Poets need more hecklers…
Or hecklers… period.
With baskets of rotten tomatoes
And scathing acid-kissed quips and truth-telling insults —
Like a Waldorf and Statler for our own pockets (that’s where I keep my own little hecklers… for humility’s sake).
Comedians and thespians shouldn’t have exclusive rights to being heckled in public.
I don’t say this because I dislike poetry —
I say this because
I love it.
And I love poets —
For all their visions and self-pitying compositions of lettered misery,
And for all of their (seemingly) unguarded hearts and souls.
But the air gets a little stuffy up here in the rafters of spontaneous overflow
And expression of heightened (often lunatic) emotions.
And the arrangement of feeling into an impossible but bravely attempted translation.
There is far too much solemnity in poetry,
And not nearly enough fun
And downright tricksterism (there is an ambition… a trickster poet…).
This is why I feature my own set of hecklers at the bottom of almost every poem
Because if I take myself too seriously,
And everyone else,
Will die of boredom.
*** So, is this my cue to continue making fun of you and your “poems”, Toots? ***
*** Whatever floats your boat or untangles your bodangles, old man! It’s open season for poet heckling. ***