reading the poets has been the dullest of things
even reading the great novelists of the past...
tolstoy is supposed to be special
I go to bed, I read war and peace
I read it...I read it...I say "where's the specialness in war and peace?"
I really try and understand
I mean and then many of the great poets of the past
I've read their stuff
I've read it...all I get is a god damn headache
I really feel sickness in the pit of my stomach, I say
"there's some trick going on here
this is not true, this is not real, it's not good."
you see poetry itself contains as much energy as the Hollywood industry,
as much energy as a stageplay on broadway,
all it needs is practitioners who are alive to bring it alive.
poetry's always been said to be a private hidden art
the reason it's not appreciated is because it hasn't shown any guts
hasn't shown any guts, hasn't shown any moxy
poetry is generally very dull, very pretensive
uh, those who say the poet is a very private and precious person
I don't agree with
generally he's just a dumb fiddling asshole writing
insecure lines that don't come through
believing he's immortal
waiting for his immortality which never arrives
because the poor fucker just can't write
most co..poets..coets..poets...carrots..can't even write a simple line
like "the dog walked down the street"
nothing should ever be done
that should be done
it has to come out like a good hot beer shit
a good hot beer shit is glorious
you get up, you turn around, you look at it
the stink of the turds
you say "got I did it. that was good.
then you flush it away and then there's a sense of sadness
when just the water's there
it's like writing a good poem, you just do it
it's a beer shit
nothing to analyze
nothing to say, it's just done. got it?
I really hate readint the worst.
because you're really getting up there
you've written poems that you really meant alone, you know, by your typewriter
and then there's this crowd out there drinking beer and all that
and you're reading it to them
the writer has no responsibility
except to jack off in bed alone
and type a good page
why I continued writing even though it came back and I got drunk for 10 years
I felt there was nothing out there
so I had to continue because they were so bad
not because I was so good
and I'm still not so good
but they're still very bad
there's still room for someone to step in thee, you see.
and I hope he arrives, or she
that should be enough right there
for that bottle of 55 poets
that should cure them of their mallady
but it won't
good bye and happy reading.