- Derrick Brown
Do you hate poetry? I understand. There are few things more excruciating than sitting through a dull poetry
reading as your life flashes before your eyes and a stranger’s gently quavering voice is slowly burned into your psyche forever. If you have had this experience, I am sorry. If you hate poetry, I sympathize. Me too, sometimesโlike especially when smug Billy Collins is involved I MEAN REALLY OMFG I GET IT BILLY COLLINS YOU TOOK OFF EMILY DICKINSON’S CLOTHES, SO CLEVER, HAHA, ETC.
Whoa, sorry. What I meant to say is that if you’re open to finding poetry you might actually enjoy, I can’t think of a better poet to start with than Derrick Brown. Derrick Brown is a former paratrooper for the 82nd Airborne Division, and the brains behind Write Bloody Publishing, the just-outside-Austin-based press responsible for unleashing books like Karen Finneyfrock’s Ceremony for the Choking Ghost into the world. Brown’s poems have a great sad-to-funny ratio, contain many lovely images, and are never, ever stuffy or pretentious. He’s a great performer too, and knows how to read into a mic so you can hear him. Crazy, I know! He’s also the only poet I can think of to ever get a writeup in NYLON:
He is probably one of Americaโs greatest unknown literary talents. Derrick has blown honesty and humor into the darkness and has somehow made poetry cool again.
I can confirm that everything in that effusive description is true. If you’re ready to face your fear of poetry readings once and for all, this is your chance! I’m pulling for you!
Derrick Brown reads tomorrow night at Disjecta, as part of Back Fence PDX’s live storytelling series. He’s also reading on Sunday at the Independent Publishing Resource Center, Monday at Action/Adventure Theater, and Tuesday at Reading Frenzy, so you have plenty of chances. C’mon, it’ll be fun!


BILLY COLLINS & TEX RITTER AGREE
Billy Collins & Tex Ritter agree
this is the best kind of poetry.
You can squeeze its muscled flanks
with your whipcord thighs & ride it
whooping clear across the uncluttered
plains, into the Bitterroots or Rockies
with nary a stop for water or oats.
It’ll tote you from rouge sunrise to
purpled sunset, then whuff beside
you in the chill blue-black night
as you both gaze at the tiny pinpricks
of creation-fluff amazed at how far
a poem can go.
ยฉ RICHARD BEBAN 2006