And it was billed as a Poetry Slam. It was a bit overbilled: no twinkies for the prize, no raucous drunk crowd of judges, no whooping or hollering or booing or snapping or feminine hissing or masculine grunting, or, in fact, much of anything at all. Four poets mumbling: cliches of Minnesota, religion, bipolar disorder, and sexual assault (that rhymed) and one poet rocking the house with an amusing piece about ice cream. Doesn’t everyone love ice cream? I wonder, as I read more poetry, if I am a poetry snob. That I know about such poets as Cristin O’keefe Aptowitz, Taylor Mali, Patricia Smith, etc, am I ruined for truly amateur regional poetry? Am I just too familiar with the best of the spoken poetry world or am I too judgmental, too critical, too… me.
As a note, I did not compete. But, judging from that crowds response, it would not likely have been well-received had I.