Tuesday, August 22, 2006


I don't know what to make of this

Perhaps I'm just slow. I have such difficulty with the snarking that goes on re: poetry so often on Jim Behrle's blog (which I'd link to, but he's always bloody moving it...dunno why), but then he goes and posts a link to this review, which I think pretty much gets at my own understanding of poetry.

I think poetry would benefit enormously if more people understood it in the same sense we understand soccer (or, as it's called pretty much everywhere else in the world, football): there are pros, there are coaches for those who wish to become pros, there are those who are more capable in a pick-up game than others, and then there are those who just play because they like playing. Nobody thinks much of a pro who walks in on a pick-up game and starts complaining because the quality of play isn't up to a professional standard, nor do pro players (that I know of) ever suggest that the sheer glut of games being played is contributing to the downfall of soccer. In fact, it's quite the contrary: that pick-up games ARE played is a sign of the continuing vitality of the sport. Nor, finally, does one think much of a pro player who trashes another pro player on the basis of some weakness in their game. When it occurs, it's understood to fall under the heading of trash talk, and it does nothing to improve the game--or the public perception of same--of the one who is offering said trash talk. Nobody claims ownership of the game, and the goat on one day can be the hero of the next: it's judged on specific play, and while a career of good plays does contribute to a lasting legacy, excellent plays also merit their place in the spotlight.

What's so hard to understand about this? Poetry doesn't have a final score, but a good play is a good play, no matter who is making it. And anyone who wants to play can find a field on which they will be welcomed.

I want to be a poetry hooligan.
Bring it on, bitch. Oh yeah.
Err...that's not what I though I posted last night. What I thought I wrote was: In spite of the fact that recent embibement of unwise quantites of the local brew has rendered me incapable of contributing anything substantive to the dialogue at present, I would just like to express my joy at the prospect of people smashing shit up as a response to poetry.

I hope that clarifies my intention in the original post.

Yo mama's scansion's got two left feet!
(I knew what you meant.)
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