American punk poet and experimental novelist Kathy Acker made a career out of cutting and pasting, copying text directly, and making the writing of others her own. Bob Dylan has done the same. Countless others have as well. Disdain for this untoward behavior is generally accepted in the literary community.
pla·gia·rism
/ˈplājəˌrizəm/
noun
the practice of taking someone else’s work or ideas and passing them off as one’s own.
synonyms:
1. copying, infringement of copyright, piracy, theft, stealing;
2. Informal cribbing
3. “accusations of plagiarism”
American punk poet and experimental novelist Kathy Acker made a career out of cutting and pasting, copying text directly, and making the writing of others her own. Bob Dylan has done the same. Countless others have as well. Disdain for this untoward behavior is generally accepted in the literary community. But all of us have the very same words available to use as anyone who came before us or will ever come after. It’s like taking a massive dictionary and choosing a few pages from which to pilfer from, selecting the words that attract your attention, and then rearranging them into a poem, novel, or essay on any subject conceivable. Or switch from that massive dictionary to any other book and do the same thing. Or even take a previously published poem written by someone not you and rewrite it. It’s all ethical and can be considered an art form in itself. Bob Dylan is likely the best example alive today of someone who pilfers texts and then writes topical songs about what he has read. In my opinion, Bob Dylan, by default, is basically the very best editor who has ever lived.
Years ago when my youngest son was a senior attending a private high school in Louisville, KY the headmaster called us both in to his office to discuss a case of alleged plagiarism and the strong possibility that my son would be expelled. I accompanied my son in order to defend and to argue his case for innocence. The respected but air-filled headmaster had advanced degrees from several elite universities, one being Stanford. In contrast I had none. But I did have a few books of poetry with my name as author on them. I also had a large file of saved examples and quotations lifted from icons of the literary world, both dead and alive, eager to make my case for me. It is true the original text my son deformed to make his own was written by a fellow classmate. He had brought the piece home to me to have a look at, and as an exercise I had him condense the rather verbose and inconsequential product into something worthy of its being called art. My son worked hard on that piece as I routinely sent him back and forth to make more revisions until he had it ready for publication, or in this case, prepared to be turned in to his instructor for grade. The problem with this scenario became the teacher’s familiarity with the subject matter as the original piece written by his classmate had been previously seen. But permission had been granted by this friend for my son to pilfer from his work. And pilfer we did, as I certainly was complicit in the undertaking for more reasons than just getting a paper turned in to be graded. You see, my son was lazy back then. And I used the pilfered text as a teaching tool and to also make him work harder than had he simply sat himself down to write a paper on any subject of his choosing. The short version here is that I won the debate inside that headmaster’s office. The Stanford grad had no argument to be made against the literary stance I maintained for the sake of art. He decided my son would not be expelled either. But to save face the headmaster made it clear to the rest of the student body that what my son did was not acceptable but he would not be punished for the sins of the father. In other words, it was I, the father who was at fault for encouraging his son to plagiarize, even if what we were accomplishing resulted in a exercise intended to create higher art. The headmaster also refused to publicly acknowledge any of the superior academic arguments I had presented to him as defense in his office.
You have no idea how happy this made me.
Those who take a beggar’s pride in their own art ( or thoughts ) must first be a prince of thieves.
man oh man I wish I could’ve seen you and the headmaster going brain to brain