Billy Collins is a contemporary American poet with a simple, casual and subjective approach to writing.

I recently read an interview with Collins that contained a quote which summarized his feelings on obscurity:

“I think a lot of readers are frustrated with the obscurity and self indulgence of most poetry,” says Collins, during a recent conversation. “I try very assiduously to court the reader and engage him. I am interested more in a public following than a critical one.”

..and, although I don’t claim to be entirely familiar with poetry, I’ve found that most contemporary poets consider the idea of obscurity to directly oppose accessibility. Sure, the word “obscure” has long been intended to mean ‘hidden’, or ‘dark’, but I think that we have an important place for that word in modern culture, and the way it’s being used today isn’t exactly in tune with prior associations.

Take jelly donuts for example. Or tires. Or Myanmar.

What I mean is this: Some people use the word “random” to describe the bizarre, the strangely unannounced, or the plainly absurd. …and I hesitate to say, “Hey, that’s incorrect,” but the word “random” has a very specific meaning, and it’s such an important, powerful concept that I think it would be a big mistake for popular language to appropriate it unjustly.

“Obscurity”, on the other hand, is an equally important concept - and the unspoken rethought of it’s definition kind-of serves as a cultural metaphor for our digital age: What was once hidden is now put down plainly in our laps. Many things that used to be inaccessible are now available, but irrelevant. When these things are brought up, it’s common to say, “Well, that’s obscure,” or (perhaps more commonly) “That was an obscure reference.” …meaning “I get it. But why, of all things, did you bring that up?”

This device has been serving as a key component of absurd humor for the last ten years or so. …but blah blah blah after all this wanky ranting, what I’m trying to say is that I think it’s interesting to look at the term. I disagree with Collins in that obscurity isn’t an unappealing concept - rather, it’s a sound, unifying conceptual metaphor for our generation; of our hopeless inclusion in a global garbage heap of commodification. Nothing’s hidden, but so much around us is obscure. That being said, how can you be specific, without the risk of sounding obscure? Perhaps a better questions would be: how can you achieve romance, without being specific? After all, isn’t it specificity that gives us common ground? Identity, even?

See also: Ephemera