Don Mclean wrote a song years back about a world where the music didn't play. Has the music stopped playing in Pennsylvania?In late 2003, Sam Hazo, Pennsylvania's first and only Poet Laureate was asked to resign his post by Governor Edward Rendell, and "not a word was spoken," to offer hope of revision.Out of respect and protection for the historical integrity of Poet Laureate, APPL (The Association of Pennsylvania Poets Laureate) was founded by poet Melanie Simms (www.poetmelaniesimms.net) and is now home to over 12 county poet laureate representatives, including the counties of Dauphin, Bucks, York, and Perry to name a few. (See the APPL website at papoets.blogspot.com)APPL rekindles and renews the historical flames of the post, carrying the torch of poetry by reading together at various venues including library events, radio shows, museums, university forums and private readings. They share stories about their experiences as laureate, and about how the post of laureate and poetry has been significant to their lives, and of equal importance, how poetry enriches the lives of the citizens of Pennsylvania.The post of Poet Laureate is not a trivial post; its roots span over 400 years, beginning with King James of England in the 1600's who attached an office of the poet by appointing Ben Jonson. Today in the United States over 38 states recognize the post of laureate, and the United States appointed Joseph Auslander as its first U.S. Laureate in 1937; Donald Hall is the newest Poet Laureate of America.It is not yet known if Rendell will ever revise the songs of the laureate; it may well go unsung until a new governor is elected and returns the post of Poet Laureate to its rightful place in Pennsylvania. Until then, perhaps Don Mclean sings it best when the music dies:I met a girl who sang the bluesAnd I asked her for some happy news,But she just smiled and turned away.I went down to the sacred storeWhere I'd heard the music years before,But the man there said the music wouldn't play.And in the streets the children screamed,The lovers cried and the poets dreamed,Not a word was spoken, the church bells all were broken,And the three men I admire the most:The father, son and the holy ghost,They caught the last train for the coast,The day the music died.
By Melanie Simms [ 24/08/2006 ][ viewed 152 times ]
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