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Published
by & © NetAuthor.org 2003
Robert Marcom, Managing Director Rhonna Robbins-Sponaas, Editor-in-Chief Sabina Becker, Poetry Editor Keith Deshaies, Editor-at-Large Jason Nolan, Editor-at-Large Julia Brown, Staff Writer Dan Knestaut, Associate Moderator Walt Wellborn, Webmaster ISSN:1529-1146 |
Features
Are We
Facing Genrecide?
by
Barbara Petoskey
There's been talk that poetry is dying. Some critics allege that poetry
has become little more than an incestuous, academic subculture isolated
from the intellectual mainstream, rarely mentioned in general-interest
publications or honestly criticized in its own cliquish journals. In
other words, modern poets are off somewhere in a classroom with the
shades pulled, teaching would-be poets how to train other would-be poets
to write what no one wants to read. Speaking as both a writer and reader--I disagree. Yet, something is
rotten in the house of poetry, affecting its public, its publishers,
and its practitioners. While poetry may never claim an audience to rival John Grisham, somehow
we have estranged many of its traditional supporters. It's hardly surprising
that the small press prefers to review poetry it recommends. Do we need
to tell non-buyers what else not to buy? Ah, had we but world enough and time...that's part of the problem.
Poetry suffers mightily in the time crunch, because for most of us,
reading it simply isn't convenient. Sure, there's plenty of poetry out
there. Today anyone with a PC and a printer can be a desktop publisher.
Anyone with access to a server can reach more readers in a heartbeat
than all the daffodils Wordsworth saw on that famous hillside. If readers look. But while newspapers like the Springfield Daily Republican
once featured the work of Emily Dickinson, today's folks must go out
of their way to find a poem. And how many of us can deal with all the
things already in our way? On the editorial side, reluctance to print poetry may arise not from
any lack of original material but from a lack of faith in it. Witness
recent Hollywood films, with wave after wave of sequels and clones.
Or each week's Made-For-TV movie "based on a true story" that
guarantees more of the safe and familiar. Have we really become too
mindlessly dull to deal with anything new and unknown? To be startled
by poetry--that might do us good. Granted, there's no shortage of drivel out there. Here's where poets
themselves stand convicted. Poetry has lost its impact and audience,
in part, by abandoning the very elements that make it unique. Poets
need not all revert to iambic pentameter, but we'd do well to remember
Coleridge's simple definition: "poetry=the best words in their
best order." Not just any ol' language slapped down any which way.
Modern readers are understandably confused to confront a block of text
with wide margins that is called a poem but doesn't sound, feel, or
act like one. Effective free verse still derives vitality from compression,
insightful metaphor, and the musical use of sound and sense, all combining
to lodge a line in the brain. Too often, the pale stanzas that pass
for contemporary poetry are no more than broken prose--and bland prose
at that. To survive, poetry mustn't be afraid to be poetry, to wear all the
bright scarves in its language closet. Not flash, but artistry. Not
glitter, but twenty-four carat value. And to be of value, it must be comprehensible. Delving into the unfolding
depths of a good poem can be an exciting treasure hunt, but who wants
to wallow in the mire of an obscure exercise that's little more than
a showcase for the poet's anguish or erudition? Compounding the problem, too often during a reader's early academic
exposure to poetry, it is branded with the damning curse: something
that's good for you. Mental prunes. Or worse yet, it's considered merely
a dried-up carcass to be dissected like a junior high frog. The news is not all grim. In this era of diminishing economic support
for the arts, poetry is fortunate that its needs are simple. No stage,
no auditorium, no gallery--just innovative writers, interested readers,
and a little paper--or screen--in between. If we agree that poetry plays
a special role in both preserving the craft of fine wordsmanship and
helping us to understand the human condition, how can we put poetry
back in the intellectual Big Leagues where it belongs? Is poetic genrecide truly around the corner? I rather doubt that, too.
Early in the twentieth century, Conrad Aiken compared expecting response
to a new book of poetry to dropping a feather in the Grand Canyon and
waiting for the echo. I suspect that even as "To be or not to be"
was wafting through the Globe, some cranky scholar was bemoaning the
sorry state of the Elizabethan theater. Language is one of the features that separates us from the animals,
as does (according to Mark Twain) the ability--or need--to blush. Poetry
allows us to cultivate our precious communication ability, all the while
guiding us to understand the more subtle aspects of our humanity. To lose poetry, now that should make us blush. The Poetry Archives Poetry Daily Poetry 180 The Poetry and Literature Center of the Library of Congress The ESserver Poetry Collection Online Journal and Multimedia Companion to Anthology of Modern American
Poetry Giggle Poetry For two decades, Barbara J. Petoskey has published poetry, articles,
humor, interviews, and reviews in publications such as Confrontation,
Bostonia, Spring Hill Review, Northern Centinel,
AWP Chronicle, and Writer's Digest, and more recently
on websites such as Inscriptions, Keystrokes, and Pantarbe.com.
She is also a contributing editor for ByLine.
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