Ever wondered why the field of Poetry disappeared from the main-stream of culture, only reappearing as an abstruse whimper in the fringes of the left-wing's Pretentious Pseudo-Art Department?
Who is the Byron of today? Where can I hear a post-post-neo-modern Shelley? Whose rhapsodic lyric will I mumble to myself in the winter of my discontent? Where can I find counsel from a highly-tuned and sensitive conveyance to reconcile the darkest emotions with the need to carry on? Who will give voice to my despair, my hopes, my failings, my concerns?
Poets have not stopped being born. Poetry has not perished nor faded.
Poets and Poems thrive. You are surrounded by them. In fact, they are more popular today than they have ever been. You just haven't noticed them in their new clothing.
Think about it. What group of talented, artistic visionaries are out their today, have been for decades, who write about the passions and want us to hear their words?
Musicians.
Authentic musicians who write their own lyrics are today's Poets.
Get hold of some song lyrics from your favourite classics and read aloud. Then read a Keats, a Thomas, a Blake. They are the same.
As Robert Frost (above) explained:
"A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words."
Freddie could have said the very same.
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