when you left
and i closed the door behind you,
and settled in to do the paperwork
i’d been putting off all day,
it felt like the lid coming down
on an open manhole
with me inside.
down here
the only thing to do
is mine the dark
and listen for the sound
of metal grinding on metal
which will tell me
you’re up there waiting for me
to climb back into the light.
for an actual job — getting paid 1k plus expenses to run a two hour training program in Boca Raton tomorrow afternoon.
I’ll be done by around 7:30 at the latest. Any poetry nearby? Anyone got a car who could pick me up to see said poetry?
A day or two down the line now, I think I can say a few things.
— I think, in general, I heard better poetry. There was the usual ration of crap, of course; and the evidence of the Ken Hunt Prize submissions would suggest that there still a fair number of poems out there that may work in performance but don’t stand up on the page. Still, I did hear some challenging work that made me hopeful that a groundswell of better writing is coming. It may never dominate, but it’s there.
I again heard better work in side events that I did on stage during the bouts.
— In conversations about what people were reading/listening to, I heard more people mention poets who aren’t slammers.
— Group pieces are still pretty much lost on me, but there were one or two (the Denver immigration piece, for instance) that were tolerable. I saw more duos I liked, reinforcing my view that the signal-to-noise ratio has a lot to do with my antipathy.
— The Legends showcases were a good reminder that good poets have always been present in this field. The glow of “old school” performers seems to be justified, reminding me of Krystal Ashe’s contention that slam is your sophomore year in poetry, and you aren’t a graduate just because you’ve slammed a lot.
— It was nice to be included in the Legends showcase. I’m still not sure I belonged there, but I’ll take the compliment and the attendant honor.
— At the same time, the presence of folks like Buddy Wakefield, Genevieve Van Cleve, Roger Bonair-Agard, Marty McConnell, and RAC indicate that there’s a way to couple poetic growth and opportunities beyond slam with a commitment to the Big Show.
— All that said, I think I still prefer IWPS as an event. I’ve thought this for a couple of years, and I think this year confirmed it. The party may be better at NPS (based on sheer volume), but I think the event lends itself to better and more diverse poems.
There may be more points later, but that’ll hold me for a bit.
this afternoon i thought of you, thinking of the days
we tore the laundry off the line and then ran
to avoid being caught:
the freshening clothes hanging on the line; you,
running into the sheets, hiding between them,
burying your face into the stiff cotton, the air-smell.
it had been a while since i saw sheets on a line
but tonight, right in the backyard of the apartment,
two fitted sheets hung, billowing in the slight breeze,
and i dropped the briefcase and went right up to one
and stuck my face up close and breathed air and sun
and your breath.
you are the bed i lie in.
you’re everything i learned as a kid.
you left before i could tell you so.
i forget that most days, except when
there are sheets on the line that smell
of dried rain in blue percale,
but i can’t sleep when they’re on my bed,
so i throw them in the dryer.
it’s better that way.
— fabulous time
— it is possible to smuggle “stuff” home during a terror alert
— lots of walking, lots of heat
— better group pieces this year, although I’m still not convinced
— BATS RULE
— parties in general excellent
— fine tag on the balcony
— highpoint: having a partner there 🙂
— highpoint: presenting the Ken Hunt Award to 3 kickass poets, and working with final_girl to do so
— highpoint: performing with folks like, well, everyone at the Legends showcase…humbling.
— highpoint: making the Tattler for the first time. now, I feel like a legend fer sure.
— highpoint: making Shappy (twosnoos) jealous with the “Snakes On A Plane” book and publication
— go Team Awkward
— Bob’s barbecue is the best
— I don’t like being home again
Time for the load out.
Two flights and a drive, then I’m home for two days, then Florida for an actual job.
I need some serious non-poet time. No offense, guys, k?
It’s been a great NPS. I’ve got a tag going on on my balcony right now…second night in a row. Last night featured a host of good people — including Iyeoka, Chris Johnson, Marlon Carey, a guy from Richmond named Rasul, and in general a good crowd of poets trading lines and relaxing.
Anis Mojgani is the indie champ –first repeat in years.
morthsha kicked butt reppin’ Worcester, coming in seventh overall.
I’m tired, a little drunk, and in desperate need of my bed and a shower. Later, gators.
the devil stops by
to offer you a deal:
give up all your poems,
past present and future,
and you’ll at last know peace.
what do you do?
do you run to the fireplace.
toss in your awful mounds of paper,
throw a match into all that pressure
and watch your story disappear?
do you then turn to the devil and smile
and say “now what?”
because you know that whatever the devil
has planned it’s gotta be good;
or do you turn your back on the devil,
sit back at the desk,
open a new document on the computer
and type, “now what?” for an opening line
without knowing what it will take
to answer that?
every life is uncertain, alternately terrible and beautiful,
you tell the devil,
and you have yet to write the poems
that explain that.
lots of old friends.
turtles, opossum, swans, grackles, and bats. MILLIONS of bats.
hot walking around town doing errands and gawking.
fresh beer, handmade vodka, and Whoopiecat’s barbecue at the welcome party which was held in a brewery. excellent beer, vodka, music, food, and general mayhem.
and now…sleeeepy.
OK, gang — leaving this afternoon and still a few things to do so I’m shutting down. See y’all in Austin.
There are days
when I’m sure
that the only way
I can short out
my memories of you
is to gnaw though
my brain cells
the way a rat
gnaws through
insulation.
I have come to believe
that the resultant fire
would be as cleansing
as it would be destructive,
and I yearn to discover
if I am right.
This is why I show you
such sharp teeth
when we speak.
I would ask you
to forgive me
but I understand
that some things,
however necessary,
are unforgivable.
Let the sparks
fly out and ignite
where they will.
I am content
to stop caring now,
to let this burn,
to allow a fire
to begin in my mouth
and spread.
Here’s the schedule for me:
In VERY LATE Monday night
Tuesday: Recover from flight; handle Ken Hunt Prize stuff
Wednesday: The usual opening ceremonies / Worcester bout that night
Thursday: Read in Legends showcase that afternoon (cough cough): hope to read in Indigenous reading / Worcester bout that night
Friday: Ken Hunt Prize stuff during the morning; Co-host Grief and Remembrance reading; Worcester in Semis (cough cough)
Saturday: Slam Family. party, Finals; present KHP
Of course, add associated late night partying and poetry tag into the mix as necessary. 😉
Dark Matter 