Everybody, it’s National Poetry Day! What does that mean? Nothing, really, other than that people who probably identify as “definitely uninterested” in poetry — and this is probably most people, sadly — are once again reminded of its existence. So, hey. Here’s a poem by James Schuyler called “The Bluet.” And here is a good not-really-poetry book by Maggie Nelson called “Bluets.” Oh, there’s also a poetry quiz, in case you need to be called back to junior year of high school. Hurrah, poetry exists. Now read it.
You know, poetry can be about bluets, but it can also be, and often is, about love. Oftentimes love gone wrong, even. Heart crushingly, soul wrenchingly wrong. So, on that note, NYMag’s Science of Us wrote about a recent survey of college students who have conflicting — or, as they’ve written, paradoxical — expectations of what exactly a Friends With Benefits arrangement is. The answer? Nothing and everything. (As with this article, poetry, too, aims to unearth the truth of all things in Life.)
And what is key in straight and/or male homosexual love?
Junk. Gonads. Balls. Unfortunately, these things are important, and are in fact, in one way or another, responsible for all of us. And so they MUST be protected. And what better a way to protect our balls than for famous men, such as Hugh Jackman, to cup their balls in the palms of their hands, which themselves were sprung from the balls of some other man? (Maybe wearing loose-fitting underwear, avoiding high levels of radiation, playing only non-contact sports, avoiding crotch-height obstacles.)
Now, I know. I know. More important things are happening in the world. Contagion is becoming a reality. Ebola has landed in the United States and, while the current reality of it may not be that bad, the potential is scary. As this New York Times article begins, “There is Ebola. And there is fear of Ebola.” And, while there may only be one confirmed case of Ebola in the United States, there are probably 300 million likely, but unconfirmed, cases of people being super afraid of catching Ebola in the United States. Scary stuff, right?
Right. But not as scary as Randy and Evi Quaid, who, for at least the past decade, have been living on the run from what they believe is an evil sect of Hollywood that is trying to kill them. Now you might be thinking, “What does Randy Quaid have to do with poetry?” Nothing. But isn’t that the whole point?
Now here is Kristen Wiig reading Suzanne Somers’ book of poetry, which is a real thing.