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Yes, it still has a pulse and it is still breathing. I’m not talking about the poetry with the long legs and the oily hair undulating in front of a microphone at a coffeehouse down the street from the Beverly Center in Los Angeles. I’m not talking about the rhyming undergrad angst made up in the car on the way to open mic night at Cafe du Belizaire off of St. Charles Avenue in New Orleans. I’m not even talking about the red and pink poetry dripping off of die-cut, heart-shaped Hallmark-stamped cardstock for his birthday, her birthday, thank you, happy graduation, good luck and congratulations on the new addition to the family. We all know that poetry will never, ever, ever, ever die. I’m talking about the other poetry.“No gazer in the crystal ball can see the future as we see the now and here,” said Catherine Cater in her poem “Here and Now.”
We all know it, or at least claim to be aware of it. It was forced down our immature throats in elementary school, thrown at our distracted heads in junior high school and paraded before our sleepless eyes in college. It’s the poetry rumored to have slipped away with the dawn of modern age, our cell phones, our laptops and our numbered characters. It is said to have been last uttered from its original source before adoring fans of Robert Frost, T. S. Eliot, Sylvia Plath and Wallace Stevens. Yes, that poetry. It’s not dead.
“I draw these letters as the day draws its images and blows over them and does not return,” said Octavio Paz in his poem “Escritura.”
It’s still strong and robust. Every morning it lifts the weights of racism, sexism, depression, love, confusion, anarchy, patriotism, faith and justice. It thrives on a well-balanced diet of past events, pop culture, politics and perspective. It’s invited to dinner at the White House and given a microphone at Inaugural Ceremonies. It is chatted up on LinkedIn and gossiped about on Zite. It wins prizes when written by Natasha Trethewey. It changes social dynamics when recited by Elizabeth Alexander. It sports paisley suits when delivered by Kenneth Goldsmith. It wears crocheted hats when free-styled by Common. It sets midnight moods when chanted by Jill Scott. It smiles a knowing smile when spoken by Billy Collins. It’s doing just fine. Thank you for asking.
“You are a part of me. I do not know by what slow chemistry you first became a vital fiber of my being,” said Frank Yerby in his poem “You Are a Part of Me.”
As long as there are words, there will always be poetry. There will always be a willingness to weave words in wise, whimsical and witty ways. There will always be a need to convince, persuade and entice. Poetry helps us fulfill these needs in neat little stanzas using concise language and inspirational enargia. We still need it very much. We’re still influenced by it very much. Whether it’s slung across a swinging beat or whispered into a reddened ear, poetry will persist. Good poetry. History changing poetry. Memorize in the third grade poetry. Frame and hang on a wall poetry. Put in a collection and publish poetry. I wish I could’ve written this in the form of poetry. Maybe, I did just a little poetry.