fitch may make money, but in 20 years no one will know or care whether it still reigns prominently where JFK St. intersects the Square. Some shops, though, remind everyone who walks down Mass. Ave. what Cambridge is. When a single one of them closes, the city loses a piece of its history. If Bartley’s Burger Cottage were ever to close, for example, not even the most glitzy of gift shops could plug the hole in the hearts of Harvard’s alumni.

Yet with Grolier, Harvard itself has a special duty. When a beloved pub closes, it is heart wrenching but divorced from the University’s core mission. Poems, far more than pubs, are central to Harvard’s hopes for the promotion of education and culture. The value of a poem cannot be measured in dollars and cents. Harvard needs poetry—the Square needs poetry—and in this particular case poetry needs Harvard. We strongly encourage Harvard to investigate how to guarantee that Grolier stay afloat. If Harvard put in a bid to buy the store, it could continue to operate at a loss, guaranteeing its existence in perpetuity.

With Harvard’s help, all Bostonians could continue to enjoy the exhaustive poetic offerings of one of America’s quiet treasures. Students interested in poetry would have a special place to themselves; it would be Harvard’s token of its commitment to poetry. And Cambridge’s threatened culture, its fragile but deeply meaningful traditions, could breathe a little easier.