Reading at Obejvak

A bit behind on the old blogging as I came home late last night, well, late for me, that is, it was almost midnight, and I was high as hell. Had just come from a poetry reading. Then, this morning, couldn’t get signed onto the internet. Don’t know what’s up with that, Helena found a kind of back door connection so I guess that even as I sit at my keyboard and type now, the internet is reading it as if I am on my phone. I’m cool with that, and the regular connection will get fixed eventually.
The poetry reading was nice, a lot of musicians, which adds to things greatly, a new space, which is essentially an art gallery but there is a big overlap between people who like poetry and people who like art. Also, the whole front was open, like a space big enough to pull a truck in, so there were lots of people gathered in front who had a perfectly good view of the stage, and it was much cooler after the sun went down and a bit of a breeze kicked up.
I was introduced as ‘the inimitable’ Willie Watson and that’s cool, that’s a positive thing, I should be flattered by that, but I think it’s incorrect. I am pleased with my poetry, I think it’s good, and a worthy method of transferring the thoughts inside my head, but it’s imitable. In fact, it’s super imitable. I rhyme, I always use some kind of meter and very often the most standard ones, and I generally stick to words that are part of the English language. In that, I am in fact imitating the great poets of yore, from Percy Shelley to Shel Silverstein. And others will imitate me.
And that’s fine.