Last Friday, thechanelmuse and I went to see the Blues for Smoke exhibition at the Whitney Museum. Before viewing Blues for Smoke, which was largely disappointing, we sat in on a poetry reading at the museum.  It was bad.  Here are my thoughts. If I’ve reached at least one poet/spoken word artist out there, my work is done…don’t do this to people.
Harryette Mullen speaks, and I think:
Why do they talk in that up-down way?
How many times you gon’ say that word though?
I don’t connect with poetry that isn’t written in the way people speak.
WTH?
How is this an award-winning poet?
Wow…..
She’s a bad performer.
Cornelius Eady speaks, and I think:
I can understand this. Yassss :)
I love gardenias. (As he recited, “The Gardenia”)
Please don’t sing if you can’t. Not cute. Not even close.
Inconclusiveness is unwelcome.
Patricia Smith speaks, and I think:
She loud.
She stutters a lot.
Yuck! I hate erotic poetry.
Isn’t she a bit old for this?
Why are people laughing? Not even funny.
Last part (of “Fame”) was good.
Fred Moten speaks, and I think:
Babe, that monotone voice is not a good performance device.
Some poetry should just be read silently, not aloud. Not by you.
I want Max Brenner’s milkshake & waffles.
Tracie Morris speaks, and I think:
Last one, thank you Jesus!
Don’t talk.  Just recite.
(She says, “This poem doesn’t have words.”) HAVE A SEAT!
I hate when poets sing. (She began singing in an operatic, high pitched, off-key voice.) It makes me embarrassed.  I feel angry for being subjected to her horrific indiscretionary pitch.
The Lord have mercy, Jesus!
Be over soon.  I don’t want to just walk out.
Afterward, that hussie had the nerve to perform with a band!  We promptly excused ourselves.

Last Friday, thechanelmuse and I went to see the Blues for Smoke exhibition at the Whitney Museum. Before viewing Blues for Smoke, which was largely disappointing, we sat in on a poetry reading at the museum.  It was bad.  Here are my thoughts. If I’ve reached at least one poet/spoken word artist out there, my work is done…don’t do this to people.

Harryette Mullen speaks, and I think:

  • Why do they talk in that up-down way?
  • How many times you gon’ say that word though?
  • I don’t connect with poetry that isn’t written in the way people speak.
  • WTH?
  • How is this an award-winning poet?
  • Wow…..
  • She’s a bad performer.

Cornelius Eady speaks, and I think:

  • I can understand this. Yassss :)
  • I love gardenias. (As he recited, “The Gardenia”)
  • Please don’t sing if you can’t. Not cute. Not even close.
  • Inconclusiveness is unwelcome.

Patricia Smith speaks, and I think:

  • She loud.
  • She stutters a lot.
  • Yuck! I hate erotic poetry.
  • Isn’t she a bit old for this?
  • Why are people laughing? Not even funny.
  • Last part (of “Fame”) was good.

Fred Moten speaks, and I think:

  • Babe, that monotone voice is not a good performance device.
  • Some poetry should just be read silently, not aloud. Not by you.
  • I want Max Brenner’s milkshake & waffles.

Tracie Morris speaks, and I think:

  • Last one, thank you Jesus!
  • Don’t talk.  Just recite.
  • (She says, “This poem doesn’t have words.”) HAVE A SEAT!
  • I hate when poets sing. (She began singing in an operatic, high pitched, off-key voice.) It makes me embarrassed.  I feel angry for being subjected to her horrific indiscretionary pitch.
  • The Lord have mercy, Jesus!
  • Be over soon.  I don’t want to just walk out.

Afterward, that hussie had the nerve to perform with a band!  We promptly excused ourselves.