I read The Language of Life shortly after it was published, and it was a book that shaped what I thought of when I contemplated a career in poetry, back in the days when it still seemed possible to have a career in poetry. But it was so much more than that kind of book. It was a book about how to live a good life, and that definition included poetry and creativity in a way that was seldom featured in the mid-1990's.
It's even more unlikely these days. I've spent a lot of time this week thinking about media projects of the past. Last night, I wanted to watch old episodes of M*A*S*H, but alas, a preliminary scan seemed to say that they've been snatched up by streaming services we don't want to afford.
We did find a documentary that explored both the making of the show and how groundbreaking the show could be. In a way, it was fluffy--lots of quick comments from the actors and directors plus clips from the show. But it was just what I wanted. And it was wonderful to remember that there was a time where lots of people watched this kind of quality show, which was available for free on network TV. I have no doubt that quality serial shows are still being made, but most of them end up on streaming services where one must pay.
Earlier this week, I was part of a discussion about morning and afternoon talk shows, in the days of Phil Donahue and Oprah. I talked about how those shows were groundbreaking in terms of talking about social problems and the kinds of everyday trauma that people might be experiencing. We compared them to social influencers of today. I said that the difference was that these shows would include several experts, along with one or two people who could talk about their personal experiences, say with sexual harassment or domestic violence or cross dressing or any number of other issues--plus the show would publicize additional resources along the way and at the end of the show.
We're in a very different media age now, with so much information and so little help in figuring out what is true, what is valid. That's the real sadness that undergirds my sadness about the loss of Bill Moyers.
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