They say poetry is dying when the greater truth is poets are alive but not really kicking. They don’t want to succeed anymore. The desire to make one’s presence felt has diminished and that is indeed worrying. One doesn’t have to be a literary eagle to observe it happening not only in the offline world (where poets are an endangered breed anyway) but also the online one (where poets are few as usual but more pretentious than required). This imbalance hasn’t helped the case because poetry as a sustainable art form has morphed into a pitiable myth. If only more poets with good poetry to back them up exhibited a
strong stronger reaction to mediocrity. Remember when a Nobel laureate went on to appreciate Eminem’s body of work saying that the white rapper is doing a great service to poetry? This was last decade and i thought both were kidding. Turns out they weren’t because they knew what was needed to keep an art form from dying. The people and the poems should rhyme. If that doesn’t happen, then what’s the point? Gulzarsaab has written some of the most beautiful poems ever but chances are you might not have read them. You know why? They were published and not converted into songs. Hard luck, yes. It’s not like poems can’t survive without music but we are at a point of era where we are least interested in the ones who give us words. We don’t wish to know how an emotion can marry metaphor and leave happily ever after. We’ve reached a point where people attend reading sessions but are evidently afraid to read out loud their poems. In such a damp scenario, the real slim shady stands out for his courageous self-pity and bitching semi-originality.