Live Poets #3
I took a long bike ride this evening into town for the monthly session of the Nelson Live Poets Society. Tonight featured the local community college creative writing students, so I had some hope of better performances and poets closer to my age, which did actually turn out to be the case. The pub was packed and there was a much more energetic atmosphere. I did enjoy the CW students' poems, but unfortunately they all left before the break, taking most of the talent with them. That left us with the usual crowd of geriatric rhymsters and self-published spiritual versists.
The old Irish guy sitting next to me slipped me a note midway through which almost had me laughing out loud. Courtesy of a 400-year-old witticist I admire greatly:
Sir, I abide by your rule
that every poet is a fool
But, Sir, do you know it
Every fool is not a poet.
-Alexander Pope
Then came the real lowpoint of the evening. Save me from has-been politicians who think reading out a charter of rights counts as poetry! Twenty minutes he stood up there pontificating. Otherwise perfectly polite ladies and gentlemen were laying their heads on the tables midway through. I spent the time recollecting an old poem of mine so I could read something out after all. Might as well make the evening worth an ego-boost. So in the end I did rattle off something. One of the creative writing heads came over afterwards to say he liked it, so I'm shyly happy about that. I'm running out of poems to read - next month I'll actually have to write something new!
The ride home was chillingly cold! But I'm home now with a mug of hot chocolate beside me, so all's well in the world again. Another hour or so and I might even be able to feel my fingers again ;)
The old Irish guy sitting next to me slipped me a note midway through which almost had me laughing out loud. Courtesy of a 400-year-old witticist I admire greatly:
Sir, I abide by your rule
that every poet is a fool
But, Sir, do you know it
Every fool is not a poet.
-Alexander Pope
Then came the real lowpoint of the evening. Save me from has-been politicians who think reading out a charter of rights counts as poetry! Twenty minutes he stood up there pontificating. Otherwise perfectly polite ladies and gentlemen were laying their heads on the tables midway through. I spent the time recollecting an old poem of mine so I could read something out after all. Might as well make the evening worth an ego-boost. So in the end I did rattle off something. One of the creative writing heads came over afterwards to say he liked it, so I'm shyly happy about that. I'm running out of poems to read - next month I'll actually have to write something new!
The ride home was chillingly cold! But I'm home now with a mug of hot chocolate beside me, so all's well in the world again. Another hour or so and I might even be able to feel my fingers again ;)