Poetry magazine

I try to read the new issue of Poetry as if it's 1916 and Harriet Monroe has just published Wallace Stevens, Sandburg, and H.D., but it's no use, very little of the poetry sings with the excitement I expect the readers of Poetry heard when reading Poetry in 1916. What's the problem, I wonder, is it me? Do I expect too much of poetry, or too little of myself as a reader? So little that I can't see or hear all the new voices that Poetry deems publishable and that someday may be thought of as great poetry?

Reading Poetry today, the best I can do is to say, "boy is this lively," and "wow, there sure are a lot of different voices here." I do wonder whether or not the poems in Poetry are actually poems or not poems and, if poems, poems posing as poetry; or if my eyes and ears as a reader have grown old and passive and tired with age. Or if it's possible that the way I'm reading Poetry in 2016 might be the way I'd feel had I read Poetry in 1916, before I knew how wonderful the poems of Wallace Stevens, WC Williams et.al. were then and would be to this day.