So, Noah Falck has started this “Public Poetry” idea. Maybe, he didn’t start it and instead the poetics of cave walls and generations of locked upper desk drawers clanked open after death have started to get people excited about displaying poetry again. Poetry, that mysterious little devil hiding in secret desk drawers in attics of the dead, and at the dining table in front of the window that Billy Collins sits at.
It’s just that for art to dominate over the instant technology of facebook, twitter and reality television, we need to either a. create better art as friend and Editor Rob says, or we need to B. shove it in people’s faces like poetry is the boobs of groupies waiting and perky for that signature. So, Noah Falck; elementary school teacher with surfer hair and poems that make you sweat and pop bubblegum and lick the smears of Popsicles off the mouths of small children just stepping away from the neighborhood ice cream truck (and its’ rather creepy song…I’m just waiting for the Law&Order episode honestly).
Well, he decided to do this thirty day stint of public poetry. The list is available here: http://noahfalck.org/public-acts-of-poetry/
He has some pretty sweet spots of public poetry…like…
The MENS room at Lucky’s Bar (now tell me ladies, don’t you want to take a look in those stalls filled with the usual liquids of drunken debauchery and read yourself a little poem. It would all but make up for the yellow toilet stains, and the paper-towels breaking loose from the lips of the trashcan like crumbs. Just a sweet piece of poetry might make your Number 1 (because no one ever makes a Number 2 in a public restroom unless it’s the explosion kind) experience that much brighter and maybe you won’t worry about touching the handle so much upon leaving the rest room and you’ll just let the germs fly free. Here’s to hoping, we can all share those bathroom germs someday!
But in all seriousness, I’ve decided to do something like this and I will be starting this Saturday. I am going to try my damndest (we say this all the time, but how do we spell it)….to do a thirty-day round of public poetry. I can’t really make a list like Falck (who’s poetry is mostly awesome, the prose poems are out of this fucking world, mind-blowing). I can’t really make a list because I’m not sure how I’m going to do this. On Saturday, with the start, I’m going to do something at our neighborhood garage sale. Maybe I’ll hand out Falck poems to start, for the people of garage sale madness. All the men with their trucks filled with splayed out chair parts, each limb poking from the bed. And all the old women with their sun hats and capri’s looking for Danielle Steel novels. Maybe I should find the most nasty, erotic poems and hand them out.
But of course, like all of the other nonsense I do, I’ll be taking pictures of everyday and tracking the process of 30 days of Public Poetry. Thanks Noah Falck (even though I don’t know you, but I know you like children (in a non-law&order way) and poetry) for starting this out and letting me have something to do other than work for the next month.
Acceptance speech forth-coming.
Let’s get wild.
Oh, oh, oh! And because it’s National Short Story Month, here’s a lovely little flash piece by my wonderful friend Meg Tuite.