OnceÂ there is nothing left to hate
time has comeÂ to smile
at your bank account
Every now and again I see the concept ‘post-internet.’ I am sure it means something, and the combination of the words ‘post’ and ‘internet’ is surely daring. Still. There are things between heaven and earth that internet doesn’t think of, like a tradition of communicating that existed before the birth of the world wide web. I mean correspondence or diaries.
In the old days poetry looked like it was meant to age on the yellowing pages of a book. Popular lines got carved into tombstones. When I listened to Hera Lindsay BirdÂ on our radio, and read her poems, the poets and aspiring poets that read out their works at the Curious Fox bookstore in Berlin came to mind. I got the impression that their printed poems needed the voice of its creator, much like an interior monologue read aloud, or the way you write letters in your head to a friend or lover, or to some celebrity or who-ever. It is a kind of day-dreaming captured in words. It is exactly this day-dreaming of words that lead to the writing of long letters or diaries. I have the impression that the new wave of poets connect to that old tradition.
Anyway, word to Adrian Shephard who was there to record them all, when Curious Fox Books celebrated its third birthday: