Poetry is sometimes too much with us,
\nalways tangling underfoot. Like kudzu
\nor the parachuting dandelion fluff
\nwe superstitiously disperse\u00a0with\u00a0puffs,
\npoetry goes wild, turns weed,
\nits niche become a whole ecology.<\/p>\n
O Peoples of the Earth, hear me on this!
\nPoetry clings to everything. We can\u2019t
\nhack back its proliferating\u00a0nodes, trap
\nits encapsulated seeds,\u00a0which survive
\nthe seasons,\u00a0germinate\u00a0in pavement cracks,
\non distant rooftop tar. Poetry thrives
\noff CO2 and every breath released.
\nWe must live with the change it brings.<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
The underlying epidemic dimensions of this poem were not as striking when I wrote it over a decade ago at the beginning of my retirement and what I envisioned as an unbroken period of poetic composition.<\/span><\/p>\n Only now is it slowly dawning on me that my instinct was right. Nothing ecstatically Dylan-Thomas-esque occurred, though I can recall some pretty self-consciously inspirational imoments when a light seemed to shine as words and syllables fell into place. <\/span><\/p>\n Instead, it is in the background that poetry pullulates, simmers away, but rarely approaching a boil. Just as I had warned in the text, it turned out impossible to avoid getting entangled in it, which, like kudzu, is a weed always underfoot, clinging to everything.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Poetry is sometimes too much with us, always tangling underfoot. Like kudzu or the parachuting dandelion fluff we superstitiously disperse\u00a0with\u00a0puffs, poetry goes wild, turns weed, its niche become a whole ecology. O Peoples of the Earth, hear me on this! Poetry clings to everything. We can\u2019t hack back its proliferating\u00a0nodes, trap its encapsulated seeds,\u00a0which survive … <\/p>\n