Kwame Dawes. Courtesy photo. The elegant irony of Elaine Equi’s lament — what the Germans, I am told, call, “Weltmüdigkeit” (world-weariness) — in her poem, “In an Unrelated,” about the very contemporary phenomenon of “the news cycle,” is that despite what may seem like a grand separation of human beings in the world, we, in the end, have a common sense of collective connection.
In other words, the poet recognizes that we are all in this thing together. This is one splendid use of poetry, to be the “campfire” of our humanity.
In an Unrelated By Elaine Equi
We have almost nothing left, no ground in common.
At best, a brand or maybe a miniseries.
No campfire to gather around. The big stories—peckish news
gets told in tweets, gets old so quickly.
In place of one place a billion tiny customized versions
appear targeted specifically to your tastes.
You see only what you want to see. Maybe you always did.
Kwame Dawes. Courtesy photo. The elegant irony of Elaine Equi’s lament — what the Germans, I am told, call, “Weltmüdigkeit” (world-weariness) — in her poem, “In an Unrelated,” about the very contemporary phenomenon of “the news cycle,” is that despite what may seem like a grand separation of human beings in the world, we, in the end, have a common sense of collective connection.
In other words, the poet recognizes that we are all in this thing together. This is one splendid use of poetry, to be the “campfire” of our humanity.
In an Unrelated By Elaine Equi
We have almost nothing left, no ground in common.
At best, a brand or maybe a miniseries.
No campfire to gather around. The big stories—peckish news
gets told in tweets, gets old so quickly.
In place of one place a billion tiny customized versions
appear targeted specifically to your tastes.
You see only what you want to see. Maybe you always did.