“Ours is an age of anxiety, of dissociation of sensibility, of pessimism, cynicism, incredulousness. Our state, our condition, is a constant “fight or flight.” We are a matter of excretions. Our wets. Our arts. Our poetry. Excretions, anxieties, this enormity, this Behemoth.
Ours is the age of canned laughter. (There is an analogue for this in poetry.) This has been imposed on us. We — we poets! — must struggle to be free of this.”
otherroom.org 