Towards the end of the month, I’m told that the “English Literature Society” on campus is hosting a poetry reciting event, in which you get pledges to sponsor your poem. The money goes toward PEN Canada, an organization which “defend[s] freedom of expression and raise[s] awareness of that right.” To boot, my Canadian Lit professor has offered any students who participate in it a bonus 5% to our end-of-year mark. All participants have to do is memorize a poem, and recite in front of… however many people there will be there. I get the impression there won’t be many, but I may be pleasantly surprised. I was surprised today to find most of my classmates are too chicken to do this. It’s an easy 5%, but I suppose they’re all young and worried about what the world might think of their half-formed ideas. But it sounds like a pretty supportive community. I’m a stage actor, (one of my many talents), so I’m not afraid of speaking in front of any number of people. I’d address the entire world if I could, if only they would listen. Then again, I suppose if that does happen, I’d better damn well have something profound to say. Or something entertaining, possibly because it’s so profound, or conversely so profoundly stupid.
Now, I could either go the easy route, and use a classic piece from, say, Robert Frost, or Robert Browning, or Robert Hayden, or Robert Herrick, (apparently you’re really no one in the world of poetry unless your first name is “Robert”), or I could get creative and write my own. I’ve chosen the latter. “A poem,” by Robert Blackheart. Obviously I have to actually write a poem first, and given my current track record on extracurricular writing, I’d say I’m in for a challenge.
I’ve got a Japanese test tomorrow and presentation due the following day, so naturally I felt compelled to blog about it instead of actually do it. O wretched, procrastinating student mind. O cursed dodger of responsibility. Get thee to a nunnery. Or something like that. A poem by William Blackheart.
If I haven’t written something worth reciting by Sunday, I’ll just admit defeat and pick a damn Robert Frost poem. No! A William Topaz McGonagall poem. His stuff is effing hilarious. He’s the epitome of “so bad, it’s good.” And on that note I’ll leave you all with a link to one of my favorites of his works, “The Demon Drink.”