Is Poetry dead/dying/dormant? Or maybe alive, well and doing ok since the operation, thank you all the same.
Poetry is being outsourced, and cheap foreign imports are pouring in.
At present, it seems the producers of it far outnumber the consumers of it and it is this fact that's causing debate among the word's finest economists and entrepreneurs. Surely this glut is unsustainable? When does the free market need regulation? Are we in a boom or a bust? But what price do we place on a new poet learning their craft while subsidizing their self-esteem in a localised marketplace?
Then again, how can we seek out the finest produce, when a million pixelates of indignation at being dumped/losing your cat/not liking your job/war in Iraq, might appease a night's suburbia?
When offered the body of a page should just anyone be allowed to make incisions?
Or are we all just performing autopsies? Albeit watching a Vauxhall Astral ascend in a dark, stringent, shimmering arcadia just off the A5.And what's the current body count?
Pass the scalpel muse. Now is that the spleen or the liver? Hmm, oh what the hell.
Er, next.
Background articles: TS Eliot Lecture The Dark Art of Poetry by Don Paterson 09 November 2004 New York Poetry Forum Why Poetry is Dying by Joseph S. Salemi 17 November 2001
At present, it seems the producers of it far outnumber the consumers of it and it is this fact that's causing debate among the word's finest economists and entrepreneurs. Surely this glut is unsustainable? When does the free market need regulation? Are we in a boom or a bust? But what price do we place on a new poet learning their craft while subsidizing their self-esteem in a localised marketplace?
Then again, how can we seek out the finest produce, when a million pixelates of indignation at being dumped/losing your cat/not liking your job/war in Iraq, might appease a night's suburbia?
When offered the body of a page should just anyone be allowed to make incisions?
Or are we all just performing autopsies? Albeit watching a Vauxhall Astral ascend in a dark, stringent, shimmering arcadia just off the A5.And what's the current body count?
Pass the scalpel muse. Now is that the spleen or the liver? Hmm, oh what the hell.
Er, next.
Background articles: TS Eliot Lecture The Dark Art of Poetry by Don Paterson 09 November 2004 New York Poetry Forum Why Poetry is Dying by Joseph S. Salemi 17 November 2001

