Monday, June 13, 2005

Yesterday, the Printers Row reading. I'm not sure why, but it seemed a little lackluster. It may have been the drab windowless crammed room lacking which reminded me of a classroom. The hideous, uncomfy chairs, and the flourescent lights. Or maybe that everyone went over the time they were supposed to read, and sadly the people I would have liked to have heard more from were the only ones who half followed the rules and the rather awful ones went on FOREVER. I also felt a bit bad about subjecting my non-poetry inclined parents to it, and I kept looking over to see if they were still conscious.

I wound up reading first and only did six short pieces, mostly new, but a couple from belladonna. Everyone seemed to respond well, but the energy was still high at that point and no one squirming in their chairs. By the end, I wanted to hang myself from the overhead projector.


Jenny Hill said...

Why don't people follow the time limits? It ruins it for everyone when people hog the mic.

J.J. said...

Either people don't rehearse (which I think happens a lot) or they just don't care (which I think happens even more). And I think it is precisely because of such concerns that we Gentle Readers get shunted off to a "secure location" too far from the real action.

Beatriz Badikian, the Closer, was the peak for me. Elegant, concise, powerful. It was the end and I still WISH she would have gone over her time limit.