The Reflector

Apparently, the average attention span of a listening human is six to eight minutes. How about the casual day-to-day reader of a university newspaper reading an article about poetry? I would venture to guess you are probably in the process of turning the page. And how could I blame you? Our society has slaughtered poetry.

For those few of you who still remain after my conveniently placed summarizing thesis, you may be asking what stemmed this little article. Well, did you know April is Poetry Month? Actually, to be fair, April is also International Guitar Month, National Humor Month, National Welding Month and the Uh-Huh Month, just to name a few.

And therein lies one of our basic problems. At some point in our history, we decided that making a month be indicative of something important was a good idea. Well it was, at least until we kept making each month mean more and more and more and more until finally one day the month of April, like every other month, meant absolutely nothing. For this, the Academy of American Poets is just as guilty as the American Welding Society or the Carmel Institute of Humor. They all played their role in slowly suckling the meaning out of each and every month. Sadly, so it is with everything else. How many honor societies are there? Hundreds. Just Google it. There are few which are actually still impressive on rÄsumÄs. Like the completely dependent infant feeding on his mother?s breast, we are always looking to get our next fix.

We buy and buy until nothing individually has any significance. Why read a book when it can easily be summarized? Why try to unearth that mystifying and ever eluding meaning of a T.S. Eliot poem when I can find it online? How could I blame you then, for not wanting to read and enjoy a poem whose lack of mystery has now made it dry, dead and meaningless.

Even more sad than our apparent lack of love for discovery is the fact that the academic institution itself daily aids in the destruction of poetry. Sure, those Advanced Placement English classes I took in high school made me a ?better? writer ? better in the sense that afterwards, I more fully understood the long instituted traditions of writing. That is, I knew the so-called sophistication of my audience and of other writers, the same sophistication whose intimidation and rewards succumb writers to be rewarded only for the status quo.

No longer does the novelist or poet have a responsibility to create enjoyment and marvel of whatever kind for the casual reader. Most of his works are written solely for his peers. (And for this, I apologize; I have been told more than once I am sometimes elitist.) A small, closed-door group today enjoys poetry.

There was a time when newspapers regularly ran poems. Larger ones frequently evaluated fresh books filled with poetry. When was the last time you saw a poem in any kind of newspaper? When was the last time you saw a review in a major newspaper for a poetry collection?

Until this current establishment begins to recognize the independence of poetry, it will continue to slowly fade away. Have you ever written a poem for leisure and felt the gratification of reading something for which you labored to create?

Next time, do not be afraid. Remember, poetry is the antonym of mentors, professor recognition and even tenure. The only legitimate reason for writing a poem is to extend an invitation of sharing with those willing to your awe, fury, delight or even torment.

Not one major American poet has come from the world of academia. I say this not to invalidate the establishment, but to encourage those who might otherwise be afraid. So here, please take my invitation, and tomorrow you may very well be sifting your hands through the fields of fresh imagination.

Julio Cespedes is a junior majoring in biological engineering. He can be contacted at opinion@reflector.msstate.edu.

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