Poetry is [not] dead

I never thought that I would be the type of person who would start a blog. I loathe blogs. Here I am, however, with my first blog post. Enjoy.

My brother Ian is currently sitting next to me on the couch. He has a stack of paper in his hand which consists of this epic poem he has written. It is my belief that this form of poetry is dead. I hate to admit that any type of poetry, no matter what the form, could be dead, but I also never thought I would start a blog. It's hard enough these days to get people of our generation to read any type of poetry let alone a poem that is about the length of Paradise Lost. At a Leonard Cohen concert last year I was the youngest person there, outstripped in age by at least twenty years. The rest of the concert goers couldn't even believe that I had heard of Leonard Cohen at all. I left the concert elated from the experience and heart broken for the dying art form.

The pages of Ian's poem are torn, the paper is grubby and he chews on his pen. He's contemplating. He tells me that this is how he will revive the epic poem. "It will be an arduous task," he declares "but this is how it will be done." If only I had his conviction. If only I had his belief, his utter belief, that he will indeed become a success.

When I was an undergrad at UBC I went to a workshop titled "How to make a living as a Poet." The answer was a resounding "You can't." Poetry is dead isn't it? If I were Ian I would have already abandoned the pages of the poem to the recycle bin. Given up in disgust. Blamed the arts cuts and Gordon Campbell for making a career in the arts so bloody hard. He's still writing though and therefore so shall I.