When the poet Chaucer saw that it was April, one year in the late 1300s, he wrote cheerily about its sweet showers piercing the drought of March to the root. When T.S. Eliot saw that it was April, some five and a half centuries later, he wrote bleakly about it being the cruelest month, "breeding lilacs out of the dead land," dragging us back to life. Same idea, different responses, defining the double aspect of the season for literate English-speaking people everywhere.

But when the American Academy of Poets saw that it was April, way back in 1996, its members did not sit down to write a poem; they decided to create National Poetry Month. They picked April partly because they remembered its associations with good old Chaucer and Eliot, but mostly because they wanted a month when school was in session, complete with captive audience, and April was the only one free: February was already Black History Month, March was Women's History Month and fall was too crowded with distractions like Halloween and Thanksgiving. And so, ever since, Americans (and Canadians) who go anywhere near a school, a library or a bookstore in April are reminded by the omnipresence of posters, displays and real live poets that poetry is Fun and Good for You and Not as Hard to Understand as You Might Think. Two years ago, Volkswagen reportedly threw in a poem with every new car it sold in April.

The fact is, National Poetry Month (a.k.a. NPM) is a well-intentioned but disquieting ritual that does not necessarily advance the cause of poetry.