[The kids have set their traps for Santa (and left out cookies) and the wife’s off to bed early, so I have time to jot a few things down…]
I bumped into this big collection of tapes a few years ago while prepping for a big road trip and have enjoyed them ever since. There’s nothing like hearing the world’s best (semi)modern poets read their own work while you drive for hours on lonely roads.
I mean, here’s your one chance to hear Whitman himself. That’s worth the price of admission alone. But I like it all. Poetry is really meant to be read aloud and the best readers are likely the poets. Their work comes to life and spells out life for us. It’s big. Bigger than we’ve been led to believe. It’s an anti-poetic age, after all. We don’t really know what it is anymore. We’re that far gone. These tapes help bring us back. (Actually, poetry slams in bars nationwide must be helping, too.)
I’m sure everyone will find favorites in this batch. But I’ll rattle off mine. Whitman, Frost (oh yeah! Birches!), cummings, Pound pound pound! —He’s the best, I think, with his ranting classic rhythm and wild wild ideas that hit so hard hard hard. Kerouac is super, too. Ginsberg is hilarious and seems drunk along with his audience. Sylvia, oh Sylvia—she’s WAY scary with her Daddy poem. Then one by a lady about a bird and a cat. Gary Snyder about his Mac computer. Maya Angelou—oh my! She’s woman…fabulously! And Amiri Baraka and another black poet who does a super super chant including “Why am I so black? Because I am. Why am I so funky? Because I am” and on and on, just over the top.
I mean, this is basically your only easy chance to hear all these greats whenever you like. And I like.
