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26/6/08 16:12Today I had an "open mic poetry cafe" at the library. With a small but enthusiastic audience. But as we were just starting, one of my best kids got into a slap-fight with her friend - in the way that's mostly playful, but still disruptive.
So I said, "Cut it out, or I am making you read the longest, hardest poem in this book" - Twentieth Century American Poetry.
"Okay," she said.
And she very gamely read the first half-dozen lines of Eliot's The Wasteland. Which may not be the longest, hardest poem in the book, but I wouldn't bet against it.
And then recommenced with the slap-fighting.
So I said, "Cut it out, or I am making you read the longest, hardest poem in this book" - Twentieth Century American Poetry.
"Okay," she said.
And she very gamely read the first half-dozen lines of Eliot's The Wasteland. Which may not be the longest, hardest poem in the book, but I wouldn't bet against it.
And then recommenced with the slap-fighting.
