Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Poets, Philosophers and Penny Posts no more.

A child of our time is what we call the internet, irrespective of its source. At the very heart of modernity, it belonged to a briskly different age and almost perfectly reflected it. Its matter-of-fact brevity did its sense of urgency, its glimpsing manner, its stab of truth. The penny post or letter overshadowed by the riches and delights of the E-mail, Twitter and Face books novelty was regarded by everyone as little more than a poor relation living on the crumbs scattered by the rural population, senile old folks and the computer illiterate. Success of the Internet, SMS,MMS that flourished as technology never had before.
But these humbly gathered crumbs were more wholesome than they might have been. They nourished a modest art, and in modesty the letter and penny post eventually found itself. It discovered the value of a quiet voice and acquired, in time, a quality it since has made its own: distinctive, spare and unfussy. All that was waiting for the ink pen, who gratefully reached out for it, prized it and indelibly left its mark on it.

Poets and philosophers are men, with unease and doubt and guilt, and an awakened curiosity. They tapped their fantasies, relished imagination's freedom, but still did not neglect the ordinariness of the everyday, or lives that were considered unimportant by those who lived them, or the small events and half-forgotten moments that made lives everywhere what they were.
The unusual as a human quality appealed to them, as mild eccentricity did, and the capriciousness that enlivens the monotony of convention. The poet and philosopher are a doomed species – divided by the march of technology and science like falling in love with a woman who scorns them and their unrequited love ; nothing to do with intellect verbal beauty or accepted definitions of tragedy. What move them are the hurt and the pain which is almost unbearable. They seemed not to be watching a great drama by/ but eavesdropping on life itself.
Truth, somewhere, has got in the way, pushing politeness and pretense aside. -Vinay-(Poets Encyclopedia)

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