The Clairvoyant Zoopraxiscope

The business of poetry really is mean-spirited. The only time our ears perk up is when we hear about someone's lambasting of someone else's work, or when we witness, or engage in, lengthy angry exchanges about subjects which, really and truly, should not be raising such ire. Why is this? Is it because the writing of poetry is, like most other worthwhile pursuits, listless at times, and we're desperate for excitement? I don't think so. The positivity of the moment, this time when so much poetry is being published, when someone might actually say to him- or herself, "I want to be a poet," and then have the option to pursue that interest at a rapidly growing number of institutions, is drowned out by the negativity of poetry's periphery--which is becoming harder to ignore--or rather, harder and harder for Poetry to hide as part of its baggage.