POETRY STILL ALIVE AFTER NATIONAL POETRY MONTH
Well, we survived another national poetry month. A month that, from what I can
see, left no mark whatsoever on our land. Sure, there were poetry readings
here and there; Edgar, Emily and Walt were eulogized again and Maya revered,
but on the whole nothing changed. People still read Grisham on lawyers rather
than Milton on angels. Now, some folks are very upset about that, but not me.
Some pessimists think poetry is dead, but I know better. I see the muse
everywhere, she's all over us. But we've forgotten what she looks like.
Wow, you'll think, I never knew that --. It's true though. We just don't
recognize real poetry when we see it. We've been brainwashed by modern poets
telling us that their minimalist, desiccated, hiccuping lines are the real
thing. That line breaks are more important than soul. What nonsense!
Obviously, real poetry is not where poets live anymore. These days it appears
in our ad-sheets and flyers and brochures, for everyone to see. It is written
by market analysts, realtors, travel agents and fund raisers. They are the
true poets of the 21st century.
Let me give you an example. The university recently sent out a tasteful
brochure inviting alumni to join them on an African safari. It starts out like
this: THE BRILLIANT ORANGE SUN CREEPS ABOVE THE HORIZON. AWAKEN TO THE AROMA
OF FRESHLY BREWED COFFEE ... What lines! Notice how easily they could have
been ruined by, for instance, making the sun run instead of creep, or leaving
out the coffee. I tell you, when I read those lines, I'm ready to join. But
the next line, exquisite though it is, gives me pause. It reads: THE DEW IS
FAST DISAPPEARING AND THE PREDATORS ARE ON THE PROWL. I love the awesome
alliteration, but prowling predators make me a nervous nelly. So no, I won't
go.
Mind you, that isn't an easy decision, because the brochure promises
superlative safari activities. Like A LEISURELY STROLL AMID THE IMMACULATELY
LANDSCAPED ENVIRONS. Now, if there's one thing I can't resist it's
immaculately landscaped environs. Environs have always been my weakness, even
as a child. And these are not ordinary environs. Not at dusk, not WHEN THE SUN
IS COMPLETING ITS SOJOURN ACROSS THE SKY, PRODUCING EERIE, YET INTRIGUING
SHADOWS. So I'm really tempted. Only the idea that one of the shadows might be
prowling holds me back. I don't want to end up AS A DINNER OF DELICIOUS
CONTINENTAL AND LOCAL CUISINE. Not even if my hosts later on will GATHER
AROUND THE FIREPLACE TO TRADE TALES.
I could go on, but you'll get the point. Poetry is alive and well. Just read
the university's travel brochures.
At Random - Adrian Korpel
