Our solution, then, is to open the box.
And when we do, we find it’s not a coffin, but a buzzing hive, whether you can see the resident poet-bees working inside or not. Rather than rehashing arguments that have been made a thousand times, I propose a logical conclusion: if you have to keep declaring, over and over, that poetry is dead, it can’t actually be dead. Poetry can’t possibly die if people keep talking about it, and announcing its supposed death counts as conversation. And in the meantime, the poets buzz on, crafting and creating, regardless of what internet bloggers, journalists or social critics have to say.