Gerald Locklin poem points up something profound about local poetry scene.

I've been somewhat ill with bronchitis (the coughing-up-mucus-plus-fever variety) this past week.  And, as a consequence, I wasn't nearly in shape to consider going to the Cobalt Cafe's 300th Broadside reading last week (although in a different era, I was able to feature there and a broadside was created from my poem "This Poem is For Sale.").

I do remember five-and-a-half years ago when the previous Broadside anniversary reading drew so many people that the reading went on too late for me to go the distance--causing me to be reprimanded by Bowerbird Intelligentleman the following day on the CobaltPoets Yahoolist.

Here's an excerpt from the 300th Broadside announcement:
GERALD LOCKLIN [the featured poet]


Gerald Locklin is now a Professor Emeritus of English at California State University, Long Beach, where he taught from 1965 through 2007, and continues as an occasional part-time lecturer. A profile based on a retirement event was broadcast on NPR and is archived. He is the author of over 125 books, chapbooks, and broadsides of poetry, fiction, and criticism, with over 3000 poems, stories, articles, reviews, and interviews published in periodicals. His work is frequently performed by Garrison Keillor on his Writer's Almanac daily Public Radio program, is archived on his website, and is included In all three of Mr. Keillor's Good Poems anthologies.


_________________________________





POEM:



The Iceberg Theory





all the food critics hate iceberg lettuce.

you'd think romaine was descended from

orpheus's laurel wreath,

you'd think raw spinach had all the nutritional

benefits attributed to it by popeye,

not to mention aesthetic subtleties worthy of

verlaine and debussy.

they'll even salivate over chopped red cabbage.

just to disparage poor old mr. iceberg lettuce.

I guess the problem is

it's just too common for them.

it doesn't matter that it tastes good,

has a satisfying crunchy texture,

holds its freshness,

and has crevices for the dressing,

whereas the darker, leafier varieties

are often bitter, gritty and flat.

it just isn't different enough and

it's too goddamn american.

of course a critic has to criticize:

a critic has to have something to say.

perhaps that's why literary critics

purport to find interesting

so much contemporary poetry

that just bores the shit out of me.

at any rate, I really enjoy a salad

with plenty of chunky iceberg lettuce,

the more the merrier,

drenched in an italian or roquefort dressing.

and the poems I enjoy are those I don't have

to pretend that I'm enjoying.



~ Gerald Locklin

The irony is that the Cobalt Cafe and a lot of other current readings in town prefer non-Iceberg lettuce poems.  And maybe it's a good thing that I was far too sick to attend.

New poem: A BRIEF HISTORY OF LOS ANGELES POETRY

A BRIEF HISTORY OF LOS ANGELES POETRY AS I KNEW IT


When there was an El Nino storm,




people still went out to poetry readings.



That was 1998.



NEXT magazine was the beacon



telling you where to find the word banquets.







And the first place I went



was the Midnight Special Bookstore



on Santa Monica's Third Street Promenade



because it was listed in NEXT.







Politics in the air at Poetic License.



Poems with "Free Mumia" messages.



Lots of fingersnaps for a line or even a word.



People filled with strong notions



of what was right and wrong.







Just about every reading



was filled to capacity.



And it was easy



to find readings



every night of the week.



It was also possible



to make acquaintances



and real friends.







In those days,



people weren't always worried



about being Published.



You could go to Kinkos



and print your own DIY chapbook--



breaking even by selling it to other poets



at readings.







Went to the Rose Cafe



and was exposed to poetry as Disciplined Art.



Long introductions for features



and open readers told to return



next week when time ran out.



(Eventually, the Rose Cafe



became the template



for most readings in Los Angeles and Orange County today.)







Those were the days



before venues and readings closed,



gasoline prices climbed,



popular poets and hosts moved out of state



or left the Earth entirely,



remaining poets began feuding



and a quiet movement began



to encourage uniform standards of quality.



raise the bar for booking features



and discourage the kind of open mikes



that attracted musicians and comics.



For some, this was a great notion







Oracles said that it was good for poetry.



I heard phrases like "layers of meaning"



used ad nauseum.







And other poets said not to complain



about changes in the scene--



or other poets themselves.



For it was perceived as



causing the entire scene



to suffer grievously



from intemperate words.







And today, there are fewer venues.



And just a few poets with power--



some of them use it more generously



than others.







Recently, there was a rainstorm



in Santa Monica.



It wasn't as strong as an El Nino.



And people did come to the reading--



but not nearly as many



as on a torrential night



thirteen years before.

A shoutout to the website of SoCal poet Jerry Garcia.

No, he's not the late guitar-and-vocal legend of a certain Northern California band.

Jerry Garcia's another one of the class acts of SoCal poetry (involved with the Valley Contemporary Poets)--and if you haven't made his acquaintance, here's your chance:
http://www.gratefulnotdead.com/