Bad Poetry and Good Women at Columbia.
Thursday evening, Columbia University's Philolexian Society, est. 1802, convenes in the school's Kraft Center for Jewish Life for its 15th Annual Joyce Kilmer Memorial Bad Poetry Contest. Kilmer, Columbia College class of 1906 and a Philolexian of his time, critic of modernism and infamous Great Bad Poet, remains most infamous for his classic "Trees," wherein he muses that he shall never see a poem lovely as etc., etc. More than 70 poets present their work to a standing-room-only crowd.
Andy Lewenwall (or so it sounded like), fruit from rich Columbia soil in blue shirtsleeves, light Dockers and the inevitable sideburns, reads "Love":
Liver damage like David Crosby
OBGYN?the loneliest, most unlikely doctor
Equestrians
Really hot girls
Your reporter notes supersaturation of vests (fleece, marshmallow), floor-length skirts, turtlenecks, loafers, glasses, sculpted facial hair. Reporter notes absence of introverted frump-poet archetype.
Yarmulked Jonathan Harris reads "Ode to My Sleek, Sexy, Silver Cellphone":
I love my sleek, sexy cellphone
Silver, not black
I put my phone on Vibrate
And feel it love me back
A student known, apparently, as Duuuuuuuuude reads from "Stupid Ugly People":
And in these times
When life is bad
And mirrors tell me shit
I turn to ugly
Stupid folks
To pick me up a bit
Clear audience favorite. Several Philos, as they are known, unleash cultish moan of acclaim: "Rrrrrrrahhh!"
Blonde whose underwear reporter has been admiring from behind launches thumbs-up. Reporter visually traces outline of bra strap underneath blonde's aquamarine mock turtleneck. Approvingly notes alluring crescent of supple flesh of lower back, visible between sweater's terminus and upper reaches of lace unmentionable.
A woman ("This goes out to all of y'all who've seen The Pillow Book"?hoots of affirmation) reads "The Celestial Gravitational Pull of Ewan McGregor's Penis":
The celestial gravitational pull of Ewan McGregor's penis
The sheer size of it...
Wiener
Shlong
Ewan
Reporter remarks ass of stunning dark-haired woman in wine-colored slip of a dress, trained at him from 10 yards away. Woman is beautiful. Ass is beautiful. Reporter repositions himself in proximity to her nearly overripe bounty, and begins deeply to understand the poem about Ewan. Reporter notes chestnut locks, awash over bare shoulders. Beneath her dress, underwear pinches ass. Nebbishy Jew beside her?Brillo-haired, red-sweatered, brown-loafered, bespectacled, thoroughly undeserving?touches her indiscreetly. Reporter notes his own white-hot anger, his jealously, his visceral hatred. Begins to acclimate. (Reporter is also a Jew; sees himself in nebbish, identifies with nebbish. Play on, Playah.)
Indignant reporter concedes and stakes out original position.
"I Hate Everyone Except for You," by Anonymous. (Reporter ignores author's name, paying?as he once again must?the necessary attention to the original blonde's scandalous crescent of exposed dorsal flesh):
The guy slammed the door on my
Foot
It really
Really hurts
But you
You brought me ice cream
With sprinkles
Rainbow
I hate everyone except for you...
Your lips were like honey
Your teeth
Like pearls in honey
Reporter notes that, providentially, the next poet is same chestnut-maned, nebbish/squid-loving beauty at whom he'd earlier leered. Her name: Dalia Ravakas (or whatever). She sings her entry, the first of many about the election, to the tune of "Gilligan's Island":
Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale
A tale of a fateful trip
It started when an ex-fratboy
tried to launch his political ship...
Audience obliges with call-and-response at appropriate points. Reporter forgives Dalia for insufficiently wretched poem. Nebbish applauds and fulsomely embraces Dalia as she leaves the platform. A bodice ripper, this one.
Anonymous, "A Poem that Is Easy on My Throat":
Smooth, soft and low-key...
Blonde turns now, finally offering reporter full frontal view. Reporter adjudges rear view superior.
This is a poem that will help Tom Waits recover
This poem does not contain the name
Of the guy who wrote Faust
Instead
I put in words like
Jejune
Chanson
This poem does not get loud and angry
Because it does not
Have a problem with things
It's a lot like Gandhi
Without the big ideas
Guy in gray blazer and black turtleneck reads "Lerner Arcade, You Suck Like Chupacabra." (Much agreement; pre-recitory applause):
I'm not about to turn this whole twenty into quarters
You gotta give me some singles, baby
Gray-blazered guy mentions name of certain campus library, too fast for reporter to note. Reporter petitions Dalia for name, bending to allow the creature unmediated access to his ear. Her breasts, which flirt with spillage, buoyed as they are by crossed arms, enthrall him. (Name of library lost to posterity.)
Anonymous, "An Epic Poem Concerning Loving 13 Men and Dumping Them All":
I have more fun than you anyway...
Suddenly, reporter sees girl with whom he once shared furtive escapade. Time, weather, academe?these have taken moderate to heavy toll. He is not spotted. Walls close in.
Four through seven
I'll spare the speech
It's not that they're not special
They lasted one night each
Number eight showed promise
A catch I thought I'd got
"I'm a little dry down there, babe"
A Hoover I am not.
At 10:55, judges present awards. Announcements of post-contest symposium, with sangria. Factions materialize. Conversation. Dalia mobbed by men. One passes, trips, touches her egregiously, apologizes. Intercepted by friend: "Dude, you can't please her."
"I know."
Oath-swearing, and a recital of "Trees."
Coat obscures Dalia's body.