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[constantine]

dear all of you,

i'm mr. poet - right? there isn't anything going on in this miserable hell hole called poetry that i don't know about - at least five years before you guys. let's get that straight from the jump.

signed,

mr. poet

[constantine]

from the desk of mr. poet:

people blinking in syncopation - something ain't kosher in denmark and it smells like a rat too. that mr. carruthers is on to something...

mrp

[constantine]

dear mr. poet,

i don't know if this means anything, but mr. carruthers got me to thinking. i used to work at jimmy wu's back when bird's nest soup was still on the menu. one evening, the place was packed, and there was a run on bird's nest soup - it was quite the rage back then. anyway, when the soup was served, each and every customer who had ordered it - even the regulars who used to spoon up that shit - got sort of slack-jawed and just stared at the soup until we closed for the night. and here's the weird part - not one of them blinked. they just sat there like slack-jawed idiots staring at the soup - as if, the soup was giving a post-hypnotic suggestion or a secret message that only they could hear. and, though they came in separately, they all left together in single-file as if by command.  at the time, i didn't think much of it because in the restaurant business you see a lot of shit - and at jimmy wu's you see even more shit than the regular shit you see at a regular restaurant. still, after mr. carruther's experience at a baltimore poetry reading, i thought that maybe, just maybe, these incidents somehow - though totally removed in time and setting - are connected in some mysteriously inscrutable manner. what do you think, mr. poet? tell me, what do you think?

signed,

friend of wu  

[dave eberhardt]

from "mr sopisstication":
La poesie: C'est comme si tu najeais profondeur autor d'un recif a la limite des abysses, et l'enorme flanc tachete d'une creature monstreuse passe endessous a penine visible. Est-ce dangereux our paisible? Cela provoque un sentiment de crainte- les belles taches! Tu te precipite vers la coque du bateau, et le guide experimente deja grissonant a jete une ancre pour l'attraper.
La chaine remonte coupee par une morsure, et c'etait une tres grosse chaine! "Quoi que ce soit?, ca l'a bouffe!"

[constantine]

go chase yourself

[constantine]

dear mr. poet,

it has been rumoured that you intend to return to baltimore to reclaim your rightful place as the godfather of baltimore poetics. i, for one, encourage you to do so, as baltimore is tired of same old schmooze hounds controlling everything they can fucking get their pink fleshy hands on. holding conferences and panel discussions, interviewing one another, giving each other grants and endowments, posing as some sort of literary vanguard, when anyone with any sense can see that they are in the wrong place at the wrong time. i mean really - look, just look, at those anemic bastards with their banal intellectualities and paltry poetic "performances"! is this the best we have to offer? smug, over-fed, upper-middle class twits, with ancient degrees from a by-gone era - lording it up at book fairs, coffeehouses, and retro clothing outlets. say no in the land of poe! clear the temple of the rabble!! mr. poet, do it for us - for we have suffered under their mawkish tyranny long enow!

signed,

the proletariat poet

[constantine]

dear the proletariat poet,

i too am bored with their incessant irrelevance and share your sense of moral - and righteous, i might add - outrage. enow is enow! we must be allowed to draw water from the well - or, we can seize the fucking well and be done with it. i prefer the latter and intend to do just that. i see a lot of talk, but i don't see no poetry. they've given up on that, as if they've proved something already. all they've proved is that you can pose as an authority without earning it - you can self-promote your ass to the moon in a town that doesn't know better. that's enough of that stuff! poetry comes from the bottom up, not from the top down. it is up to us to teach them the error of their ways.

signed,

mr. poet - the people's choice!

[BardmasterUB05]

Dear Mr Poet,
it takes a great audyssey (sp?...australian ?)to become a great poet, but we may have to cancel the knights of columbus thingy, too expensive, the peace protest gave it a famous name, now the mugs charge 4x what they normally would! shit aint never Right(sp?...aboriginesp?) in this art! have you heard about all the dentures they found at the damn place?

Sydney Lemar

[constantine]

dear sydney lemar,

lemar? that rings a bell... you aren't related to hedley lamar by any chance - the "button girl" of hymen (i love typing that!) roth?

signed,

mr. poet

[BardmasterUB05]

Dear Mr Poet,
I see that all the pension poets are asleep at the wheel? Have you ever witnessed them snoring at readings?

Sincerely,
Mr Bookstore Java

[constantine]

dear mr bookstore java,

it had to happen sooner or later - they managed to put themselves to sleep with their own tired poetry.

signed,

mr. poet - the people's choice!

[constantine]

... mr. poet - the people's choice!!!...

[constantine]

dear mr. poet,

so what do you think of baltimore now that you're back? do you love it - has it changed much - give us the straight dope!

signed,

crazy annie

[BardmasterUB05]

Dear Mr Poet,
Do you think this town deserves a few pats on the back? I still believe rockfish can survive in the harbor. Hey, was that a bit of someone's arm we saw by the waters edge the other day? the one with crabs attached. One of Jack's victims? I believe his preference was the cutter, am I correct? That was a delightful lunch.

Sincerely,
The Lawful Rifleman

[constantine]

dear the legal rifleman,

the question is not whether i love baltimore, but, more importantly, does baltimore love mr. poet? i don't see no love - no grand welcome - no parade, no accolades, no tv guest spots - not even a crumby piece of baklava for baltimore's favorite son! a pox on this town!!

signed,

mr. poet