Why Poets Don't Become Famous.......

I get it.....

There's not many things worse than a baker telling the entire poetry community about a flaw in their system that nobody seems to notice, but I'm going to take a chance, and risk severing a few potential friendships to shed insight that I am betting will help my friends who love verse.

To start off, this post isn't aimed at those of you who are happy to sit down and write poems for fun, but instead I am talking out loud in front of those poets who harbor asperations of reading in front of large audiences.

Or any audience for that matter.

The Test -

Saturday Night Live

Jay Leno

Conan O'Brian

David Letterman

Every Other Show That Has Held National Swag

If you look at the venues listed overhead and make a list as to who has preformed on these programs, you might come up with something like this..................

Musicians

Actors

Politicians

Acrobats

Athletes

Animal Trainers

Chefs

Tattoo Artists

Etc-Etc

The list goes on, but its not very often, or ever that you'll find poets on these programs.

In a way this boggles me.

It seems wrong.

So after thinking about this for awhile, I rendered my clothes, shaved my head and rubbed ashes on my face as I journeyed into the wasteland to find out......

Why can't poets have commercial succsess?

I would love to tell you about the veil opening and angels hovering above, whispering truth into my ears, but I'm guessing you might not buy that so instead.......

Let me just blurt out the answer.................

PRODUCTION VALUE

That's correct, production value.

Most poets simply don't have any.

Bono has sunglasses

Michael Jordon a basketball and a wicked vertical

Snooki sells sex- flesh -additude and parties

In closing, what I;'m really trying to get across here is, I really love watching poets present live.

Theres nothing I would love more than poetry holding it's own with the other arts.

But when I think how for every literary reading theres 20 concerts, 42 sporting events, 8 cooking demo's.....it makes me wonder if we poets shouldn't discuss how PRODUCTION VALUE creates oppurtunity, because it adds to people entertainment.

I'm not sure I have the answer to how one incorperates production values into poetry, but I am guessing that I am going to start later this month by incorperating a bad a** wardrobe into my set, and adding on from there.

Have a good weekend guys, and if you have thoughts on the topic, I would love to hear them.

Bob Dylan VS Finley

Just the other night I attended the Bob Dylan concert with my wife.

During the intermission I ran into Finley and his son.

In a way it seemed almost surreal.

Mike and I have had, oh I don't know....like maybe a 1/2 million Bob Dylan conversations.

And now.....all these years later, the 3 of us were in the same room.

I didn't know what to expect from Bob at one of his concerts, I had never seen him perform before.

But truth be told, I was kinda surprised that he did "Tangled Up In Blue" for his 4th song of the night, after all....it is not only his greatest song, but in my opinion, the finest song that's ever been recorded.

As I sat back letting all this sink in, I had to smile remembering a conversation that I once had with Mike.....

Klecko - Ya know, what's the odds that 2 of the best songs ever would make it onto the same album?

Finley - Huh?

Klecko - I'm talking about "Blood On The Tracks" since it has both Tangled Up In Blue and Shelter From The Storm.

Finley - Those are both good songs, but I'm not sure they can even be considered as the greatest song ever recorded when they are not even the best song on the album.

Klecko - Huh?

Finley - Just go home and listen to the last song on the album "Bucket Of Tears" and you will know what I'm talking about.

Who is Who?

Finley would be John........

I'm Paul.

SEE SEE SEE CRY

So here's the deal, It was last week, I'm sitting around thinking as to whether or not I should head over to the Subtext bookstore for a Saint Paul Almanac show.

This event fell on a Thursday, and Thursday is Project Runway....so now I had to pit my love for Heidi Klum against the Twin Cities literary peeps.

Next I pull out my droid and dial Finley's number, Mike insists I go to the show, and the 2 of us were to meet up across the street at W.A. Frost.

Just before I hung up the phone, I refreshed Finley's memory......

"Don't forget to bring me that Ezra Pound complete works....please."

Tick Tock goes the clock and whoosh...within moments I am pulling open the heavy wooded doors that will let me pass into Saint Paul's most expensive cocktail lounge.

As I sidled up to the bar, I could of swore I saw a ghost....there was Finley leaning forward on his bar stool.

He had a beer in his left hand and a paper back in the right.

This might not seem like much of a deal to you, but if you are a friend of Finley, you can attest to the fact that Mike is never, never ever the first of 2 friends to arrive to a meeting point.

More often than not he slides in with a smirk while you're just ordering your second Stella.

So now that I know that the world is tilted I ask to see the book.

Mike hands it to me.....

THE CONFUCIAN ODES by EZRA POUND

I picked it up, opened it....and all the poems seemed like a Chinese version of J.R.R. Tolkien's Elven poems.

I shrieked in silence.

Now Finley takes the book back, utters blasphemy and then confesses......

"It wasn't the book that I intended to bring, b-u-t.....in some ways maybe that will be to your advantage. This book has one of the most beautiful poems in it of all time.....

THE RIVER MERCHANTS WIFE!

Then my mentor begins thumbing through the book with attitude....

"What the hell? this book doesn't even have a table of contents....I don't know maybe this book isn't all that good, but you know, it wouldn't kill you to study the Chinese poets. Look at this book....Ezra Pound translated the whole thing. Can you imagine that?

And one thing you have to remember about Pound is that he came from the armpit of Idaho. He wasn't connected or a networking genius....but this book probably is."

Then Finley kinda presses the book to his chest and I began to wonder if he truly let me leave with it.

"You know Klecko....the Chinese poets had probably the best formula any poet could use....
SEE SEE SEE CRY."

I took a sip of my beer all slack jawed and continued listening to the master........

"Yeah, those Chinese poets were really cool. SEE SEE SEE CRY, that's how they always did it."

Now Barkeep comes and hands us each another beer without us asking for one.

Finley continued..........

"SEE SEE SEE CRY. When Chinese poets wrote their poems, most often they wrote man to man. Their culture found it more romantic than the standard loves poems that the rest of the world engaged in. Instead one guy would stand on a mountain top and tell this other guy friend how sick he was over the fact that the other friend was leaving the mountain and now the two of them wouldn't be able to participate in their daily routines together.

Most of the times when this is being explained, the poet explaining it is on a horse and his horse stands high in the air and leans back."

Finley actually jumped off the stool to give me the visual....

"And the the friend who would be leaving would wail in sorrow, and he was usually on a horse too, and his horse would neigh like hell."

"SEE SEE SEE CRY" I said.

"Yep" Finley responded. In many ways that's kinda a theme that you try to write with.

I looked at my cell phone to see how much time was left before the show started.

The Barkeep brought our tab and strategically set it down right between Finley and I.

With the hands of a Ninja.....Mike slid the tab in front of me and swung around.

As he made his way across the bar, he announced it one more time for everybody to hear.....

"SEE SEE SEE CRY."

Grant Writer or Rock Star?

I'm sure there are an infinite amount of camps that you could put poets in.

But from my limited observations....I've only found two.

The first would be the academic poet.

These people write grants, receive funding, and then go into the world and preach whatever gospel it is that they want to preach.

However....the one thing I've found interesting about grant writing poets is that many of them recycle their same set...over-and over.

Last February I saw a woman who fit into this camp.

She is a brilliant mind,she works at a University, but over the course of 5 or 6 weeks, I saw her read at 3 different venues, and at each one of these events.....she read the same material.

OK, I know many of you will say it is important for a poet tour their new work, but c'mon......

Poet's are still poets, and even when U2 tours a new album, they comprise a new set list most nights.

Finley on the other hand would be a good example of a rock star poet.

By Klecko definition, a "R.S.P." is a poet that doesn't write grants, their work isn't beholding to somebodies money. They just enter into the most interesting hallways life has to offer.

I mean lets face it, as a poet.....where will you find more inspiration, where will you witness the things worthy of your attention... at school, in an office......or in the ditch? LOL

Typically the R.S.P. is flawed, rough around the edges, but when they hit the stage and step up to the podium, you just don't know what you are going to get.

In all the years I've watched Finley read, I don't know if I've ever heard him read the same poem twice.

How confident is that?

How liberating and cool is that?

Academic poets are OK.....and I not trying to convince anyone to hate on them, truth be told....if somebody dangled a pay check in front of Finley or myself, we'd quit are jobs tomorrow.

But the message I am trying to share today is, there is a difference in writing poems and being a poet.

A rock star poet would simply dread having to reread the same topics.

 

Hemingway says of Ezra Pound

He gets his friends in magazines, and out of jail.

What a great quote.

If Finley Died Today......................

Leave it to Finley.

First he vanishes, not just from our city......but to where....Canada?

Then after a couple of weeks doing whatever he is doing there, he headed straight to Wyoming or Idaho, someplace like that to do more vacation stuff with his family.

I don't begrudge a guy or cutting loose and stretching his legs.

In fact I recently read a list issued by the Dali lama where he said one good way to experience personal growth was to visit a region you have never been to, one time every year.

Like I said...I get that, but Saint Paul w/o Finley is like going over to your Grandmothers house.

The Grandma that lives in an apartment filled with old people so there's nobody to play with.

Then knowing that you're bored out of your mind, she scrounges up a coloring book for you to play with, but then she apologizes cuz she can't remember where she put those blasted color crayons.

So now she hands you a blue Bic ballpoint pen and tells you........

"Knock yourself out kid."

Thats what Saint Paul w/o Finley is like, a coloring book and a pen.

I know it's only been like 3 weeks, but 3 weeks is a long time in my world.

Then one morning, a Thursday, the day I see Finley drinking coffee with Brian Horrigan,  He wasn't there, and then I thought.....

OMG - If Finley dies one day, years before me......who will I discuss poetry with.

I could discuss it with you peeps, but no offense... it wouldn't even be 1/2 as  much fun.

Well Mike, if you stay alive, and come back to Minnesota, I can show you the poems I've written in your absence.

Here's one that I finished earlier today, and I really like it, not a little, but a lot.

That's another reason it sucks to have Finley out of the Capitol City.....who will tell us all what we need to do to improve our poems? LOL

I miss you friendo - enjoy

 

Skulls & Airports
  

I took the wrong turn off

I cut through the airport

I got to the place where you drop travelers off

I almost drove by, but then I saw an old man

Embracing a woman that may have been his wife

Their moment of separation was touching

Touching enough to turn off the ignition

And watch people separate from one another

On a sidewalk that offered

Departure to each corner of the globe

If you stand in one place

Engulfed in this mob

You’ll witness people exercising emotions

Ranging from despair to elation

I only stayed 7 minutes

People are flawed

People are stupid

They disappoint

And seldom deserve trust

But if you stand outside an airport

Where people send those that they love away

It might be just enough to give you hope

It did for me