A SPIN-AUGURAL POEM

Introduction to the Spin-Augural Poem

Some commentators relished yesterday’s inaugural poem, commenting on it as a fitting tribute to the "shame" [oh grumble, grumble] of George W. Bush’s presidency. Others, left and right agreed: it was pretty lame. Read the real poem if you wish, and commentary from congenial sources; links are at the bottom of this post. For those who’d prefer my take, read on.

Let me put it this way: when I was in high school, I remember taking our foreign exchange student to movies, and we went to see the movie “Darkman.” I think this movie was meant to be a serious action thriller, but my foreign exchange student and I laughed throughout the entire movie, it was so bad. Well, yesterday I listened to quite a bit of the inaugural poem and had a similar feeling. This was not good poetry. My feelings were only affirmed when I heard Michael Medved remarking on how bad it was. A few fragments in an entirely different poem might be salvageable, and a poet in doubt can always pull in a quote from FAR SUPERIOR literature (it wouldn't be a contest) just to be safe, as she briefly quotes the Bible once. Of course, she constrasts that quote with something less than timeless. Whatever her intent, we solemnly wish her well. May she write better poetry; I'm sure she's capable, but versus yesterday's poem, we’ll take “Rime of the Ancient Mariner” or "The Raven" any day. I thought I'd write my own, with a proper made up pen-name of course. So, without further ado, I present this first, Spin-Augural Poem!

A Spin-Augural Poem

By Dye-Anne Spamjello (Mrs. Johnson’s 3^rd grade homeroom). (not my real name)

"Indigestion Melody"

I went to work today, carrying a newspaper, watching a man scrape gum off his shoe. I think I hear a handheld music device, maybe an mp3 player. Someone needs to turn it down. Over in the bushes, a wadded up piece of trash. In Milwaukee, someone shoveling a drive, turning a vehicle, writing a sentence, eating a donut.

What on earth is that grumbling? It’s my stomach. Someone is trying to row a boat with an iron spatula, a stereo console, a random piece of toast, a green-tinted saxophone.

Look, there’s a hungry realtor!

Meanwhile just eat your peanuts; a hall monitor in San Diego says, “Quit picking on Johnny!” I think I ate a potato!

Over there we shop for carpet, listening to colors, shouted from doorways, remembering, forgetting.

I think I’m going to buy that book that author wrote, regardless of whether you eat your clam chowder.

We all like to have a good time, make money, fish on Tuesdays, listening to things we cannot taste.

Preach it Cinderella! Our ancestors did stuff like this. Changing tires, shampooing poodles, reading novellas, sanding pinewood racing cars. Who ate the last pizza? Walking up concrete steps, sentence fragments, grammatical errors;!”

Having indigestion. Gurbling belly. Need antacid. Only sensical thoughts telephone directory.

[Random, but logical quote from a historical text here]

[Contrasted with mindless pop-culture quote here]

Why not buy commodities? Seriously, the toilet is overrunning. Lay down towels. Grab a plunger.

Sinking of a Spanish galleon, in the Pacific, in the Caribbean, in the Indian Ocean.

Someone help my indigestion. Trail off indecisively.

(This was a poem by Dye-Anne Spamjello. (Not my real name.))*

*(Actually written by Cal Samuel August. Copyright 2009. All rights reserved.)

Links for the curious:

Washington Post commentary on the actual inaugural poem.

Text of the actual inaugural poem, New York Times.