|View single post by in media res|
|Posted: Fri Aug 24th, 2007 08:54 pm||
in media res
|Methinks timmy's been drinking!
I must relate this to you: Ten years ago I was in LA and a friend of mine invited me to a Poetry Reading at a well-heeled fundraiser for some now forgotten, but as I remember some very decent non-political cause. It was going to be a Round Robin reading. Each poet would read a poem of their own in sequence until intermission. There would be an intermission, then they would return and they would read several poems of their own in sequence. Sounded like a nice concept and it was actually a nice evening.
Every poet but my friend had a name and some renown (meaning they had had several volumes published, they taught poetry at colleges/Universities. They actually "lectured" and some had sponsored chairs at colleges/universities. Their bios read BIG. It seemed as if they mentioned every term paper they had written from undergrad to the present!)
My friend was an actor who wrote poetry. Her bio was short, simple and tasteful. It was actually a big deal that she would be included among them, and was invited because the co-ordinator had stumbled upon her reading poetry in some other small venue.
Anyway, the "real" Poets, male and female, all were perfectly poet-like in dress, attitude, speech, demeanor. They came straight out of Central Casting. Their poetry was uninspired and pseudeo-intellectual, at best self-indulgent, lacking in imagery of note and just continue to freely check off down the line...it also read as cumbersomely as their self-promoting bios and they read it with all the verve of roadkill.
My friend's poetry had heart, cadence of language, varying structures, lyricism, spoke of deep inner life, beauty, pain... It read like her bio. And her variety of delivery was tailored to the tone of each piece. She also dressed appropriately and tastefully for the event.
At intermission, to a person, every one of the hundred or so audience members, were hanging around my friend, inquiring of her, complimenting her, fawning over her. They had most noticeably been moved by her.
You could actually feel the envy...nay, I dare say, venom...from the "poets" who cowered alone while they sipped their white wine, casting glances toward my friend. For me, it was great theatre. Interestingly, most of the audience were well-heeled friends of the "poets."
My friend is still acting and writing.
I assume those forgotten-to-me poets are still doing their thing.
So, yes, I would include you in any modern book of poetry.
in media res
Last edited on Fri Aug 24th, 2007 09:33 pm by in media res