In the latest New Yorker, Rebecca Mead has a wonderful profile of two poets (Michael and Matthew Dickman) with starkly different poetic styles who happen to be identical twins.
Michael and Matthew share more than the same raw material; they share the same genetic material. Although there is a rich scientific literature on the subject of identical twins who have been separated at birth - their circumstances help to illuminate the competing influences of genetics and environment on the development of an individual's health and sensibility - the Dickman twins, who were raised together and have been close their entire lives, seem to offer a parallel experiment. One way of looking at their work - Michael's Dickinsonian severity, and Matthew's Whitmanesque expansiveness - is as an illustration of the distinctiveness of imagination, even in two people who are as alike as two people can be.
I'm only familiar with Michael's poetry - he's a friend of a friend - and I think his latest collection is quite beautiful. I particularly like this lyric, which I think helps explain why genetics doesn't determine writerly style:
I didn't make my brain/ but I'm helping/ to finish it.
That's neuroplasticity summarized in a couplet.
Humanities & Social Science
