Last week in class(this month only I’ve got two weekends in a row) we spent some time getting to know each other — we’ll be, at least theoretically, together for two years — and I of course mentioned that I was a poet. Mild interest, some inquiries, that’s all.

My class is 11 women all interested in becoming elementary school teachers (it’s a BA with a complementary EE minor) and one lone male with a deep and abiding interest in getting the BA and then getting the hell out. So I’m already a couple ways odd man out here.

This week…

one woman in the class Googled me in the intervening week, came in and said, “Hey! You’re famous!” which caused a stir. (I quickly explained that “slam poet famous” — and I don’t think I’m even really THAT — is the approximate level of fame accorded to the average employee of the month at a moderate sized accounting firm.)

More seriously, the professor this week ACTUALLY changed the syllabus to include a video about poets for our discussion on lives in historical context. It’s a new guy; he came in knowing I was a poet which means he spoke to the instructor from last week. He said point blank that he changed the video because of me.

I feel a little weird here for even feeling a little weird. Am I ego-obsessing? Is this freakish self centeredness on my part?

And if not: what does this mean for the class going forward?

poetry counts. opinions about poetry don’t count.

people connecting to good poetry? that counts.

people connecting to bad poetry? sorry, folks; that counts too.

whether a particular poem works, scores well, reads well, “is a good poem” — ultimately the decisions of humans who believe all sorts of things. all sorts of contradictory things, often all at once.

there is quality poetry, and that’s an opinion; there’s shitty poetry, and that’s an opinion too.

stand where you stand, and remember that the trappings we put around our passions are as silly to others as their fumblings are to us.

in other words: absolutely no opinion matters absolutely. slam is just another trap for catching fog. its associated mechanics are just the way the trap swings shut.

you might as well argue about a carburetor.

1. It’s a lot of fun seeing everyone again.

2. Nick Fox may be my arch piratical nemesis, but he’s a rockin’ good poet.

3. I entered and won the first slam I’ve been in since 2001: the MC slam against Bob Whoopiecat, Michael Guinn, and Nick Fox. It didn’t feel remotely terrible. At all. Like…maybe I could do it again.

4. MCing three bouts in one day is a bitch.

5. My niece judged a slam tonight! She’d never been to one before; she loved it!!! I’m so psyched!

6. Because of rankings, etc, it wouldn’t be of value to talk of standings just yet. Lots of movement between rounds 1 and 2 in each bout, from what I could see; being ranked 1 in the 4 minute round had absolutely no predictive quality regarding where you’d place in the 1 minute round. So, hard to sort out what it means just yet.

7. Hearing good poetry? Yes. Reductive and unoriginal stuff too? Sure.

8. There’s a poet here named David Morgan from London, England, who will likely not be going to finals…but the dude is a fucking wizard writer of torturous genius. Shit the judges won’t love, but I personally thought was outrageous. Pretty good delivery, too. Older guy; very gentlemanly.

9. I hung out with too many people to name: it was good to see you again.

I’m off to bed, then to work, then to school, then to school again, then to Finals, then to school, then to work…

I wish I was a poet, or something. The work’s dull but the hours are more regular.

I leave you with this: