with the mad mad poets

Last night I finally got back to W. Writers and had a great time. Some of the best poets didn’t read, which was disappointing…. A couple of people who are annoying but usually write good quirky things got up and read crap that made me want to stick my fingers in my ears and yell, LA LA LA I CAN’T HEAR YOU… it was like the workshop truck hit them! And I was exhausted, hyperactive, and hurting, never a good combination.

Still, I had fun listening.. and sold some little magazines. Yeah, another 25 bucks! And helped Antzen by prompting him during his recitation, a long piece about bones, a gate made of cattle bones. I read everything in his small notebook.

Now THAT is the real thing.

V. annoying moment but sort of hilarious when he asked me for a ride to the train, we walked off into the parking lot, and Yargh followed us out there, cut in and said snidely to me… I swear, way catty and weird, “I _know_ you want to “talk” to him, but if I could have just a minute…” managing to imply … oh, massive condescension… and that I was about to like, blow him in the parking lot or something or try to “catch” him for my husband or that I was using my meager, youthful wiles to beguile him into the syphilitic puddle of my oily asphalt nymph-pool, or lord knows whatall. She saw through my little game! Too bad I have no clue what it was she saw! Her voice dripped with something unspeakably nasty. It was like what I imagine being in junior high girl in 1950 would have been like, a catty moment like that! … I did not slink away. (as if?!) But instead told her if she wanted to give him a ride, she could take over, and talk to him then! And then she yelled at Antzen for not returning her calls for 8 months. Yargh (I forget what I called her last time) is the one who yelled at me for bringing Moomin to the last reading I went to (when he was quiet as a mouse… only speaking up maybe twice to ask me for juice.) My god! Really, I wish I could have some kind of frank conversation with her and just be like, ‘Tell me what the hell is in your mind, that you hate me so?” Her poetry is competent writing, neat and clever. I think she is trying to make her living partly by setting up as a Writer. or something. I wish I could assure her I am no threat to that and she can lay off me.

It’s too bad, as that scene is like, the only place ever in my life where I have not instantly slept with everyone and provided much fascinating scandal and gossip for everyone.

Since DC and CH possibly now read this I will only discreetly say their poetry was missed last night… I really wanted to hear D.’s stuff because there was a lot of really foul Disaster Porn poetry. You know… like, “All their ribs stuck out. And they were shot. They were naked. And the babies fell bleeding into the mass grave. and it was because of Racism.” read in a voice dripping with syrup. (holocaust, A bomb, hurricane, whatever disaster…) So that you are embarrassed ever to talk about anything intense or painful ever again because their poems are so bad! (there was one last night so bad I started laughing… i hope unnoticably… this is why i sit in the back of the room!) D. rescues it all from that with his excellent poems – notably the series about H1roshima… I woudl like sometime to see his collected work… I did not get to talk to C. much, she looked sort of exhausted and upset such that I wanted to put her head in my lap.

I have a blast talking with Antzen the same way as with G.H. and sometimes Pastiche, because there is total verbal disinhibition so that we both go a little bit insane. (Pastiche was there! I have not seen him in ages! He has a baby…)

Sample conversation:

“yeah, because, I knew when you did the ankle bone part you were thinking of Kerouac when he goes, the head bone’s connected to the, god-bone…”

“The god bone’s connected to the, bone-bone. It’s half tones, it goes up and then down again… so that music, it’s about music”

‘Which makes total sense because I was just saying to Willy, who was saying that all sentience and space-faring races will eventually come together and form this cosmic consciousness, but, I think no, because that is actually cosmic fascism. We are little bits of order in the eddies of decay, we’re baroque curlicues.”

“That’s so exactly right. I know you know what I mean when I tell you – and you’re the first person I’ve ever told – that I’ve been lying for my whole life and I can’t stop. To realize it you have to go to a small town somewhere in the southwest corner of Utah and get a cup of coffee and pretend you live there.”

“Because habitualness is next to godliness. It’s all about the landscape. You have to see through the eyes of someone who’s lived there for a thousand years.”

“Like playing the end game in chess, and going backwards through the whole game.”

“Yeah!”

Well, it goes on like that!

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2 Responses to “with the mad mad poets”

  1. Stephanie



    Ah, I see now. Thank you for the explication! Yes, please send an MP3 or hang it on a server where I can retrieve it. I’m very interested in hearing this poem.

  2. serena



    OMG that’s the most hilarious dialogue I’ve EVER HEARD. Must put it in a play somewhere.

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