Anne Thrope
I can accept the statement of some as poetry, currently, is obsolete, barefoot, blasé and meaningless.
The purpose of poetry is to give pulsation, color and warmth to life, and the word shall be a reverie, to have the ability to excite the reader in front of the written sheet and its always vivid and contrasting spectacles, chosen both for the consistency of the message and for the soul surplus materialized at the highest level of uttered sensitivity and aesthetically embodied.
A sad, strictly personal conclusion, led me to write this article and I assume the claim that the world literature was pulverized by an atomic explosion of the words. Everyone seems to write and publish! All socio-professional “stars” seem to be affected by this hemorrhagic fever. Semi-illiterates journalists began to write poetry, because all attempts to write a story failed, also some ladies who want to compensate, in a way, menopause, high school girls who failing classes, but always in love, commodities and merchandise experts who think they are Shakespeare and, also some gentlemen who undress the woman in each of their compositions. True poets and writers, those with talent, grace, quintessence are forced to struggle with this “self-consistent” literary system of the future, with the egos of self-titled authors, with the grim despair of many to become literary geniuses, and yet I have nurture hope that the reader, the public eager for culture and with a certain level of knowledge, will do justice to the literature, will extract the quality and essence but, unfortunately, reader has to read a lot of rubbish, scrap papers and among the “bricks” and “sleeping pills” he most searching with fervor a true poem.
Progress in humanity has gone in parallel with sacrifice, and I believe that some authors should be sacrificed and not sanctified on the altar of literature or pushed into the background until they succeed in discovering their inner world to extract the substance and true diamonds of knowledge, but also the technique, essential for any poet, to extract the lyrical fund.
Let’s not execute literature on the scaffold of love for fellows! Love for fellow human beings has nothing to do with the metaphor, epithet, comparison and personification of people without any cosmic grace of style figures, who have the terrible feeling that it is a simple thing and easy for anyone to become a writer. Let us not assassinate the state of grace and the paradisiacal candor of poetry by sending it on the scaffold of banality and pathetic, let us to put an end to the illusion that literature is on disposal of any holder of paper and pen. Let’s stop encouraging pseudo-values and whims to the detriment of literature!
©Corina Junghiatu
Article published in MEDIUM (USA)
