|Earl the Squirrel's Rule #10|
This is not to say that the state of the art in the Print World is any better. It is worse. Slammers transport us to a time just after language was developed, offering us a unique glimpse into poetry's formative stage. When PoBiz types lapse into incoherence, as they often do, they take us back further still. This fascinating anthropological journey becomes abundantly evident whenever we add an actual poet into the mix.
A year ago my mentor announced that he was going to a slam. Naturally, I tagged along, if only to see someone stand out like a palm tree in Tuktoyaktuk. Not surprisingly, his parody of Mitt Romney as a weathervane was an oasis of fun in the S'noran Desert.
The judging was too bizarre for words. No biggy. What mattered were the things that were not obvious...at least not immediately so.
|Earl the Squirrel's Rule #38|
|Earl the Squirrel's Rule #40|
Today, slammers gather to tell stories. These are either prose or doggerel--this being the only, albeit faint, evidence of prosody--and remain so until listeners show an interest in replication; typically, this will be hardcopy or online text or a YouTube link of it being performed.
For the most part, especially with readings, it is as if poetry never existed.