It’s a sad indictment of our modern post-post-ironic-post-MTV-post-dancehell1 and high-tea (high) society that poets find it so hard to make a living. Except the crap ones who write the special forms of poetry that don’t scan and force you to place the emPHAsis on the wrong WORDS and syllables and then just run on to the end in a soppy, sappy mess - I’d imagine there’s money in that old rope. Not sure how you get into that line of work, though. It was never offered as an option in my careers education, I remember that much.
I digress. Poets are clever, and even though a lot of what they do is simply myseterious, and rather like certain abstract works of art, seems only to justify itself in a hideously circular or self-serving way, they do not deserve to be reduced to having to scratch around composing the titles for web spam pages. It’s a low down dirty disgrace is what it is. Luckily several of them have banded together as an anonymous collective, serving up titular poetry for fake blog pages. Occasionally it’s both heartbreakingly confusing and achingly banal at the same time. To find your own piece of the ark, you could do worse than search for recent posts on any subject at technorati and see what surprises the rent-a-fragment poets can dream up for you.
If you look hard or mad enough you might even be able to crack the hidden codes buried deep within titles such as:
implants camera symmetrically
grosses corroborative sweaty
heterogeneity note armed
to list but three posts apparently relating to poker that have been blogged somewhere in the world in the last half hour. Just how many down-at-heel poets are out there?
Notes
- It was indeed meant to say dancehall, but I quite like dancehell as a word, as it turns out