tuesday, december eighteen 2018
In previous versions of the blog I used to write a lot of poetry.
I can almost remember my favourite. It went something like this:
Tuesdays seem to go so slow
Ad breaks on the radio
Cigarette, coffee, fried potato
Steel toed boots in the heavy snow
Why do we write poetry? What's the point? And what makes poetry good?
I'm not an educated man, especially not in English lit, and I've always wondered
these things. I mean, I can tell you what poems I like. My favourite was shared
with me through a copy of the New Yorker. I think it was from a 2015 issue and
the title had salamander in it. I think. It was good and though I've been looking
for the last few minutes, I can't find it to share it with you. I took a photo of
it on a phone that has long since died. Oh well, what can you do?
There's something so special about good poetry and something so embarrassing
about bad poetry. That's the big barrier to entry, right? It's not even a fine
line between the two. It's a thick demilitarized zone filled with the pride of
people who gave it a go. How humiliating to imagine that people are laughing about
your words behind your back. It's a fear that keeps us from doing lots of things in
life I guess.
Nobody listens to the radio anymore though, right? Or watches TV? I had some
people in the restaurant the other day explaining how cranberry fields are flooded
so that the berries float to the surface and are easier to gather. Anyway, I knew
that because of that old commercial with the two guys in waders standing in a cranberry
swamp. I can't remember the brand, it was the one with the blue logo.
Ocean Spray maybe?
All I see now are Instagram commercials for cellphone games. Also ads for
shoes I've already bought.