There was a lot of music at last night’s
poetry reading / open mike; local talent,
guitar-slinging vigilantes with stories to tell.
Most of it was good, but then, I’m a sucker for
a live venue and an acoustic guitar. I need
to start playing more; yet another one of my
hobbies that gets shelved too often.
Tutoring french, briefly, last night, made me
recall years past of Tuesday and Thursday evenings
spent trying to help Americans speak a language
that would never be natural to them. I don’t
speak french very well, but it does feel natural to me;
like dancing, singing: things I’ve done for a long time now.
Last night I read my translation of Rimbaud’s Le Bateau Ivre;
a one-hundred line poem that was a precursor to surrealism;
and nearly managed to put everyone to sleep.
I was disappointed, though I understand that even though
I put months and months of work into that translation,
that doesn’t mean that anyone’s going to appreciate it.
This is why in every instance I try to do things
for myself as opposed to others; I’m my only critic whose
reaction is fairly guaranteed. I’ll stick to shorter,
more beat-driven prose for future readings; play it safe.
I’m beginning to get tired of meeting new people but
not really getting to know anyone. The world is filling
up with familiar strangers, people I can say “Hi” to in
the street but with whom I’ve never really conversed with.
Perhaps this is a symptom of a general disdain for small-talk
(though I do it fairly well these days), or a subconscious
desire to remain mysterious (oooh, the allure), or just a
basic lack of time and resources to spend all day hanging out
in the cafe (much as I’d like to). I’m in the familiar
situation of working with people that I like but with whom
I never speak outside of work; even after Tami and Mike broke
that trend for me in Ohio, though fairly late in the game.
It’s things like this that make me miss college: the
constant accessibility of a semi-interesting group of
peers that probably at least share a few interests with you
in the name of your common generation. Of course, I’m
surrounded by college students now too, and still don’t feel
like I have a whole lot in common with them; but then,
there are vast differences between my college experience
(Evergreen) and what the kids are like here. The two colleges
act like competitors, simply because they’re geographically
close, but in reality they couldn’t be any different from
each other. I’m still waiting for them to figure out that
I’m an agnostic existentialist and lynch me.
And as I’d sit upon my pyre, waiting to burn for my heathen
ways, I’d look down and see that it’s the sorority girls
standing before me with their packs of matches, turning my
cremation into a pledge ritual for their trendy, blonde rushes.
And as the lit match fell they’d turn to each other and say,
“Math is hard, let’s go shopping!”
Nothing scares me more than sorority girls.