A poetic mid-year resolution
I have never cared much for poetry.
When one thinks of poetry, often one's thoughts go to dark, hazy spaces with the chanting of someone in dark clothing and a questionable state of consciousness. Poetry's reputation has been significantly dimmed in the shadow of voluminous tomes filled with the prose of the linguistically gifted, not to mention the incalculable mass of overly dramatic amateurs who have a habit of speaking through the genitals and assuming poetic license. One can name only a handful of truly worthwhile poets in the midst of a sea of phonies who can only aspire to claim such a title.
I find it less than surprising that poetry should be regarded with such disdain by anyone except the truly erudite, and I suspect that even they don't care for it much. Poetry depends a great deal upon the experiences of the individual reader; when the average reader experiences little else apart from television and sleep, poetry tends to take on a very dry and cryptic nature. Its language is so condensed and focused that it relies on outside experience to make it significant. The writer of prose, however, provides his own convenient microcosm upon which the reader can depend for a point of reference for the character's experience.
I am personally resolving to read more poetry. There is much that can be gained from it, like new insights and perspectives and experiences, but besides that it is simply inherently fulfilling once it is understood. Like any inexperienced art lover, I'm sure I'll be met with a mixture of good and bad poetry until I have enough of a sense of what to look for. I can at least hope that my experience as an adolescent among adolescents has prepared me enough for all of the bad poetry.