So-Called Poets!

How incredibly easy it has become to be a poet! Publishing houses will print any volume in exchange for money, provided someone has scribbled a few lines, completely unconcerned with who they are or what they stand for. In an era where nothing seems to hold any true significance, such "opportunities" manufacture a swiftly obtained "fame" and identity for certain individuals. When notoriety is achieved without a shred of creative labour, particularly through the mechanics of social media, nothing retains any real value. Everything obtained too quickly vanishes in short order, swept away by this frantic consumer age. What was I saying—ah, so-called poets! And if they track a recording using a smoky voice while filming a video—wearing an excessively solemn expression—then the performance is complete.

Recently, a fellow who styles himself a poet added me on one of the social media networks. First, he requested that I perform one of his verses; I politely declined, mentioning my hectic schedule... Since he was a complete stranger, I carried on with my daily routine, thinking I might glance at his work at some point. I have no idea how many days or weeks rolled by before the fellow messaged again, this time stating that if I wished to purchase his book, he could sign it and send it over. I compile a reading list every year, and my dear friend Oktay tracks down the volumes as best as he can and delivers them to me. I told the fellow, "Just give me the title of your book, and I will add it to my list and buy it." When he noted that his volume wasn't available anywhere except directly through him, I asked, "Why is that?" The fellow retorted with a sentence like, "Do you want the bloody book or not?" In response, I clarified that if he was reaching out to me in this manner, offering to sign and send it, the gesture shouldn't be framed as a commercial transaction. (I uttered a few more sentences, but there is no need to repeat them now). Naturally, my grievance was never about the price! I am not someone who would ignore genuine creative labour, even if he didn't ask for payment. But good grief, the sheer impudence of some people! Following that, I offered a few more words to the fellow, hoping it might serve as an example and help him understand. Not a chance! The ego was already thoroughly inflated—heaven help anyone trying to bring it down to earth! In fact, he unriended and blocked me with a sentence precisely like: "Why don't you step far away." What a classic so-called poet!

I have completely forgotten this fellow's name! Truly forgotten it! When he first messaged, I had reviewed our mutual connections, and not a single soul among my esteemed poet friends, mentors, or peers was acquainted with him. I had taken my precautions from the outset. If he wasn't friends with them, there was bound to be a reason... I am no longer as I used to be; I don't simply strike up friendships with people immediately—I state this directly in many spaces—nor do I welcome them into my private world. I am sorry, but that is simply where I stand now. I do not trust easily!