Bitty: Official Poetry Geek

I don't know what's come over me lately.

Maybe it's because I've finally figured out how to teach poetry to students, which means I've figured out how to read it myself.

Maybe it's because I've given myself permission to not like all poetry. It's ok to call some of it pointless and weird and obscure. This does not make me a bad person. It might simply mean there's some bad poetry out there. Or maybe not. (It seems I've blogged this sentiment before.)

I like to think that poetry has been stalking me of late, not in the life-threatening way, but in the this-would-change-your-life-if-only-you'd-pay-attention way.

Tonight I attended a poetry reading given by faculty members. Cool it was.

There might have been as many as a hundred audience members. The modest room was packed; standing room only. Once or twice my mind wandered as voices tripped gracefully across deliberately disjointed lines, but even then I heard music in the rhythm, saw color and felt heat in the images. For most of the hour and a half I focused intently on nearly every word and found very little obscure, weird, or pointless.

I believe eight people read (one sang). Eight poets; eight very different voices.

Cool it was.