Well, well, well, after visiting 4 bookstore's poetry sections and coming up empty, I finally found Polish Poet Czeslaw Milosz's New and Collected Poems (1931-2001). I was stunned by one of his poems I posted on my WILD MAN site, so I had to get my hands on more of his work. I am not disappointed...I think I have found one of my favorite poets.
But one thing I did discover that pangs me deeply...there are four rows of Christian books at Hastings in the Valley and most of them couldn't lift the eyelid of a pubescent schoolboy at Victoria's Secret! And to Hastings shame, there is just a half of a shelf for poetry. And even the poetry that is on that shelf is suspect...I mean, since when is Tupac Shakur and Jewel more important to carry than Milosz? I mean common Spokane.
Does Poetry matter anymore? I believe it does. It's an art of the finest skill to cram all of heaven into a few words. It takes a sermonic alchemist of the highest order to transform a pile of ink into a phoenix of revelation with a simple linguistic nudge. Writing prose is like firing a shotgun...its hit and miss most of the time but poetry is like russian roulette...it only takes one bullet....you never know when it will fire but when it does its deadly.
You use a glass mirror to see your face; you use works of art to see your soul. --George Bernard Shaw, Back to Methuselah