I'm disappointed. That's the motivator. (I'm ______ and I vote.)
I work with teenagers. We read, we write, we read, we talk, we argue, we scream, we laugh, we talk, we ravel and unravel the world up and down, inside and out. (Who the hell knows the actual orientation?)
I started with Ginsberg, Anne Sexton, Richard Hugo, Merwin, Plath, Rich, Frost, Kerouac, Whalen, Snyder, McClure... before stumbling into Bob Perelman, Ron Silliman, Clark Coolidge, Larry Eigner, Hansjorg Mayer, Bob Cobbing... and so many other forward-thinking writers who make my cortex tingle, throb, and, when the time is right, explode.
Many of the teenagers I work with love these poets, too, when they find them (I point; they go where they want to go I'm so happy to say) and Bly, Collins, and slam poets, and hip-hop artists, and prose writers Palahniuk and Chabot and... Does there have to be an end to these lists?
I'm disappointed because some poets cut-down other poets (e.g. Lowell, Collins...). Remember where you started. Isn't the the first step the first step? Does it make a difference what color running shoe you wear when you're running?
I urge poets who want readers today and tomorrow to skip the turf battles. The roots are deeper.
Posted by: brandon | August 26, 2003 at 10:58 PM