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And so it’s hard for a certain kind of naïve mind at a restless, awakening time of year not to wonder, for example, what a seasonless world might mean for poets, for poems. Shall I compare thee to a weirdly hot, dry purgatorial spell of days broken by torrential spates of relentless rain whose climactic aberrations may be caused by ozone depletion? Or to the aftermath of Cyclone Yasi wreaking havoc in Western Australia? To devastating eruptions of the earth in New Zealand? Well, maybe yes. Because poetry is about nothing if it’s not about transformation.
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Lisa R. Spaar (The Hide-and-Seek Muse: Annotation of Contemporary Poetry)