Review – Squires in PerformanceAugust 29, 2009 at 9:00 am | Posted in australian poetry, memoirs, poetry, sheer selfindulgence, writing | 18 Comments
Tags: blogging, performance
The idiot said in his twitter the only way he would perform his poetry for an audience was naked. Pinched the idea from giggling Ginsberg, but then realised that if he breaks one promise the entire universe of cards half carefully arranged in Buckmonster Filler’s master plan in triangles like a diamond midfield, Scolari.
So I turned up thinking well, he makes a big noise on the net, we already know he’s ugly and that there will be at least one pirate and one tattoo poem, just for cliches sake, he can’t help it. And he will be doing that pathetic little Monk dance all night, when Monk’s not at the piano, and might jump up and down on the x marks the spot aerobically saying Oh Art Tatum. The bouncer in the foyer is a big bastard but I didn’t see any cops on the way in. It’s only poetry after all and they don’t shoot poets, do they old Orca Lorca.
I tell you what though if he does penis puppetry while doing the Ganeesha poem, I’m leaving.