In which Sam and Erin ruin poetry for everyone

[x_los]

Sam: I'm listening to a recorded version of "Howl" - Ginsberg sounds like a minister

me: ...ahaha, oh god, how awkward. Now I have a dry, Lutheran pastor!voice doing his 'Please Master' poem in my head--specifically the 'stuffed buffalo' tones of my old confirmation pastor
thanks, Sam.

Sam: :)
I'm glad I could ruin this for you
yup - a Lutheran Minister, definitely

me: Sam: Destroyer of Poetry
possibly 'the Prosenator'

Sam: it is my goal to terminate all meter, to loosen all enjambment

me: To prop up all slant rhymes into a state of architectural stability
To copy edit EE Cummings and capitalize stuff

Sam: to add an extra syllable, just to throw off the count
Da

Me: to low-ku, if you will
To write Shakespearian sonnets about the horrors of postmodern crises of selfhood and TS Elliot odes to English summer. To give Sylvia Plath lovely oven mitts for her birthday.
To encourage her to stick with Ted Hughes and try to make it work, for the kids' sake...

Sam: to clarify all metaphors
To just say the Odyssey straight out
"It was a journey. He got laid at the end"

Me: to append to the end of 'stopping by the woods on the snowy evening' "AND SO I DIDN'T KILL MYSELF. I WENT TO THOREAU'S. WE ATE SUNCHIPS. AND DRANK TANG."
To attempt a strict Marxist analysis of all poems containing the phrase 'hey nonny nonny'
(Sam, I love Das Prozenator)
(Ezra-Pound it for these jokes)

Sam: "Das Prozenator?"
Oh, we are pounding, my friend
To make Freudian all things that came before 1900 (and after Freud was relevant)!

Me: he has to be German. Nothing can kill poetry more effectively than German--have you read phenomenological poetry? "Hearth and bread and Hegel, just dieeeeee."

…

Me: I totally dreamed a dream, but life has killed my dream? It's like being that whore from Les Miz... or Morpheus when his ship explodes in a shoddy Matrix sequel.
A comparison I rarely get to make.


…

Me: we can still be post-post-post-Modernists! Po^3Mo!

Sam: would that be full-circle? Or just some sort of freak figure eight. Maybe we've broken the dimensions completely
and arrived back at Lear: "The wheel has come full circle. I am here."
Dying... with a fucking sword through my stomach. Thanks, bro

Me: wow, if we've broken the writing development time line and are back at 'hey nonny nonny'... that's pretty much the fucking sword, yeah
Let’s quit, take up mime

Sam: or commedia dell'arte!

Me: we could do that! ...how's your Italian? molto benne?

Sam: can we settle for Marx Brothers?

Me: that's too far, Sam. We don't get Leapfrog Effect.
This isn't Civ II after you build Leonardo's Workshop...
Or a South East Asian technology sector...

Sam: fine then, I am prepared to take us all the way back to Lysistrata if I have to!

Me: no, no, not ham-fisted gender relations commentary! This is like all those nightmares where I travel back in time to the early 90s and have to write for Roseanne and lesbians only get to wear plaid flannel!
I don't look good in plaid!
anything but Lysistrata!