Sylvia Plath Reads Lady Lazarus

 

Poesis est mortuus.

Poetry is dead.

 Its death is the result of a plethora of factors that began early in the twentieth century. However, the final nail was driven in the past decade. Poetry’s death throes have been heard, the hole has been dug, and the coffin not-so gently dropped in the grave. The main culprits in this vocabulumicide are multimedia, the Internet, and a detestable “fast-food” mentality.

 Our homes sound like 1980’s video game arcades, websites are flashing temples of capitalism, our blogs are cutesy scrapbooks, and our minds want the next thing before the previous thing has even registered.

 No matter; it is a natural process. Soon will come the death of the printed page, art on canvas, and entertainment that enlightens the mind.

Poetry was created for a people who valued the written word and were willing to think deeply rather than superficially.

Oh well, all things die.

Alea iacta est.