Pretentious Poetry Guy
This guy named Tom, who apparently is very involved in the poetry community of Austin somehow, was talking to me and the director of the museum today about all the poetry readings he's involved in around town...organizes them, he says. He's this older British guy, thick accent, pretentious.
I ask him what he thinks of spoken word. He replies, "I don't do spoken word."
Me: But what do you think of it?
Tom: What is it?
Me: You know, like what Austin Poetry Slam does...
Tom: Oh. Garbage! a venue for every adolescent with chips on both shoulders to rant and rave about how difficult their lives are. The smoke. Alcohol. Disgusting. That's not poetry.
Me: *devilish gleam* Well you don't have to worry about the smoke anymore, right?
Tom: well good. But the bars, the alcohol. None of it is any good.
Director of museum: Some of it might be good.
Me: I think the value of spoken word is that it introduces poetry to folks who may otherwise never experience it. It brings it to a wider audience.
Tom: *displays obviously defensive and dismissive body language, grunts and shrugs* None of it's any good.
Me: I've heard some that were amazing.
Tom: well, that's good.
The director senses that the conversation is getting a little uncomfortable, and leads the British poet elsewhere.
What a fucking blowhard.
I ask him what he thinks of spoken word. He replies, "I don't do spoken word."
Me: But what do you think of it?
Tom: What is it?
Me: You know, like what Austin Poetry Slam does...
Tom: Oh. Garbage! a venue for every adolescent with chips on both shoulders to rant and rave about how difficult their lives are. The smoke. Alcohol. Disgusting. That's not poetry.
Me: *devilish gleam* Well you don't have to worry about the smoke anymore, right?
Tom: well good. But the bars, the alcohol. None of it is any good.
Director of museum: Some of it might be good.
Me: I think the value of spoken word is that it introduces poetry to folks who may otherwise never experience it. It brings it to a wider audience.
Tom: *displays obviously defensive and dismissive body language, grunts and shrugs* None of it's any good.
Me: I've heard some that were amazing.
Tom: well, that's good.
The director senses that the conversation is getting a little uncomfortable, and leads the British poet elsewhere.
What a fucking blowhard.