The unanimity appears to be like that poetry is dead. No doubt that poetry was great in its time; however its time is past. Who reads poetry nowadays, for God's sake? No music, no video clips, no pin-up poets - definitely nothing sexy about poetry at all.
So here the question arise that what killed poetry? No doubt that one of the culprits was pop, however this was only one aspect of an entertainment industry whose effect went so deep that it accomplished to certify that no one any longer would have an ear for poetry.
In its day poetry was set aside alive through a specific sensibility that a lot of people in the middle and upper classes had. These were the people who could travel out into the rural areas and only sit and listen to the birds singing as well as the wind gently whistling through the leaves or else prodigy at the ever-changing shapes of the leave-taking clouds. There was also the person who could turn their backs on the conversation of urban life for a time and anticipate something that appeared outstanding or more insightful or more inspiring, something that is poetic.
The people who grew up in this way were the people who were actually know the meaning of word silence. Put up a hundred years ago must have been comparatively quiet places, places favorable for the contemplating upon the shuddering little bird on the simple branch of the tree outside in the bleak wintertime evening. Nevertheless, what new was there to do? If you wanted music then you would have to play an instrument. If you wanted conversation then you will have to invite the people over and begin chatting.
Appended to this was a culture centred on books. Some time before it was possible to modestly reproduce and broadly distribute either images or sounds, the letterpress press had made it possible for a culture to develop which rotated round about the written word.
Now things have been changed. People get mature along with the continuous supply of mass-produced music or chat as well as TV images and noise, a wall of sound keeping nearly everything else out. The complete extent of the acquaintance creates, in a lot of people, a psychological requires keeping the music and also the conversation and the noise going. This place looks empty while the time appears to pass in a ghastly way without it. When no one any longer was capable to take pleasure in peace there concluded to be an audience for poetry and also for the artform we had known for some 3,000 years died.
From the time when it is dead why don't we just dispense it to rot in its vault? Though, some of us believe that we should try to keep flourishing the memory, at least, of what once was. We can still read the previous poems there on the yellowing paper albeit the audience for whom they were proposed has largely died out.