The muse of literacy is not amused.
She is in fact beyond the state of bemused
quite beside herself in the face of the
unaware unwillingness of those who
embark upon that most common of shared
human expressions to exert themselves
not fastidiously, but deliberately and
with all due courtesy to language, use
the words meant to convey their thoughts
and use them accurately, inclusive of the
specific order of the alphabet that identifies
those words, for the elegance of language
and communication demands no less.
I know all this and so would you if you
but heeded her rules through the simple
expedient of respect and admiration for
all that language allows. That which has
the effect of demeaning language in turn
identifies the abuser as one unworthy of
the gift of communication. A visual blight
and an assault on one's sensibilities when
a blissfully unaware mangler of prose
poses as one whose opinions are fraught
with meaning and substance, all flown off
in an embarrassment of sad association.
1 comment:
Coincidence?
Yesterday I decided to re-read a novel by an acclaimed writer, a historical novel whose content was of personal interest to me. I got no further that the first several pages when it struck me how much in need this tome was back then of a strong editor. Perhaps famous authors are thought to write pure gold and no one should question their prose even when it tends to the superfluous verbose. Today I just happened to come across a poem I had written five years ago, perfectly expressing my irritation with the sloppiness of so much that people write...
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