Bruce Covey is a better poet than me.
Practiced and self-aware, i admire his brian posehn need for cuteness a bit. It is very confident and comfortable. Could say it respects his audience. I've never written a poem as focused as his. I subscribe a sort of same state of mind to some of his origins in my own incessantly improvised situations. Random and maybe even a bit sarcastic. A use of a quality of words that have their own character,making it where a glance of his page of words is similar to a distinct personal line quality in a draftsman's style. Is evident in a feeling that comes thru with the generalized pattern creeping through sounds and their visuals and then the association with the symbol for that idea.
I watched brian posehn read at whitespace and enjoyed the body of it. His stature commands presence while his demeanor is disarming and goofy. If not a bit awkward. When reading,this awkwardness is utilized as a tool. The performance of reading poetry exists in a direct manner.
A common language is presumed,
one that matched common
expectations
to a certain extent. Certain expectations
for what it is supposed to do were done:
A bit risque, but not really. Funny-but also a little insightful.
Experimental-but palatable.
Using as a frame or grid,Covey draped various random sets of subjects to a rating system that, after a short while,the repetition of it became invisible,focusing the thought on the selection of ideas and words. Hearing him say "7 out of 10" in reference to ,i dunno--perhaps a bowl of spaghetti or a flintstone vitamin-it was fun to hear these objects made to seem reasonably situated together. Inspires me to go further with the realization that it is all practice. it never begins or ends and so therefore training for execution of a specific intention becomes somewhat mute. Living is it as much as it is preparation. The improv emits the intangible and uncontrolled that is chaos to the other option of strangling true creative life with another rote methodic pattern that should not be confused with meditation or ritual. it is cut off from the source and in the classic contradictive sense provides while it malnourishes. Specific to Atlanta and this year of two thousand something-gimme a break. I almost yelled something like, "Whimsical Spectacle Trash!" at him because i felt what people want from going to hear poetry is some sort of release,or scratch- an intellect or a biological click, a challenge of expression that connects them to today and ..yeah...whatever..whose to say..theres so many reasons.
but in this case, his little ivory chapbook, so pink and sweet and elegant at first glance. I look at it with a sense of dignified respect and like it immediately for no reason. I open it and read it and then close it a few moments later, sitting there looking at the art, hearing people talk. This now slightly icky object in my hand begs me to open again and examine and read and simply read.. It is vaguely vulgar and sarcastic now. This little book of words. Is a schtick in a way. Was reinforced by the end of his set(or close to it....I had to leave at about 9:15...)
I enjoy Bruce Covey and enjoyed the environment he created at Whitespace with his words. Hosted by Anne Stephenson who organizes Ready Set Readings courtesy of Susan Bridges of Whitespace who likes poetry and who has an eye for good matters. I am thankful for this evening experience provided. this is the internet. i can pretend to scrutinize others with typos,wires, will and local live sampling, crushing suburban sentimental marketing one flux project at a time.
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