newspaper ink’s the blood
of a dying species
Janet Kuypers
2/24/16
Sitting in those basement labs,
the hum of computer workstations
accompanied my thoughts.
Time was ticking, deadlines darted,
but I was used to the daily deadline —
the rush to be on time was my nicotine.
I’d slam my hands, my fingers
into those keyboards so every newspaper
would know my side of the story.
I would keep copies of my work,
in nine point type, two inch wide columns.
But newspaper pages are thin as tissue.
I can’t hold my work in this form forever,
not like this, the ink smudges and disappears
whenever anyone touches the page.
Maybe this is the disintegration
of the written word, now that everyone
prefers reading the news from their phones
and tablets. Besides, they want to read
on their commuter train to work; newspaper ink
could smudge onto their crisp white shirts.
*
Journalism is a dying art. Millennials
think that using your smart phone
and texting what anyone blurts out is news,
so they post their nonsense on every
electronic medium they can find.
Besides, with the prices they pay for phones
so they can Google every question they have
and not have to retain any answers,
texting and data better be free.
Not like those newspapers, not the tabloid
ones, but the ones that you have to
spread your arms out to read. You know,
those cumbersome ones. The ones
that make you feel like they have something
worth saying, because it’s something of value.
*
This is what I loved. I loved being able
to make a statement on a printed page
and have it delivered to the town’s front doors.
I’d open my front door, then open my daily paper,
just like the one delivered to every front door,
to open the pages wide, and then find what’s mine.
*
“Why bother remembering stories or the news
when you can reference it in archive online?”
Well, you may be right, it may seem convenient —
but it’s inconvenient to search for the stories
in the first place, and anyway, I still contend
that it’s better for your eyes,
and maybe your brain, ‘cause you can retain
information on a page. I know, I know...
The newspaper’s a dying species. It’s a dying art.
But the oils, the pigments that make the ink,
they make our blood. Understand this.
And if you ever grab a newspaper again,
if any ink smudges onto your fingers, well,
rub it in. Let it get into your bones, because
this stuff’s in our blood, and it gives us life.
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