Why can’t I read
novels
prose
as I once did
Devouring stories
lives
characters
immersion
I open a book
and close it
then another
and close it
within minutes
Is it the fault of poets
such as Clive James
Where every word counts
causing
prose
novels
to fall flat?
Or Samuel Wagan Watson
Ali Cobby Eckermann
Eleanor Lerman
Kenneth Rexroth
Other poets
names forgotten
sitting on the shelf
to be read and reread
Emotions linger
Specific poems
unremembered
Poets’ words
pierce
shine
penetrate
Leaving novels flat
colourless
Spoiled by chance
or choice
Now and then
poetry escapes me
the terms foreign
the language English
the context unknown
unwanted
unseen
A sometimes thing
poetry’s direct hit
reaching the heart
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