There is little possibility that you’ll understand the way performance poetry gets to me, but I’ll try and tell you about it anyway. See, we were at Bardfly’s in Glebe last night, which is a poetry event organised by that Tug Dumbly guy everyone knows. Tomas was a featured poet, and since I was feeling restless I went in what the Sydney people call a poetry ’slam’; a series of 3-minute spoken word slots. Don’t think this is anything unusual, mind you - the fact is that poetry is easy to write and easy to read out. I do it all the time, and have developed quite an ego about it. But it’s my ego always gets me into all this trouble.

See, the ’slam’ is a competitive event (hell, all performances are competitive) and the fact is that I didn’t win. Didn’t even place. Wound up unmentioned, along with a guy who praised the church and a woman who sang a song mocking the church. Even the brain-damaged Samoan beat me, and he was kicked off stage multiple times.

So either I feel sorry for myself at this point or I rant. Hmmm.

I choose rant.

Tug Dumbly. If you don’t know him what kind of poetry-muffling rock have you been hiding under? But it still bears to be said that he’s a tool. A complete wanker. I mean I’m sure he’s a nice guy and all but as a poet he’s just unutterably annoying. He’s funny. He’s lighthearted. And to make it all worse, he’s popular. That just isn’t what I call poety, okay?! Dumbly and his cohorts turn what should be a place for darkness, depression and vain obscurity into a vulgar and commercially viable form of entertainment. Who comes along to heckle at poetry?! It’s just not done.

I guess what really shocks me is that poetry events are not like reading books. Live, the fragile things that work on paper don’t work anymore. And if you ask me what I prefer, then no screaming wanker can hold a candle to Walt Whitman’s gentle whisper, and no overdressed poser can equal old T.S. for sophistication.

But that’s just me. And don’t worry - I don’t hate you, Tug.

I don’t even hate that guy with the beret on Hey Hey It’s Saturday…

It’s Banjo Paterson I’ll never get over.

Cockhead.