Yet another novel, published 1990, declares in a character's viewpoint, "Poetry was dead, or at the very least, breathing its last gasp."
Poetry has always had a hard time of it. It is the neglected child of literature. But not a few death notices have been announced prematurely, and this one fails to recognize the few underground souls who mumble their verses in the shadows and feed upon the scraps of approbation they throw to one another.