Wednesday, June 14, 2006


This is actually not that old, but perhaps explains the hiatus...

Poetry… must be the dullest, most laughable hobby—as I would never have the masochism it takes to call it a profession—ever. Even dead butterfly collectors are more interesting—way more! God, even stamp collectors are something of a rarity these days. But poets? I guess there is nothing cheaper than words, after all. And we are all so special, every single one of us unique. And needy. And lamentably self-absorbed. Oh, but we are supportive: scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours. All the leftover nerds in the world have found a hallway narrow enough to hear their thoughts echo. Magic! Pure magic, this camaraderie of spirit, of words! The only magical thing about it is that we actually believe it. But we’re not the first to believe; there will always be God ahead of us, attracting more wayward souls. Or less. Oh, what difference does it make? What does it take to wake us up? Our death served on a bill? And wake up to what? I’m going back to sleep; Kathy Griffin is waiting.


katy said...

i love that this is called blasphemy, like you shouldn't be allowed to say these things amongst other poets.

on the one hand, i am a poet and value that in myself. on the other hand, the point that we're all scratching each other's backs, no one is criticizing, is so true and so talked about; yet, no one has the balls to do anything about it.

we all tell each other how wonderful the other is, and maybe behind each other's backs we're saying i didn't like this poem or i don't like that poet's style, but there is so little real criticism

i'm approaching this as a statement of poetics and less like a poem. i have a feeling that's what it's really meant for anyway.

arch.memory said...

Yes, dear, this is certainly meant as a statement of poetics, not as a poem. This is something we should probably pick up in Poetship. Or Poetisphere. Or poetsomething... :)