I should be cleaning. Apparently, I'm having people over. And then it's 80's Video Dance Attack at Lola's Room. That's right. Break out the leg warmers, it's time to shake your ass to I Think I'm Turning Japanese. Did you know that song came out the year I was born. I know...when I think about that, I have to rock back on my heels and whisper an astounded "son of a bitch". Really, it's what I have to do.Since my bike has in the "shop", I've been bussing it to work. Though I read it every day, and have since it first appeared on the buses a couple years ago...today is the first day I've ever sat back and realized how odd it is that we have placards of poems on the inside of our buses. Truly...how fucking pretentious is that? They call it Poetry in Motion. I call it lame. All the poems are written by published poets who have obviously sunk low enough to okay such a degradation in order to eat. I get that. It's the last step before selling the body for sex.
Am I being harsh? I just resent it is all. I don't want to read poetry on my way to work. It's always this thoughtful junk about leaves turning in autumn or dreams. I'm already having trouble waking up...this doesn't help. Hey Trimet, you wanna do the bus riders a favor, post some Electric Six lyrics. Maybe some Leonard Cohen. Tenacious D. That shit's poetry.
Now someone's gonna tell me to bring something else to read on the bus. Well I've anticipated you, FOOL! By the time my stop rolls around, there's standing room only. So suck it.
It's not that I have anything against poetry. It's just that I don't like it. Like any worthy narrow minded individual, I don't like what I don't understand. Yes, it's the appropriate emotional response. I feel the same way about modern art. I will stare and stare and stare at it and it never has an effect on me. Not positive, not negative...nothing. Ooooh, I'm feeling the need to make a Neverending Story reference here, but I'll refrain. Because I'm a giver.
Sorry Sarah, this one's not so kid friendly. But that's what you get for not having the White Album memorized. Shame on you.
Shit...I have an hour. AN HOUR!
18 keep(s) me blogging:
Maybe you're reading the wrong kind of poetry. All that soppy stuff about leaves and emotions obviously isn't your cup of tea. There's a poem by Kipling about an Afghan King who tortures a soldier to death after a failed assassination attempt, which might suit you better. It's called The Ballad of the King's Mercy.
Kara, I'm crazy about poetry, but some of that poetry-on-transport stuff leaves me pretty cold too. I read a poem a few months back that actually made me cry -- and it was modern! It was called 'Wisconsin' and it was published in the Apple Valley Review, I think. And I have no idea who the poet is, but she can sure write poetry.
Also, try Robert Hayden's 'Those Winter Sundays,' or T. S. Eliot's 'Wasteland.' A good poem ought to take your breath away.
Emily Dickinson? Edna St Vincent Millay? Try them! (Okay, okay -- I'm going)
But you see, the various ads, "Poetry in Motion", and those informative TriMet signs give me something to be pretending to look at when I'm avoiding the gaze of a smelly old black man who is chewing the insides of his mouth and leering at me. Pretending to read those stupid things are my only defense when I forget my iPod.
I don't get poetry either and don't get me started on modern art crap!
BUT, I would rather read poetry on the bus, than some add about erectile disfunction, again! ...but that's me! ;-)
It's the last step before selling the body for sex.
I lol'd.
Poetry's for the birds.
I say that because I cant write poetry.
You must at least like Ogden Nash. Read this and then try to tell me you don't like poetry...
A Drink With Something In It
There is something about a Martini,
A tingle remarkably pleasant;
A yellow, a mellow Martini;
I wish I had one at present.
There is something about a Martini,
Ere the dining and dancing begin,
And to tell you the truth,
It is not the vermouth--
I think that perhaps it's the gin.
This one aint bad either:
A Word to Husbands
To keep your marriage brimming
With love in the loving cup,
Whenever you’re wrong, admit it;
Whenever you’re right, shut up.
I do not heart poetry. I loathe it in fact. When my kids reach that part of school where they're expected to come up with stuff, I'll help them plagerize.
I feel like such a rock star! First, I went backstage at James' show (yeah, the one you didn't go to) last night and NOW I am mentioned in your blog. Wow, I'm reaching new levels.
I am NOT a giver, so I will NOT refrain from a Neverending Story reference. Atrayu!
goranas - it reads a bit like a Nick Cave murder ballad. i got a third of the way through it before i was distracted by something shiny. maybe i'll try again later.
mary - i'm going to write all those down, and i'm going to read something by each of them. and if i'm disappointed...then you owe me an amusing limerick.
fro - i prefer the old pics of Portland. i could look at those forever. well, for the 10 minutes it takes to get into downtown.
stinkypaw - we don't have ED ads in our buses. once again, canada has proven to be cooler than the U.S.
or - it's funny because it's true.
rachel - your poetry definitely exceeds what i'm seeing on the bus...if that helps at all.
waif - eh.
really...that's all i can do.
sarah - i'm sorry i couldn't make it. i had girlfriend obligations since i got to pick the event on friday night...he got saturday. i very much dislike this whole "compromise" aspect of relationships.
What about this?
James James
Morrison Morrison
Wetherby George Dupree
Took great
Care of his mother
Though he was only 3...
etc.
by A.A Milne
This is patently the world's best poem and i shall call you a philthy philistine if you don't this minute agree.
*throws down gauntlet-looking thing*
Well :P
You also obviously forgot the most important poet of them all, from whom I now quote:
My beard grows down to my toes,
I never wears no clothes,
I wraps my hair
Around my bare,
And down the road I goes.
- Shel Silverstein
Unless it's poetry by Shel Silverstein (who only writes silly, nonsensical stuff), I hate it. Hate, hate, hate it with a passion. Unfortunately, we're on our poetry unit in English right now. Guess who's failing miserably? Yep, that would be me.
Who needs poetry when you have girl scout cookies! (they are in the mail today - finally huh?)
Sarah- It's called a "Green Room". No matter what color its painted. Get it right or you'll never be a rock star.
Well, Waif beat me to the Shel Silverstein reminder, otherwise I guess you're saying you're poetry (and modern art)challenged and that's OK. It's probably covered under the American's with Disabilities Act anyway so we'll accommodate you.
Weird. I almost went to Lola's last Friday night but I chose sleep instead. I do Fez it on Fridays every now and then.
Poetry in Motion is so lame except for W.S. Merwin's stuff. He's da bomb.
And I forgot to mention your favorite poet of all time:
Me.
Remember Kara, Remember?
Post a Comment