Does Eunoia annoy ya?

You're not alone.

In a recent digital edition of Chicago's Lake Forest College in-house organ, The Stentor, John TerMaat dishes up a comprehensive platter of chatter surrounding Canadian "sound poet" and artist-in-residence Christian Bök's "radical" performance as well as his contribution to an ensuing panel discussion concerning his contemporaries' lousy little poetry. Interesting reading, if that sort of reading interests you. Some in attendance called the events a success; others called them a failure to communicate meaningfully (and, by the sounds of it, it would seem I side with the lattersomes).

Everyone agreed on one point, however: Mr. Bök's a showman, firstly and foremostly. That's fine; but, what of the showman's work? Mr. Bök "said he simply doesn't think his life is interesting enough to be the subject of poetry. 'I [want] to be more like a scientist who [is] reverse-engineering some alien technology,' he said, describing the roots of his avant-garde style."

Isn't that clever? However, where did Mr. Bök get the idea poetry's chief subject is the poet his- or herself? Odd, to say the least.

Mr. TerMaat elaborates: . . . Bök read from Eunoia during a performance in the Lily Reid Holt Memorial Chapel. But even the single-vowel poems seemed down-right conventional compared to the sound-poetry he performed next, none of which contained any words at all. Some of this performance resembled the vocal-percussion sounds of "beat-boxing," but included a more expansive array of vocal sound, at one point varying to the point of whining and screeching.

O, I C. There's one born every minute, Mr. TerMaat means? In that case, I can relate: Squawnk! Yeoull! Aroo! Howwwwwwwwllllllll!!!!!!!!

There goes the blah-blah-blabberhood . . .

<*The Other Shoe Flops*>
p.s. Frank, M'Darlin' Dear? You don't want to hear what I really think, d'ya; I mean, really? (LOL)