Every couple of years some out-of-touch New Yorker writer, or some bitter, unsuccessful poet, writes an article about how poetry is dead. And, as much as poets should ignore them, the people who write these articles are either so amazingly ignorant, or else such trash writers, that we can't help but analyze how the article is wrong. It's especially fun when you know the person who wrote the article, and you think "Of course they think poetry is dead, every time they open their fetid mouth on stage, flies appear. Their poetry was dead on arrival, but some of the rest of us are doing just fine."
I remember reading several articles during the Great Boy Band Boom of the late 1990s that announced that rock and roll was dead. Really, journalists are just eager to declare as many things as possible "dead" before people realise that journalism is, not dead, but certainly corrupt and irrelevant.
Write a premature eulogy for an art form that is doing just fine, thank you very much.
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