Erik Rittenberry
Medium | Dec 29, 2024
Contemporary society is overrun with self-proclaimed “poets” who relish in the title yet produce very little poetic fire. Much of what parades as poetry these days reeks of self-pitying confessions dressed up in the garb of “artistic expression.” It fixates on the temporal and panders to the superficial trends and fragile sensitivities of an identity-obsessed culture.
Much of today’s poetry is little more than an indulgence in personal idiosyncrasies, which is why it’s all so bloodless and cerebral and stripped of any potency to shake up or jolt the soul. Unsurprising, I guess, in this navel-gazing age where “personal identity” is exalted like a sacred idol and the sanctuaries of creative thought have been battered by suffocating ideologies.
With the rise of social media, we’ve seen the advent of a new, frivolous fad called “Instapoetry” — a form of cliché-ridden verse crafted for quick consumption and visual appeal. This kind of quaint, fashionable poetry, so beloved by the unlettered crowd, caters to fleeting emotions, trading the depth and substance of true poetry for the sleek ease of a scrollable screen.
Shaped by platforms that reward brevity and simplicity, this poetry often eludes the intensity of meaningful engagement with complex themes, favoring instead a surface-level aesthetic that comforts but seldom provokes or challenges the inner life. >>READ MORE
