May 22, 2008
Lewisboro Confidential
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It won’t help land a loan, but poetry’s power still persists
In an uncharacteristic lapse of judgment, the good folks at The Harvey School selected me to be a poetry contest “deciderer.”
The glow of being recognized by my peers as a man of letters slowly faded with the
realization that it was more likely that someone actually qualified canceled at the last minute or that everyone else in town was gainfully employed. My prior experience with poetry extended to memorizing the lyrics of Enter Sandman and a brief stint working for the New York Rocker in the 80s, where the editor would order the staff to soundly beat poets about the head while Doc Marten booting them down the Bowery. Builds character, doing them a favor, I believe he said.
Poetry also seemed like a really poor career choice. Once, in a Cross River bank officer’s cubicle trying to angle a loan, I caught a glimpse of a crib sheet taped to a pullout writing tablet. The sheet listed desired professions for lending the bank’s cash. Topping the list were bank presidents, Beverly Hills dermatologists and corporate litigators. Way down, and just about where I fit in, were, in descending order, artists, writers, the homeless with their dogs, and then poets.
Strange that when alive, poets are treated like bike messengers or lepers but when looking back on lost civilizations, the great poetry survives, like works by Wordsworth and Art Garfunkel. So it was with not just a little dread that I made my way over to what I was sure would be some overly earnest kids bumbling through sorrowful prose.
In a setup like American Idol’s, the other esteemed judges and I looked up at the professor/master of ceremonies dude resplendent in long hair and a business suit with red canvas tennis shoes, an outfit that shouted, “I’m The Man, but I can still party.” After calling one of us an “artiste” and pronouncing my prior work credentials at the NHL the “Leah-guh-ahh” (rule No. 1: ’tis better to secure friendship than provoke enmity), he opened the ceremony with, “Poetry is the coolest thing, but I really prefer rock and roll.” By that time I was cringing with the rest of the audience, hoping he wouldn’t recite some rot from Moody Blues like “... cruel-hearted ogre who steals the light, takes the colors from our sight.” He was mercifully brief.
And surprise! The kids were great. Ranging from a Nina Simone look-alike to a future Barack Obama but with even better delivery, they all had poise, stage presence, timing, and delivery skills wrapped. From Edgar Allen Poe to Langston Hughes and Billy Collins, the works were entertainingly fun. It was hard to choose a winner; they were all great. And it took no small amount of gall to stand in front of an auditorium full of your classmates and recite a poem. Sure there were a few dopey lines, but that’s to be expected. The more popular kids got more applause, but nobody booed or threw stuff.
Once, touring Taliesin West, Frank Lloyd Wright’s desert masterpiece, I saw a theater with an underground soundboard built into the stage where every whisper was naturally amplified. And why would an architect need a theater? He thought that if everyone had to recite poetry you would become more comfortable with yourself in front of an audience. If you couldn’t present your ideas, the desert-rat guide explained, no matter how brilliant you are, you’d be doomed to a life shackled to a drawing board.
So what if poetry is inconclusive meandering with bad punctuation? This type of thing, with its huge potential for public humiliation, should be mandatory at all stages of life and for all occupations. But for the audience’s sake may I humbly suggest the following? Put a little snap in the act. Maybe some go-go girls in cages above the set like the old Hullabaloo TV show. And guys, how about something for the judges’ effort? Not to sound ungrateful and as much as I love and will always treasure my mock pewter Harvey School logo paperclip holder, maybe some refreshing beverages and a full luncheon buffet?
I’ll keep in touch with more show ideas after attending the Crue Fest this June with a full-access backstage pass courtesy of my new Lewisboro Ledger press card, which should arrive in the mail any day.
© Copyright 2008 by Hersam Acorn Newspapers
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