“Oh Neruda! Oh Uncle Walt! Oh Poe!
Oh Frost! Oh Ginsberg! Oh McKay!
Oh Maya! Oh Keats! Oh Rimbaud!
Oh Gibran! Oh Wilde! Oh Blake!
The words you left still linger
But seem to slowly wither away
Like sand between my fingers
Your songs of yesterday
For the ever turning world
Has forgotten beauty’s name
And her love like once a pearl
Is drowning all the same” – Anonymous Poet
I love poetry. Ever since I was 12 years old and in the seventh grade all I wanted to do was become the next William Shakespeare or Edgar Allan Poe. In my angst filled high school years poetry became my religion, it was the only thing I believed in. And even to this day poetry still plays an important part in my life.
Poetry made me believe in things. It inspired me to live and capture moments and words and feelings. It taught me to let go of pain and regrets and fears. Poetry made me believe in love “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate . . . “ and all that jazz. In poetry I discovered true beauty and felt true loss. I can go on and on about joys and sorrows, and beautiful melodies, and gardens and the terrifying night, but I think you get the point.
Anyways the other day a horrific truth came to my mind: “the world doesn’t care for poetry as much as it once did.”
The tender heart of Uncle Walt is forgotten. The honest anguish of Rimbaud is drowned in silence. The simple beauty of Frost is no more. The freedom that Ginsberg fought for is left in cages. The world has moved on and poetry and all her charms are but a fleeting whisper lost in the winds of change.
Why is this?
A few reasons come to mind. People just don’t care anymore; they feel they don’t need poetry in the modern world, and that poetry is simply something you hate learning about in school. Poetry is considered by many to be dainty and for the emotionally weak. In today’s age of the inter-webs and social networking people don’t need poetry to express themselves like they may have once did. Again I could go on and on but I’ll stop there.
So what’s the point to what I’m saying you ask? There’s no point really. This isn’t some Feed the Starving Poet’s Campaign, or another pointless Occupy movement. It’s just some kid who likes making rhymes venting his frustration.
Sometimes I think I’m the only one on this sinking ship, but you know what I really don’t mind that thought at all. But like James Gates Percival says, “The world is full of poetry. The air is living with its spirit; and the waves dance to the music of its melodies, and sparkle in its brightness.” So what do I got complain about? Absolutely nothing.