Instapoetry: Digital Image Texts Niels

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Instapoetry
Digital Image Texts

Niels Penke
Instapoetry
 Niels Penke

Instapoetry
Digital Image Texts
Niels Penke
Universität Siegen
Siegen, Germany

ISBN 978-3-662-66833-7 ISBN 978-3-662-66834-4 (eBook)

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-662-66834-4

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 #instapoetry
#instapoesie
#instapoems
#quotes
#poems
#attentioneconomy
#digitalpoetry
#digitality
#mentalhealth
#selfcare
 Contents

Introduction 1

Instagram’s Creative Industry 25

Brevity and Authenticity 43

Emotional Community, Self-care, Healing 69

At the Other End of the Popularity Scale:

DIY and Imitation in the ‘Long Tail’ 83

Why all the Fighting? Ambivalences and

Dream Scenarios 97

Thanks 105

Figure References 107

References 109

vii
 Introduction

“Why are you so short? Do you love, as before, now / No longer the
song?” (Friedrich Hölderlin).

Instagram is a photo and video platform. Anyone who

uses it actively and wants to post content of any kind
there has to make it into a picture. These pictures enter
into an unmanageable series of billions of other pictures
that compete for the same precious resources of atten-
tion and recognition in the form of likes and follows. A
photo is the “extension” of a “gesture” to point to some-
thing and to call “that, there it is, lo” (Barthes 1981, p. 5).
Smartphones and Instagram have opened up the possibil-
ity of permanently calling “that ,there it is” and addressing
the urgent appeal to look to an initially undefined audi-
ence. Whoever scrolls through their feed or searches for
something is always confronted with a chorus of calls like
‘Look’, ‘See,’ ‘Here it is’” (ibid., p. 5), because new posts

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer-Verlag 1

GmbH, DE, part of Springer Nature 2023
N. Penke, Instapoetry,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-662-66834-4_1
2    
N. Penke

appear in the feed constantly, which always wants to keep

us fed. In the stories, too, pictures are lined up with pic-
tures, and hardly anything has any duration, because every
post seen once is immediately replaced by others, even if
similar, without ever coming to an end. It is part of the
nature of this “aesthetic economy” (Böhme 2016, p. 25) of
the platform that it has implemented the immediate stim-
uli of the visible and the spontaneous feedback as constitu-
tive moments.
A conceivable bad environment for literature—one
could think. For a literature at least, which draws its gen-
uine potential from what is not immediately and obvi-
ously comprehensible, which plays with several meanings
and requires time for reading and understanding. But the
opposite is the case. In the 2010s, a fashion has been cul-
tivated worldwide to write in and with images. Instagram
has not only promoted new forms of literary communi-
cation, but also a lot of things that already existed before
and outside its network have now found their way onto
the platform, appearing in digital form in unanticipated
relationships. The following considerations will deal with
the genuine practices under the conditions of social media,
the entirely new applied forms and topics. Under the term
Instapoetry, which is used primarily as a hashtag, a liter-
ary productivity has been set free there that probably no
one thought possible. Instapoetry describes as a relatively
broad collective term (almost) everything that is not just
posted and circulated on Instagram as literary texts, but
is also primarily written for use within the platform and
designed and optimized accordingly. Since there are now
millions of texts, the spectrum of forms and genre affili-
ations is wide. Instapoetry includes both elaborately
designed and form-conscious as well as arbitrary and
sloppy (sometimes parodic) contributions between one-
liner poem and short prose, which thematically sometimes
 Introduction    
3

follow self-help literature (Pâquet 2019, p. 296). That

Instapoetry consists to a not inconsiderable part of more
or less thoughtful sayings with images, which could also
do service as calendar and wall tattoos (cf. Fig. 1), should
not tempt one too quickly to lump all contributions
together.
As in other arts, the creativity dispositive of the plat-
form has proven itself, under which the triad of “creativ-
ity, design, and experiences” (Frier 2020, p. 83) is brought
to distinctive forms by billions worldwide. Despite all the
dirges for what seems to be an extremely unpopular genre,
it is above all lyrical texts that are experiencing a boom or
at least short texts that are production- as well as recep-
tion-side experienced as poetry. Because it is mostly short
texts that have the greatest potential to become instagram-
mable under the conditions of platform routines - and
these best matching forms are sought in poetry. However,
the self-descriptions of the Instapoets are brief, the bio-
graphical information in the profile is limited to 150
characters. Also, the explicit reflection of (literary) doing
is brief, it comes mostly without that baggage that makes
other literatures, especially lyrical ones, appear inaccessible
to a larger audience. Here the rule applies: What You See Is
What You Need.
Nevertheless, questions are being asked about what
this particular form of poetry actually is. This becomes
visible when search engines are queried for the keyword
“Instapoetry”. Not only the number of hits, the essays
and forum discussions are astonishing, also the vehe-
mence with which advocates and critics are pulling into
the argumentative field, which is less delineated by easily
resolvable individual than by far-reaching basic questions.
It becomes apparent how great the cultural insecurity is
that has been caused by Instapoetry. Some of the most
widely received texts dealing with the phenomenon
4    
N. Penke

Fig. 1 Search for “instapoetry”, 20.06.2022

 Introduction    
5

do so with fundamental questions: “Is it ‘real’ poetry?”

(Natividad 2019), “Are Instapoets Destroying the Art of
Poetry?” (Ramirez 2020), “Why are we so worried about
‘Instapoetry’?” (Leszkiewicz2019), “Why do Instapoets
succeed?” (Atkinson 2020)—they all point to the fact
that neither the new phenomenon and its exponents
explain themselves, nor that these can be understood and
explained with traditional categories and criteria, let alone
criticized appropriately. Saying what is meant by the term
is relatively easy, since it is both a foreign and self-descrip-
tion for the growing text universe as a collective term, but
why this practice has become so extremely popular that
authors contribute with their mostly short contributions
in many parts of the world and why these literary forms
are so uniquely successful requires analysis. Also, the ques-
tions of cultural diagnostics, why ‘we’ should be concerned
or not concerned about this phenomenon, whether the
lyrical poetry is generally ‘destroyed’ or even ‘saved’ by
Instagram, also require further explanations and cannot be
answered with a single common hypothesis. However, the
questions testify to insecurity and to experiences of disrup-
tion that result from the confrontation of established with
new forms that have got a lot attention in a short time
and now put everything under pressure of legitimation
that lags behind in terms of numbers.
What can be said for sure about Instapoetry is that at
least for some of its representatives it is a “booming busi-
ness” (Green 2019) that, regardless of any possible eval-
uation, has contributed decisively to the establishment
of digital poetry on social media platforms. Between free
culture and big business it is interpreted as an elementary
expression of platform capitalist economy (cf. Staab 2019),
because it has paved the way for a new age, the “age of
6    
N. Penke

scrolling literature” (McElwee 2017), to get used to new

practices that are designed for quick, mostly interme-
dial reception. The texts of Instapoetry are in a continu-
ous process, a continuum of acts of production, reception
and distribution that have been carried out permanently
over and over again for ten years now, producing new texts
every minute, which in turn are immediately commented
on, discussed and disseminated inside and outside the
platform. These poetic texts, whatever they may look like,
enjoy an interest that publishers, schools and the literary
scene can make use of.
The fact that Instapoetry is celebrated either hope-
fully as the future of lyric literature or rejected as its most
advanced stage of decline shows that it is a question about
the whole of culture for both legitimation and criticism.
Affirmative as well as critical explanatory attempts are
formulated strikingly often in superlatives. Instapoetry is
said to be the most successful, the most favoured, the most
democratic, the most popular poetry of all time, or, on
the other hand, perhaps rather the worst, the most artless,
the most inflationary fashion of an attention-seeking that
is only disguised as literature. Regardless of the decision
which of these assessments is right or wrong, Instapoetry is
above all one thing: a poetry of big numbers. It is defined
to a large extent by its numerically measurable attention
and sales successes and is therefore perceived accordingly
via a “popularization of second order” (Döring et al. 2021,
pp. 11–15). The attention successes become the basis for
further attention because they can arouse an increased
interest about the fact that already many people have paid
visible attention to a phenomenon. Especially in feuille-
tonistic contributions these surprising facts are discussed
and asked whether Instapoetry as a whole phenomenon
should be seen as sufficiently legitimate or automati-
cally delegitimized because of these exorbitant numbers?
 Introduction    
7

Because the number appears on the one hand as an objec-

tive fact that can claim evidence and cannot be denied or
discussed away. This also applies to the 4.5 million follow-
ers that Rupi Kaur was able to gather as the most success-
ful and best-known of all instapoets and over eight million
sold poetry books, of which her debut Milk and Honey
(2014) became a bestseller and ‘longhauler’ (Egan 2021)
at the same time. The over 70 million contributions under
hashtag #poetry or the five million under #instapoetry are
undeniable facts, but they say nothing about the form,
the content or the quality of texts, only about a phenome-
non of particular popularity, which is only rarely observed
in connection with literary texts.
On the other hand, high numerical values arouse centu-
ries-old resentments against the approval of large groups of
people and exorbitant quantities. The reasons for this are
seen in special simplicity, formal as well as intellectual art-
lessness and unpretentiousness. It therefore seems almost
inevitable that such high numbers that were unthinkable
in connection with lyrical texts a few years ago will evoke
these deeply rooted aversion.
However, the debates that are held on the literariness of
Instapoetry usually overshadow the facts of who is speak-
ing and what is being written about: marginalized voices,
often by female authors and people of color (PoC), who
make themselves heard by not only experimenting with
language and media formats, but also setting their own
(political) agenda (cf. Gallon 2019). It quickly becomes
clear that these are issues and problems of existential
importance go far beyond mere “annoying experiences”
(Rauscher 2020). Against this background, the question
of “quality” appears to be secondary, or else an evasive
maneuver to avoid dealing with the content and per-
spectives that are revealed there, or to delegitimize them
through the exercise of aesthetic judgment. To explain the
8    
N. Penke

global popularity of this apparently artless and too prag-

matic genre, such approaches contribute very little.
More meaningful, however, are the superlative com-
parisons that refer to the hyper-paradigmatic archives of
pop culture. Rupi Kaur, according to Nilanjana Roy, is
the “Beyoncé of poetry” (Roy 2018) and Instapoetry as a
whole is something like a “McDonald’s of writing” (Bresge
2018). Pop-stardom, worldwide fame and quickly avail-
able, tendentially unhealthy consumer goods, which are
characterized by offering the same products regardless of
location. However, with the reference to Beyoncé, much
more is said and a more accurate comparison is made,
from which some theses on Instapoetry can be derived:
Beyoncé as a female mega-star and feminist PoC is a role
model with a large reach and political symbolic value (cf.
Stokowski 2019, pp. 136–137). These are factors that
are not directly related to her role as a pop musician, but
which reinforce each other in a special constellation. Music
as an effect of organized sequences of tones, performed by
different instruments and voices, is only one element of the
overall phenomenon for which “pop” stands as “a context
of images, performances, (mostly popular) music, texts and
stories related to real people” (Diederichsen 2014, XI).
Here, a lot can be transferred to Instapoetry if one takes
this as a form of pop literature. Music may play a subor-
dinate role, but it also appears (e.g. in the stories). What
is decisive is the greater number of relevant components
from which pop phenomena are composed, their interac-
tion, their complementarity, which one cannot sufficiently
understand without the others. However, this literary pop
has less in common with what was described as pop lit-
erature in earlier decades, in particular with that of the
1990s, which was shaped by authors such as Nick Hornby,
Christian Kracht and Benjamin von Stuckrad-Barre. These
were characterized by the fact that they exhibited brand
 Introduction    
9

names, song quotations and other references to consumer

and pop culture primarily in order to aesthetically distin-
guish themselves from other lifestyles and style communi-
ties. No, Instapoetry is rather a pop literature that relates
to other, earlier forms of literature in the same way that
pop music, which came into the world in the 1950s,
relates to earlier musical expressions and representations.
With the expansion of relevant components, a significant
shift to visuality and sociability has taken place. For this
pop literature functions as a cultural practice of feedback
between audience and artist (cf. Baßler 2015), with the
text-environment no longer being regarded as an exter-
nal and arbitrary accessory, but being integrated as an
essential component. Instagram offers ideal opportuni-
ties for this, it even suggests comprehensive visualization.
Even the musical pop cannot be understood without the
increased visuality, without the covers of albums and sin-
gles, the logos and photos of the musicians, the posters of
the stars and the experience of live events, in which sen-
suality and corporeality predominate, with the effect that
the stars almost, but only almost, come close to being felt.
Structurally, a similar visualization boost is enforced with
Instapoetry, with the focus also on the bodies of the poets.
Through the juxtaposition of selfies and texts in the feed,
the photos and video sequences in the stories with all sorts
of original sound bites from everyday life, with insights
into writing scenes and processes, the texts are embedded
in aesthetic and personal (auto-)biographical contexts that
have become constitutive for production and reception in
general. Without this image apparatus, which surrounds
the individual texts, something essential was missing.
Other aspects that are characteristic of pop can also be
observed in this context, such as a certain “functional-
ism” that wants to address emotions and aims at “anima-
tion”, an aesthetics of “surfaces” that lead to the formation
10    
N. Penke

of various “style communities” (cf. Hecken 2012). But

beyond the distinctive surfaces, many Instapoets aim for
a depth beyond quick and colorful images, namely their
own affectedness, the embodiment of physical and psy-
chological impairments, which is actively worked on. The
affectation of the reading public, which is to be emotion-
ally touched beyond the mere I like it, is also part of the
functional principle. Or the other way around: The users
find literary forms that address them and initially affect
them individually, they enter into exchange with others in
a way that they become followers and confirm each other
mutually in their actions, so that communities develop
from this, to which interested parties can join in order to
communicate their own (reading) experiences and possibly
also their own concerns.
This recursiveness is an essential component of social
linkage, it is laid out in the operating principle of the
platform, but it becomes an especially important element
of the community building in the context of Instapoetry -
without these developments it wouldn’t be graspable as
a global phenomenon. It is not about the mere send-
ing and receiving, but about the shared communication
about posted content, about talking about certain pieces,
exchanging ideas with other enthusiasts and, as has already
happened in countless fan cultures before, to become a
community about common interests and shared emotions
in the long term. Unlike with musical pop stars, how-
ever, the separation between stage performers and audi-
ence appears to be relatively small. The platform gives the
impression that there is no stage ditch, but that the contact
with and to the authors of the celebrated texts is similar
to that with one’s own circle of friends. This form of para-
social communication in turn sets limits—because even if
(almost) everyone can write to anyone, there is no guaran-
tee that the direct message will be read and answered.
 Introduction    
11

Recursiveness also includes practices of imitation that

repeat, adapt, and develop what others have done and
made popular. While there is a long way to go from sing-
ing in front of the mirror to sharing the stage with the
“Kings” and “Queens of Pop”, this seems to be different in
the case of Instapoetry. Imitation is more likely the easier
it is to accomplish technically. But repetition also confirms
the phenomenon of Instapoetry as a whole, contributes
to its preservation and further growth, as the number of
contributions under the dominant hashtags continues to
grow visibly for everyone. On the other hand, the forms
appear sufficiently low-threshold due to their (apparent)
unpretentiousness, as if they were easier to imitate, and
the restraint is correspondingly lower to present one’s own
attempts in the same medium. Analogous to photography,
it also applies to poetical writing that “enormous amounts
of material are newly produced that did not exist at all
before digitalisation and networking or could not leave the
private sphere.” (Stalder 2021, p. 112) Also the fact that
the theorization of this text practices are not excessively
pronounced and cultivate a decidedly non-elitist habitus
(cf. Lerner 2016) encourages one to try out and join the
community. This forces—like pop in music—a form of
educational relief, if traditional expertise on literature does
not matter anymore. Rather, this expertise obstructs
access than promoting understanding. Instapoetry makes
poetry easier by lightening the load of an educational tra-
dition that scares and makes the enjoyable use less likely.
Imitation and repetition refer to what is liked. The inter-
est does not always remain passive, but is implemented
in one’s own practice. It becomes clear why dominant
patterns arise and certain procedures are used more often
than others among the many millions of text-image com-
binations. The technical as well as the formal simplicity
are reasons why Instapoetry, unlike many other forms of
12    
N. Penke

digital literature, has caught on with a large audience and

has become extremely popular.
The formal similarity of the texts within Instapoetry
is therefore evidence of how a self-referential structure
and style formation typical of popular cultures works.
“Whenever popular cultures achieve an attention success,”
media scholar Jochen Venus says, “an ensemble of sim-
ilar products crystallizes at this success. Every fascination
immediately goes into series, radiates out, metastasizes and
involves more and more recipients in the specific form of
spectacular self-reference. In this way, style communities
of normalized spectacle emerge.” (Venus 2013, p. 67) The
subsequent communication is characterized by a “self-sim-
ilar repertoire” (ibid.), which arises through imitative or
modifying emulation. For the stabilization of popular cul-
tures, communication about these objects is just as deci-
sive as the “ensemble of similar products” that provides
new communication opportunities through the principle
of “seriality”, which in turn can attract attention from pre-
viously uninvolved parties. This too is an effect of the sim-
plicity that belongs to the principle of this special form of
“particle poetics”, because it repeatedly conveys the credi-
ble impression that “anyone can write like this—in fact.”
(Schulze 2020, p. 83).
The analogy can be transferred to the breadth of
Instapoetry that Limor Shifman has formulated with
regard to memes, namely that “‘bad’ texts make ‘good’
memes in contemporary participatory culture.” (Shifman
2014, p. 86) In the formal simplicity of the texts often
found to be ‘bad’ for this reason lies the recipe for the pop-
ularity of Instapoetry as a overall phenomenon, because
tens of millions of texts can only be produced if the means
for this are given to many. The apparently simple post
implies the appeal of the DIY character and suggests: you
can do that too, so do it, do it differently or better. Everyone
 Introduction    
13

who likes can participate in the practice without great

investment costs and feed in their content in order to par-
ticipate with their ideas, talents and resources (time, cog-
nitive and emotional capacities). Instagram is designed to
promote DIY, but in a different way than in hobby cellars,
allotments or autonomous youth centers. Because this DIY
culture takes place in front of a huge, worldwide audience,
with which a direct exchange is possible, at least in theory.
Unlike the inter-passive Let’s play genre, this form of writ-
ing encourages imitation in several ways, the task ‘express
yourself ’ is implicit in content and media alike.
It seems that what applies to photography or design
also applies to Instapoetry: that the amateurs of today
are the professionals of tomorrow. The professionaliza-
tion through de-professionalization is another aspect that
has been promoted by the enormous popularity. But not
all Instapoets reach these spheres, in which the reflexive
moment of pop, translating the well-known into new aes-
thetic or discursive contexts, comes into play. In contrast
to the stars in the ‘head’, who receive the most attention
and popularity, there is a long tail that forms the founda-
tion and ensures the relative stability of the phenomenon.
This means that both ends are important for the overall
phenomenon, even if attention, fame and money are dis-
tributed very unevenly.
Instapoetry, like pop music, has undeniably found
its way into the everyday life, thinking and behaviour of
many people. It is particularly popular where the sup-
posed lack of interest in literature, especially in poetry,
is great—among young people of the generations Y and
Z. Analogous to young adult fiction, which is addressed
to a new audience between “teenagers” and “adults”,
Instapoetry was referred to as young adult poetry (Wilson
2018), because a large part of the readership is recruited
from fifteen- to twenty-five-year-olds (Manovich 2017,
14    
N. Penke

p. 133). This popularity is global, because the attention

successes can be observed not only in one identifiable tar-
get group or in certain regions, but (with few exceptions)
worldwide. After the pop culturalization of art and music,
now a pop culturalization of poetry, which, one could
conclude, does not seek clarity in the material, because
this remains colourful and diverse, but in the outcome and
the effects that are deliberately targeted.
Like pop music, Instapoetry also has the tendency
to spread almost worldwide in a short period of time.
Analogous to the selfie, whose image patterns “resem-
ble each other worldwide” (Ullrich 2021, p. 41), a digital
image and text culture has emerged as a form of world lit-
erature with Instapoetry, which has emerged in all parts of
the world in which Instagram is available in a short period
of time. It was not only raised to the status of world liter-
ature retrospectively by expert scrutiny and praise, or con-
stituted by a paradigmatic individual text that provokes
imitations all over the world, but this happened almost
instantaneously, through a shared practice. English has
proven to be the lingua franca of Instapoetry, because all
popular Instapoets have published their texts in English,
and thus, like the selfie, have created “a globally under-
standable form of communication: with images and pic-
tograms, beyond the confusion of Babylonian languages”
(Ullrich 2021, p. 43). Nevertheless, there is now simi-
lar poetry in Arabic, Farsi and Hindi, Urdu and Japanese,
French, Norwegian, German or Czech, which, contrary
to the mainstream, address particular audiences. The dif-
ferentiation into numerous individual languages is a sub-
sequent effect, which is worth taking a closer look at in
terms of work on language and form. Here it is enough to
note the globalization.
In the light of this global spread of “pop” that aimes at
shimmering surfaces, commodity form and the formation
 Introduction    
15

of style communities, the not too surprising accusa-

tion that Instapoetry is a typical expression of the global
culture industry can be seen in the analogy to the fast
food restaurant chain McDonalds- a colorful arsenal of
mass-produced trivial products that are presented to the
(allegedly mindless) masses for immediate consumption
(Pâquet 2019, p. 302). Poems like hamburgers that look
and taste the same all over the world. But Instapoetry is
not a standardized franchise system, but a creative prac-
tice that produces similar products in many places, but has
by no means arisen as a product placement ‘from above’.
However, it should not be forgotten that these forms of
poetry are published and communicated within a platform
that is itself part of the culture industry, whose incentive
system is one of the dark sides of the text practice.
As with many popular phenomena, the social dimen-
sion plays an important, if not even the decisive role. This
means that what is done with a cultural artifact and how it
is talked about is at least as important as the ‘real dimen-
sion’, that is, music as music or literature as literature.
However, Instapoetry, whose factual dimension is deter-
mined by text and image alike, is already networked within
the platform, so that the social dimension has become
an inseparable part of the real dimension in the social
media context. Any non-observance of this interweaving
obstructs the understanding. This has consequences for
every text that is designed under these conditions.
The public feedback that is visible to everyone also
makes it clear what is obviously of great importance
beyond the literary communication that is curated by gate-
keepers. It is therefore so popular on Instagram because it
is perhaps discriminated against and categorically excluded
elsewhere, but certainly because very few literary offers are
freely accessible. Only the free access makes it likely that
enough people will participate. The smartphone plays the
16    
N. Penke

decisive mediating role. That Instapoetry has found a place

in the everyday lives of many of its recipients—and can
also fulfill the “intimacy function” of pop (Diedrichsen
2014, XVIII)—is due to the smartphone, which is almost
always there and allows access to profiles and texts every-
where. Unlike the stationary record collection, the large
selection of Instagram pop literature is always available in a
kind of mobile self-service store.
To ask and follow popularity seems to me to be a suit-
able approach to describe and understand the phenome-
non of Instapoetry in terms of its conditions, its functions
and its relative stability. This is more than just following
the follow the money trail. Of course it is also about (partly
much) money and its promises, which are made on dif-
ferent levels by different actors, but popularity also makes
other relations clearer, such as those of the media infra-
structure. The inventors and operators of the platform set
the conditions under which communication is made pos-
sible, under which (visible) parameters the users act and
which affordances become effective on this basis. That there
are likes and followers are constitutive moments of every
action which have been extended by algorithmic processes,
advertising partnerships and opportunities for self-pro-
motion. All of these settings are programmed for popu-
larity. They pass this on to their users—who in turn are
promised reputation and success in view of their efforts
to increase popularity. What applies to cute animals and
influencers for baby clothing also applies to those who
want to succeed with literary writing in this environment.
The proof of the validity of the promise of success is
provided by those who have already become famous and
rich. What applies to successful influencers also shows
itself for the protagonists of Instapoetry. Communities
join them, individual followers or stronger tied fan com-
munities, which ensure the maintenance of popularity,
 Introduction    
17

but which in turn develop hopes and claims, which imi-

tate and emulate, which also seek attention with their feel-
ings, words and texts and dream of being read and loved.
From the promise that they can make it, Instagram lives
as a machine, but also the phenomenon of Instapoetry
lives. The usage routines play just as big a role in this
context as the possibilities of acquiring, buying or selling
popularity, of negotiating attention in different relations.
Popularity, which is not primarily anchored in persons
or concrete artefacts such as individual books, shows
patterns and networks such as the emotional communi-
ties which also become visible to non-involved persons
through hashtags. The communication of value judgments
also takes place along the distinction between the popu-
lar and the non-popular. For the “apocalyptic” perspec-
tive, popularity is always an indication of danger and a
symptom of decline, while the “integrated” experience
confirmation through the high approval ratings: They are
confirmed in it that everything is right, as it is and what
they do. Popularity as a technically induced algorithm is
an economic program with numerous social effects—
Instapoetry as a popular phenomenon owes its existence
to this arrangement as much as it problematizes these log-
ics as a topic. Popularity is a constant curse and an even
more constant promise to be able to impose one’s concerns
through numerical growth.
This purely quantitative popularity is measured within
the platform on a permanent basis and displayed visi-
bly to everyone. Likes, follower numbers, the number of
total posts under certain hashtags, all this is automatically
determined and displayed, but also processed algorithmi-
cally. The algorithmic management ensures a permanent
and automatic relevance assessment that is not transparent
to actors such as followers. This means that two levels of
popularity must be assumed: an internal one, of which we
18    
N. Penke

only see a few data. Despite all the pretended cosiness: “the
app is thinking in terms of numbers, not people” (Frier
2020, p. 279). The creative individual is a number in the
gearbox of the computer, which determines values and
assigns positions in disregard of the real person. In addi-
tion, there is another dimension of popularity, which is
expressed in visible communication, it stimulates self-mar-
keting and materialises in book sales. This is what finally
makes it possible for the quantitative growth of numbers
to turn into a qualitatively different state. Suddenly, poetry
books are on sale at the front of the bookshop and there
are lecture performances, reminiscent of pop concerts, in
front of a large audience that is eager to buy merchandise.
But it would be too easy to describe this constellation
from the perspective of one of the well-known roles of
“apocalyptic and integrated intellectuals” (Umberto Eco).
On the one hand, proponents of high culture despising
the popular culture, who from a pronounced distance
and with little knowledge of the short texts and their
new media environment, only see the ultimate decline of
‘proper’ literature and an appropriate style that harmoni-
ously combines thoughts and sound. The course of moder-
nity as a cultural decline process, here it finally comes to
an end, because the ‘apocalypse’ is understood as ‘revela-
tion’. The whole (Instapoetry in particular, Instagram and
social media in general) are then understood as merely the
latest expression of a culture-industrially preformed pseu-
do-activity and pseudo-art, which stand in opposition to
an art or poetry committed to the real and beautiful, what
distinguishes ‘true’ from ‘false’ art. The catalogue of these
oppositions, to which a “popular criticism of popular cul-
ture” (Eco 1994, p. 16) has been oriented since Friedrich
Schiller, is short, but still effective, as the debate about the
new “Midcult” (Baßler 2021), a verdict that was also pro-
nounced on Instapoetry, has shown.
 Introduction    
19

Approaches of this kind obscure the view of Instapoetry

as a possible paradigm of a new literary aesthetics that
unites different interests (moral, political) and also inte-
grates them into the Aisthesis, the perception by its audi-
ence. The “Midcult” accusation aims to maintain the
ambivalence and ‘free play’ as elements of a high litera-
ture or art (“high culture”) that is superior to other forms.
Many Instapoets therefore break with the modern concept
of the autonomy of art, not because they want to con-
tribute to a sham art and a culture-industrially organized
mass fraud, but because they know all too well about the
heteronomy of human life and therefore also of artis-
tic production. Determinations that contribute to the
fact that Instapoetry is mostly heteronomous poetry that
is primarily associated with pragmatic functions. Casual
poetry (‘Gebrauchsdichtung’) is everything that does not
obey the self-legislation of autonomous poetry. This poetry
was written on the occasion or with a view to a specific
context of use that went beyond the pleasure in the text,
but served as a suitable (poetic) workpiece for religious
purposes, praise, memory or mourning. Instapoetry is
oriented towards motivating functions that go beyond
the aesthetic impression and are intended to stimulate,
encourage or empower its readers. With a view to older
forms of edifying literature, one could speak of “new com-
forters” (cf. Engelmeier 2021, p. 16), whose texts also ena-
ble “edifying reading” in the digital context.
It therefore seems no coincidence that many promi-
nent examples of this “Midcult” are non-white and non-
cis-male authors. The question of aesthetic autonomy does
not arise for the majority of Instapoets at all. It can be
assumed that this also has to do with their respective back-
ground, because even in this constellation the question can
be asked why they should “appeal to an idea the develop-
ment of which has taken place to a large extent without
20    
N. Penke

them? How should they feel something as emancipatory

and therapeutic that they have only experienced as exclu-
sion and disrespect?” (Ullrich 2019). In contrast, an aes-
thetic perception and evaluation modus, which can do
without ethical and political content or subordinate these
to the form, requires a corresponding privileged observer-I,
which was historically conceived as male and primarily
white. Such an aesthetics, which functions as a percep-
tion from a safe and therefore ‘disinterested’ distance, was
conceived by Immanuel Kant. But this necessary distance
of purely aesthetic perception is by no means always pos-
sible. The concrete danger as well as systemic constraints
prevent this attitude—the conditions of the possibility of
aesthetic perception therefore include the security of not
being involved, affected or threatened. Those who have
been injured and have to fear being injured again can
hardly take this modus or do not want to afford the “dis-
interested” pleasure because their actors primarily consider
themselves as ‘marked’ people who do not seek abstraction
and generalization, but rather derive their mandate from
their concrete ‘being-so’.
Against this background, Instapoetry is eminently eth-
ical and political, because in the face of injustice and vio-
lence, the aesthetic cannot be given primacy. Once again,
it can be confirmed that the meaning of social media con-
tent develops through its embedding in social contexts
and the life reality of its users. Those who are not part of
an active community, who are not involved in commu-
nication in real time, have a deficit that characterizes the
“apocalyptic” position.
On the other hand, there are the “integrated” ones who
not only see a radical renewal of poetry, in which they joy-
fully participate, but also feel a democratization of literary
communication, because, thanks to Instagram, publish-
ers, feuilletons and book prize˗jurys no longer decide as
 Introduction    
21

gatekeepers about how and when texts are published, dis-

cussed and evaluated, but (potentially) all of the users. The
means of poetic production, the evaluation tools and the
commentary section are now available to all in the same
way. Now the permanent vote of all could finally find out
without institutional interference what is really impor-
tant, and above all, what that kind of poetry is, which the
people really like, which affects their lives, which touches
them and helps them. But only almost—because inside˗
as well as outside perspectives are determined by dif-
ferent blind spots, each of which misses what the other
perspective focuses on—too much distance and contex-
tual reference here, too little reflection on the conditions
of possibilities and their consequences there. But both
must be thought together in order to make a differentiated
assessment of the phenomenon of Instapoetry, its literary
forms as well as its platform-specific conditions. The phe-
nomenon must then be asked why so many millions of
people participate, build and maintain communities, why
they generate popularity in high numbers not only once,
but permanently—with which goals and benefits, but also
on which basis, with which dependencies and at what
price do they join. How is this popularity possible, which
on the one hand has produced superstars of literature, on
the other hand has promoted a form mass text production,
in which hundreds of thousands of people interactively
participate worldwide?
An analysis of Instapoetry must be thinking together
the aesthetic practices and actors with the platform and
the given media conditions. I would like to try this with
the help of a concept coined by the media scholar Lev
Manovich: Instagramism. Manovich understands this
as a certain combination of form and content, which
is characterized by a special sensitivity, attitude and
tonality (Manovich 2017, p. 73). Manovich sees the
22    
N. Penke

Instagrammism as an aesthetic movement like other isms

of modern art (surrealism, cubism or futurism) before
it. Characteristic of this aesthetics of a “new global digi-
tal youth class that emerges in early 2010s” is (Manovich
2017, p. 119), that like these earlier isms it has shaped
its own “vision of the world” and its own “language of
images” (ibid., p. 115). This is characterized by a certain
minimalism, which does not always, but often leads to
“casual”(Manovich 2017, p. 52) production, capturing
and communicating occasional experiences. Characteristic
of this are also style communities that differ from others;
they find sense in cultivating their own “poetic design”
(ibid., p. 85), which breaks with binary orders of ‘natu-
ral’ and ‘artificial’, of art and design, independent (ibid.,
p. 86) and commercial, of ‘high’ and ‘low’ (ibid., p. 86).
As a general and defining pattern, Manovich takes
the“presence of Instagrammer’s body in the designed photos”
(ibid., p. 125), which turns away from traditional posi-
tioning “outside of the scene s/he records according to per-
spectival rules. Instead, she is in the scene, in the situation,
in the moment.” (ibid.) They become bodies through the
media staging, bodies that are striving for recognition, that
have weight. Bodies that matter.
These aspects can, as I will show below, be transferred
to the Instapoetry which is designed for this very platform.
The Instagrammism fosters a certain visual aesthetics, with
which a specific aisthesis is not only served, but constituted
and finally taken for granted for further use under the
conditions of medial affordances. This mode of perception
is quickly learned and perpetuated continuously through
the countless images and videos in the feed and stories. Up
to 350 likes per hour, but several accounts can be oper-
ated. Whoever uses Instagram to such an extent, the per-
manent-feeding feed becomes a fattening plant.
 Introduction    
23

This poetic Instagramism is fed by a young, globally

practicing ‘class’ that has developed a minimalist style
of casual poetry that often, but not always, starts from
concrete experiences or current feelings and overcomes
dual orders. This also applies to the self-presentation and
self-perception as ‘normal’ authors who simply stay unaf-
fected by a positioning in ‘high’ and ‘low’. But in a poetry
where (mostly) the author is (also) present in the text—
and often physically comes to light in the image—no sep-
aration can be made, because both derive their legitimacy
and authentication from each other.
But even beyond this special image aesthetics, the term
Instagrammism can be understood as an ism in the sense of
the history of ideas, or even more the history of ideology.
Instagram may only have existed for a short time and it
is by no means certain that the platform will still be rel-
evant in five or ten years. But for the 2010s and 2020s,
it constitutes one of the most important privately con-
trolled public spheres that has almost global influence on
cultural dynamics. And it is a very specific ism that lies at
the heart of the platform, but is only made explicit to a
limited extent. An ism that consists of a creativity disposi-
tif and media affordances, seemingly unlimited possibili-
ties for individual expression and creative self-development
for billions of users, but which, if they want to make the
best possible use of the ‘opportunities’, are subject to a
performance-driven work ethic that drives them to restless
activity in order to make themselves a brand in the name
of “human-branding” (Pâquet 2019, p. 297). Restless,
because automated quantification constantly keeps the
numbers in view as performance indicators and makes
them visible to everyone, but above all because the algo-
rithm is programmed to assess performance, it constantly
detects valences based on popularity. What is popular is
Another random document with
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out. She tried a second time, but with no better success. How in the
world did her mother manage to do it so easily?
She stood looking at it, puzzled what to do next, then she
remembered that some chips and light kindling must go in on top of
the paper. She tried to get off some little slivers, and by so doing
managed first to get a splinter in her forefinger and then to cut a
gash in her thumb. She was ready to cry, and indeed the tears were
standing in her eyes, for the time was going and Jerry would be at
home very soon. She could not bear to confess to him that she could
not make fire, for Jerry, like all boys, was ready to tease. So she took
off the lids again to make a last effort.
Just then there was a knock at the door, and when it was opened
there stood Rock Hardy.
“I came to tell you that your mother will not be home till late,” he
told Cassy. He caught sight of her thumb tied up with a rag. “Why,
what a woebegone little face,” he said, “and your finger is bleeding.
What have you been doing to yourself?”
“I’ve been trying to make a fire and it won’t burn.” Cassy’s voice
was full of tears. “And I can’t get this splinter out, and I cut myself
trying to make kindling.”
“You poor little girl! you have had trouble of your own. Here, let me
see. I’ll get that splinter out, and tie up that thumb properly, and
make the fire, too. Are you here all alone?”
“Yes, you know Jerry has his market errands to do, and I wanted
to have dinner ready by the time he came.”
“Poor little girl,” Rock repeated. “First get me a fine needle and I’ll
see about that splinter. I will try not to hurt you.”
Cassy was very brave and stood quite still while Rock probed for
the splinter which had gone in quite deep, but at last he triumphantly
produced it sticking on the end of the needle, and after tying up her
cut thumb, he tipped back her chin and looked into her eyes in which
the tears were standing. She smiled and tried to wink away the
drops.
 “You were a real soldier,” Rock told her, “and I know it hurt like
everything when I had to dig down after that splinter. Now for the fire.
What’s wrong? Why, you haven’t opened any of the drafts. See, you
must pull out this one, and open this thing in front; that will make a
blaze. Now, there she goes. What are you going to cook?”
Cassy looked down a little abashed.
“I wasn’t going to cook anything. I was just going to warm up this
stew and the corn-bread. You see mother didn’t expect to be gone so
long and she didn’t know we wouldn’t have anything else for dinner.”
She made her little excuses haltingly.
Rock was silent for a moment. It seemed like such a poor little
dinner to the boy accustomed to a lavish table.
“I wish you would invite me to dinner,” at last he said very gravely.
Cassy cast a startled look at the remnant of stew. There would be
enough corn-bread, but she knew Jerry’s appetite, and if Rock’s
were anything like it, some one would have to go hungry from the
table. But she said shyly, “Won’t you stay and take dinner with us?
Jerry will be glad to have you.”
“And how about Cassy?”
The child cast another glance at the little supply of food and Rock
smiled.
“I can make jolly good chocolate,” he said, “and I am going to have
some. Do you mind if we make a sort of picnic of this and let every
fellow bring his own basket? I think it would be a great lark to do
that.”
That seemed an easy way out of it, and Cassy, much relieved,
nodded and smiled. It suited her exactly to call it a picnic.
“You see,” Rock went on, “they’re talking over your mother’s affairs
at our house, and father’s lawyer is there, and so you see it is no fun
for me, and they’ll be glad to get me out of the way. So, if you will
invite me to your picnic, I should like it of all things.”
 “Oh, I do invite you, and here are the rocks, and over there by the
window can be the woods, there, where the flowers are.”
Rock laughed.
“You have an imagination of your own,” he said. “All right. I am
going to shut up some of these drafts so the fire won’t all burn out. I’ll
be back directly.” He went flying out and Cassy heard him going
down the stairs, two or three steps at a time. Then she turned to her
work of setting the table.
“We are going to have a picnic, Flora,” she said. “Isn’t it fun? Won’t
Jerry be surprised? I must go into the other room and tell Miss
Morning-Glory that she can stay to dinner. I was afraid there wasn’t
going to be enough for her and all of us, too.”
She bustled about and had everything in readiness by the time
Rock returned. He carried a basket which he set down on the chest.
 “Cassy’s Eyes Opened Wider and Wider”

“Now then,” he said, “let’s see if we are all right. There’s the milk
for the chocolate,” producing a bottle; “here are some sardines.
What’s this? Oh, yes, the chocolate. Here’s a box of strawberries;
they looked tempting; you can cap them while I make the chocolate.
What is in this bag? I forget. Oh, yes, that’s sugar, and this is cake
and biscuits and stuff. Nobody ever heard of a picnic without cake. I
borrowed the basket from the grocer at the corner.”
Cassy’s eyes opened wider and wider while all this abundance
was displayed, but she made her protest.
“But you have brought so much; it is more than your share.”
“I don’t think so, but if I have, you will have to excuse me, for I am
a new hand at marketing. Besides, you furnish the picnic grounds; all
these rocks and that grove over there, and the fire and the dishes. I
think when you come to look at it that I have furnished the least.”
Which statement satisfied Cassy, who went to work to cap the
strawberries while Rock set the milk to boil for the chocolate.
They were in the midst of these performances when Jerry came in.
“Hallo!” he cried, as he saw this unusual state of affairs. “Where’s
mother?”
“She is at our house,” replied Rock, “or at least she was. I left her
there, and father was talking for all he was worth to the lawyer, so I
reckon they will enter that suit, and I do hope you will win.”
“Oh,” exclaimed Cassy. “I forgot to ask you if you knew anything
about it; we thought that was what mother was going for.”
“Yes, I asked father, and he said it was too early to tell yet but
there was a good prospect of your getting something. I say, old
fellow,” he gave Jerry a friendly slap on the back, “I have invited
myself to a picnic lunch to celebrate the event. They are glad to have
me out of the way on this occasion and Cassy was so good as to ask
me to stay and dine with you.” He gave Cassy an amused look as he
spoke and she looked down, remembering how very unready she
was to invite him.
“My, that’s a jolly good feed,” cried Jerry, his eyes roaming over
the table. “I am as hungry as a bear.”
“I’m glad of that,” said Rock, “for I am too. I could eat every
mouthful of that stew.”
 “I wish you would,” said Jerry, frankly. “I’m tired of it; I’d a lot rather
have the sardines.”
“All right, it’s a go,” said Rock. “I hope you don’t want any, Cassy.
Wouldn’t you rather have the sardines, too? then I can have all the
stew.”
Cassy confessed that she would rather, and Rock drew the dish of
stew to his side of the table.
“Did you have a good day, Jerry?” Cassy asked.
“Not very; I only made thirty cents.”
Rock looked at him. “To think of this little fellow helping to support
his family,” was his thought, and he gave Jerry an admiring glance.
“That’s more than I ever earned in one day,” he said, soberly.
“Oh, but you don’t have to,” Jerry replied. “I reckon I wouldn’t
either, if I were you.”
“Never mind, old fellow,” Rock went on, “you’ll be twice the man for
it. I tell you when a fellow shows what he is willing to do and that he
isn’t going to shirk, it goes a great way. John McClure told father
about your insisting upon doing something to pay for that little
measly geranium you got for Cassy, and ever since then father’s
been keen to see to this business of your mother’s. John McClure is
a fine man. Father says he is one of the most intelligent fellows he
knows. He is a Scotchman by birth and is well educated, but he had
some trouble with his people at home and came to America to make
his living any way that he could. He’d always been fond of
gardening, so he applied for the place as gardener with us, and has
been there ever since we’ve lived here. I believe he will come into
some property some day, and we’ll be sorry to part with him, I tell
you.”
“I just love him,” said Cassy.
“I think he’s a brick,” said Jerry. “Haven’t you always lived in that
house?”
 “No, indeed, only for a few years. It really belongs to old Mr.
Dallas, but he and his wife are obliged to go south every year, and
so when my mother and Mr. Heath Dallas were married, his father
wanted them to take the place and keep it from running down. So
that suited everybody, and we’ve been living there two years. Mother
loves it and so do I, and I believe John McClure does, too.”
“I should think he would,” Cassy remarked fervently.
“Father would like to build a little house in the corner of the garden
for John, but he says, no, he has no one to keep house for him and
that some day he will have a place of his own; I think he means to be
a florist and have greenhouses and such things; he reads about
gardens and plants, and all that sort of thing, all the time.”
“I should think that would be the finest business,” said Jerry. “I tell
you flowers sell for a big price sometimes.”
“I know they do, especially in midwinter. Anyhow everything John
puts in the ground seems to grow, and I should think he’d make a
success of that business, for he’s what father calls a ‘canny Scot,’
though he’s not a bit stingy. By the way, I heard my father ask if you
had any relatives; I suppose you haven’t, have you?”
“No,” Jerry told him, “at least not very near ones. Father had no
brothers or sisters, and mother’s people lived in England. Her father
and mother died when she was little, and she came over here with
her aunt.”
“Oh, I see,” said Rock. He had wondered why Mrs. Law had been
left with no one to give her a helping hand.
THE SUMMER LONG
 CHAPTER VIII
THE SUMMER LONG

Having satisfied his appetite to the point of discomfort, Jerry

pushed back his plate with a sigh, shaking his head when Cassy
asked if he would have more strawberries.
“Then we’ll save them and the rest of the things for mother,” she
said with a satisfied air. “Unless,” she looked at Rock with sudden
misgiving, “unless you meant to carry them home.”
Rock laughed.
“Not I, if you please. I’ve no notion of doing any such thing. I am
too lazy to move and the thought of having to burden myself with a
basket is too much for me. I will help you to wipe the dishes, though,
and Jerry can put them away.”
“Do you really mean,” said Jerry, slowly, having been in a brown
study, “that the railroad people will pay mother some money?”
“I think so,” Rock told him, “but one can’t say positively. Father
says it is a very good case for damages, but it has been so long now
that perhaps they will not want to pay the whole amount that is
claimed, but he is pretty sure they will compromise, and he knows
what he’s talking about.”
Cassy did not exactly understand all this, but she knew it meant
good fortune for her mother; that hope of which she had spoken on
Easter Day, and she wondered if it could mean as much as that they
could have a cottage with morning-glories over the porch, and if they
could move away and be rid of Billy Miles forever.
As if in answer to her thought Rock asked her: “Have you seen
anything of our friend Billy Miles lately?”
“Our friend,” Cassy repeated in scorn. “I’d like to see myself calling
him my friend.”
 “Well, you’ll get rid of him soon, I hope,” Rock told her.
“Do you really think so?” Cassy exclaimed. “I hope we shall, and,
oh, I’d like to get rid of a good many things.”
“What, for instance?”
“Oh, most of the schoolgirls, and this horrid noisy street and Mrs.
Boyle’s parrot. I wish I could go to another school and move into
another street, and never see the parrot again.”
“Why, don’t you like the parrot? I think she is very funny.”
Cassy shook her head.
“She is a bad bird, and says things in such a wicked way like old
Mrs. Finnegan, and they laugh just alike. Polly bites, too, and is so
cross. Sometimes I sit on the fence and look at her and she looks at
me and says: ‘You’re bad! You’re bad!’ and I say, ‘I am not as bad as
you. You are bad!’ And then she laughs as if she liked to be bad. I
believe she has a black heart,” Cassy concluded, soberly.
Rock laughed.
“The poor Polly! I don’t believe she is as wicked as you make out,
but I’ve no doubt but by this time next year you will be far away from
here.”
“Oh, let’s pretend we will,” cried Cassy, stopping in her work of
clearing off the dishes. “You say what you think we’ll be doing, and
I’ll say, and Jerry can.”
“That reminds me of a play we have sometimes, where one begins
a story and one after another goes on with it till it is very funny by the
time it is finished. Here goes: Next year at this time you will be living
in a pretty little country town.”
“Where?” asked Cassy, fishing with a fork for the soap in her pan
of hot water.
“Why, of course in the same town where Eleanor lives.”
“How lovely! Go on.”
“And you’ll live in a nice little white cottage——”
 “With morning-glories over the porch.”
“Yes, and roses. I think I know just where it is.”
“Oh, I wish I did!” Cassy dropped her mop and clasped her soapy
hands.
“And you’ll have a dog and a cat.”
“And chickens,” Jerry broke in.
“And a garden,” Cassy added, eagerly.
“And pigeons, maybe,” from Jerry.
“And we’ll have picnics whenever we want them,” Rock went on.
“We?”
“Yes; you’re not going to leave me out. I go up there every
summer, if you please.”
“Oh, do you?”
“That’s fine,” said Jerry. “Oh, pshaw! I almost thought it was going
to be really. Cass, where shall I put the milk?”
“On the window ledge, outside; it is cooler there than anywhere
else.”
“Gee whiz!” exclaimed Rock, looking at his watch. “It’s after three
and I promised George Reed that I’d be there by half-past. I must
travel. Good-bye, Cassy. Good-bye, Jerry; I’ve had a bang up time.”
He lost no time in getting away, gazed after admiringly by both the
children, Jerry declaring that he was “hot stuff,” and Cassy saying: “I
think he’s like a real Prince of Wales.”
It was late when their mother returned, tired out, and after Cassy
had bustled around and had set before her the remains of the feast,
she told them that so far all seemed very promising, but that such
matters could not be settled at once. Yet Cassy saw that there was a
brighter smile on her mother’s face and that she did not turn at once
to that hateful pile of sewing.
 Yet true it was that before midsummer they had all seen the last of
the noisy street, and had turned their backs upon Billy Miles, Mrs.
Boyle and the wicked parrot, for about the first of July, just as Cassy
and Jerry were mourning the fact that the Dallas family would soon
be going away, and their house would be closed, there came a call
from Mrs. Dallas herself which resulted in a most delightful
arrangement.
“We are going to leave the city for the summer,” she said to Mrs.
Law, “and although heretofore we have always shut up the house,
yet this year Mr. Dallas will have to be here more or less, and it
would be so much more comfortable for him if he could come to his
own home when he is obliged to be in the city; so I have been
thinking how very nice it would be if you would consent to take
charge of the house during the summer months. I had thought of
renting it, but we should feel so much better satisfied to have some
one we know in it, and if you would kindly see that Mr. Dallas is
made comfortable when he comes to town, I should feel that we
would be quits in the matter of rent. John McClure has consented to
sleep in the coachman’s quarters at the stable; we take our horses
with us, you know, and I think John would be mightily pleased if you
would board him; it might help out with your table expenses if you
could do that. The back rooms are really the most agreeable in
summer, for they look out on the garden, and the porch at that side is
very cool. We always find a breeze there, if there is any stirring. Do
you think you could arrange to come?”
Mrs. Law glanced at Cassy, who was looking thin and pale.
“Oh, mother!” cried the child in an imploring tone.
“You would like it, wouldn’t you, Cassy?” said Mrs. Dallas, smiling
at her.
“Better than anything,” said Cassy.
“I know it is a responsibility,” Mrs. Dallas went on, “and that one
always feels more or less uneasy if he or she is given charge of
another’s belongings, but you need use only the rooms at the back
of the house, and I am sure everything will be in much better
condition than if the house were left closed. Mr. Dallas will only sleep
there when he is in town, so you will not have to think of meals for
him, and, oh yes, whenever you think there is need of extra cleaning
you are at liberty to call upon Martha Collins; I think you may need
her once in a while. She understands that, for she is paid half her
wages while we are away, and it is an understood thing that she
holds herself in readiness to do anything we exact of her. John will
see to it that the pavements are kept clean; there is a boy who
comes to do that. John says he wouldn’t agree to having any other
children in and out of his garden, so you and Jerry may consider
yourselves complimented,” she said, turning to Cassy.
The upshot of the whole matter was that Mrs. Law agreed to
accept Mrs. Dallas’s offer, and in a few days the Law family found a
summer home at the old Dallas place, with John as their boarder.
Cassy could scarcely believe her ears that first morning when she
was awakened by the robins whistling in the cherry-trees, early, so
early, before any one was up. She had a little room next her
mother’s; both rooms opened on a porch and overlooked the garden.
Cassy slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the window. She could see
the robins getting their share of the cherries before any one else
should gather them, and then her eyes fell upon a wonderful sight
just under her window. Those were morning-glories surely, blue and
pink and purple and pearly white, opening now as the light touched
them.
“Oh!” whispered the child in ecstasy. “You darlings!” She reached
out her hand and drew a bit of the vine towards her, gazing into the
frail cups and touching with gentle finger the curling tendrils.
She was so happy that her eyes filled with tears, and she stood
there whispering to herself till she heard her mother stir, and then
she scampered back to bed again, but not to sleep; the robins were
too lively, and when in the course of an hour she heard the click of a
grass-mower in the garden, she jumped up and dressed herself,
then groped her way down-stairs and let herself out the door into the
morning sunshine.
 “Hello!” cried John, looking up from his grass-cutting. “You are an
early bird.”
“I’m not as early as the robins.”
“No, you’d have to get up betimes to get ahead of them, little
robbers that they are.”
“Aren’t there enough cherries for them to have some?” Cassy
asked anxiously.
John smiled.
“That depends upon how many you want for yourself. Do you like
cherries?”
Cassy thought for a minute.
“I don’t believe I ever tasted any. Mother didn’t think they were
good for us, and she never let us eat them.”
“Well, I declare,” said John. “But I don’t blame her. I doubt if any
you ever saw were fit to eat. There is a muckle of difference between
cherries picked right off the tree and those you see on the fruit stand
at your corner. As soon as I get through this lawn I’ll get you some.
By to-morrow they ought to be picked, anyhow.”
Cassy looked up at the red and white waxy fruit. She thought it
looked very pretty among the green leaves.
“What a good time the robins were having, to be sure.” She
thought it might be great fun to be a robin and go flying, flying among
the trees. They did seem to be enjoying themselves so much that the
little girl felt sorry that the cherries must be picked, and they be left
without any, but she remembered that the cherries would not last
very long anyhow, and that the robins would have their share first.
Up and down the lawn John went, while Cassy sat on the step and
watched him and the robins, and gazed at the garden before her.
The best of the blossoming was over, but there were a number of
flowers still to be seen; marigolds, and larkspurs, and snap-dragons,
phlox and mignonette and monthly roses, not to mention the
geraniums. Every time John came to the end of his line he would
stop to have a pleasant word, and although he declared that he
wasn’t getting along very fast, it was evident that he enjoyed Cassy’s
company.
After a while the grass was cut and lay in sweet smelling heaps
upon the lawn.
“That will make quite a little pile of hay,” said John, “and there’s
nothing smells sweeter. Come along now and we’ll get those
cherries.”
Bringing a ladder he placed it against the tree and soon had
climbed within reach of the fruit-laden branches. He tossed a cluster
down to Cassy.
“Try ’em,” he said.
Cassy immediately popped one into her mouth.
“Like that? Pretty good, isn’t it?”
“It’s delicious,” Cassy returned.
“Think you’d like to come up here and pick some for yourself?
Afraid to try the ladder? It’s pretty steady.”
“I’d love to do that.”
“Come along, then.” John settled himself into a crotch of the tree
and watched her ascend. She came lightly and with perfect
confidence. “That’s right,” he said. “You weren’t a bit scared, were
you?”
“No, indeed.”
He put out his arm and drew her to a safe seat near him. “There
now, help yourself,” he told her. “You can run a race with the robins if
you like.”
Cassy laughed, and then for the first time in all her life she
gathered fruit from its own tree. After awhile she saw that her mother
had come down and that Jerry was looking for her. She gave a merry
glance at John.
“Don’t tell him where we are; let him find us.”
 “Cassy, Cassy,” called Jerry.
“Here I am,” came the answer.
Jerry looked mystified. He hunted the garden over, and finally
spied the ladder leaning against the tree.
“Oho!” he cried peering up into the green; and just then a bunch of
ripe cherries came pelting against his upturned face and a merry
laugh sounded from above.
“Want to come up?” said John. Didn’t he? Could any one imagine
that he didn’t? However, John warned him: “Better wait till we come
down. There’ll be most too many in this tree, I’m afraid.”
Bearing his hat full of cherries he came down the ladder and
Cassy followed. Then Jerry was given permission to go up. This was
a treat he had not expected, to be allowed the freedom of a cherry
tree full of ripe cherries. What bliss!
The boy gave a sigh of great content as he settled himself astride
a huge bough.
“Don’t eat too many,” John warned, “and come down when I call
you.” Jerry promised; he valued John’s good opinion, and moreover
had respect for his authority, and he was not going to do anything to
alter the present pleasant state of things.
Cassy had climbed down safely and stood below, her eyes fixed
on Jerry.
“Isn’t it splendid?” she called up to him.
“I should say so,” came the answer, rather indistinctly by reason of
a mouthful of cherries.
“Here, little one,” said John, “suppose you take these in to your
mother,” and he poured the hatful of shining fruit into Cassy’s
outstretched apron. She ran lightly across the freshly cut grass to the
kitchen where her mother was getting breakfast.
“Just see! Just see!” cried the child, “I’ve been up the tree, and the
robins were there too, and John went up and Jerry is there now. I
picked cherries, real cherries, from the tree myself.” The delight in
her face made her mother stop to kiss her.
“Breakfast is ready,” she told her. “Call Jerry and Mr. McClure.”
And Jerry regretfully was obliged to come down. “You shall help me
to pick them to-morrow,” John told him, and this prospect was
enough to satisfy him.
NEWS