Sinister: "I'm not in awe of technology/ It's not as beautiful as you"

[Nick Horne]

Children of a Sinister God,

So Puff gets off, Her’esy release a duff first single
which goes straight to Number One, and the financial
markets pour their shares of woe down the drains.  And
the topic of chattering on the Sinister list is still
whether people prefer girls with beards, or whatever.

I saw The Story of Rachel played forth before me:

“nick horn of africa wrote:‘I always think electronic
communication too fleeting, too brash, for poetry.’

“Ah, but that's what they said about print when its
nasty black uniformity took over from those pretty
illustrated manuscripts. it wasn't true then either.
one click is just a choice we make, like the choice to
turn the page. the poetry's still there for the
taking. at, for example, www.buzzwords.org.uk (ahem.)”

Which is a fair point, and should I ever appear guilty
of Luddism, I expect to be called to account. 
However, the comparison doesn’t convince me.  We make
a choice to turn the page.   And, having done so, the
page remains in existence.  The page remains to haunt
us.  And, eventually, we relent and turn back to it. 
Poetry by email?  One click.  No traces.  A
memory-free medium.  Is a poetry-free medium.  I lie
in my bed, gazing over to my bookcase.  Noticing
suddenly the spine of a book; a book not read for
years.  Intruiged, I struggle to my feet and immerse
myself in the words..  Cold words – black on white –
which only now, for the first time,  reach out to me
from their paper prison.  I am hooked, at last.  We
need TIME to be won over by words of poetry.  The
internet is a medium celebrated for overcoming Time
and Distance.  It is a medium of immediacy.  The sheer
volume of information means that one cannot be grabbed
so, for one can barely tell, or understand, where one
idea ends and the next begins.  I find it hard to
touch anything.  I find it hard to care.

And perhaps I am bemoaning another Guttenberg Bible,
taking exception to the vulgarisation of a traditional
form.  For, when push comes to shove, am I not simply
grumpy about getting headaches while staring too
intently at computer screens?

"Maybe you'd picked up a whisper that I could not
Before our glass could stir, some still small voice:
'Fame will come. Fame especially for you.
Fame cannot be avoided. And when it comes
You will have paid for it with your happiness,
Your husband and your life.'"

Nicholas Passant x


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