Tag Archives: Critique

BUT IS IT POETRY? // a Pissed off Muse

Do you think
that your Muse is dead?
Balderdash!
She is tired.
She is just flat on her ass.
Yes! Dash it all, yes!

She couldn’t bear
your endless snivel,
hysterics,
binge drinking…
You, pathetic Creator!
She dumped you, dumbass!

Two talented lines
aren’t worth two wasted years… yes.
Muses can fuck up.

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TONY: Tati, have you ever been pissed off?

Tati doesn’t answer. She keeps looking to the door.

TONY: Tati?

Still no answer.

TONY: TATI!

TATI: Huh? Yes, of course. Every time you ask a silly question.

TONY: Hey! All of my questions are individual quests for truth! Don’t be dissin’ my questions, man!

TATI: I’m not a man.

TONY: Anyway, there’s this really cool poem you wrote once. It’s called ‘a Pissed off Muse’. Do you remember it?

Tati looks at the wall clock, then says with a petulant gesture…

TATI: Yes, I do. I’m not such a leaky head. Not like someone I could mention in this room…

TONY: Hey! I only forget the stuff that’s not worth remembering!

TATI: Uh hum… Indeed, why should you stuff your head with nonsense like the due date for our tax returns, or when to pay for municipal services?

TONY: Look, I don’t mind living without electricity sometimes, and since when have we ever earned enough to pay taxes?

TATI: Well, this time I’m going to agree with you.

Tati keeps flitting her eyes between the clock and the door, then glances out the window.

TATI: So, do you really think it’s a cool poem?

TONY: I do! I think it’s bitchin’!

TATI: Uh hum… Well… Thank you, I suppose. May I ask why you recalled it just out of the blue?

TONY: Well, it strikes me that no one ever asks the muse if they even want to be a muse in the first place, and your poem seems to reflect this. It presents the muse’s viewpoint.

This seems to get Tati’s attention. She looks at Tony for a moment.

TATI: Yes. By the way, Tony, did you know that ‘muse’ can mean not only a source of inspiration but a creator or poet also?

TONY: Oh. Really? That… That doesn’t sound quite right…

TATI: Why?

TONY: Because muses are usually only presented as some kind of insipidly romanticised ‘source of inspiration’ (to use your words). But the whole thing’s not so romantic really, is it?

Tati’s eyes have gone back to the door.

TATI: Sigh. Never mind. Do you have a muse?

TONY: Nope. Why reduce someone to nothing more than a source of inspiration for my creative endeavours? They don’t exist purely to orbit and nurture my every brain fart, do they?

TATI: Not everyone is such an egoist, Tony! ‘Nurture my every fart.’ Many creators take their muses as higher beings, not mere servants of their creative labours.

TONY: I’m not so convinced! I can’t shake the feeling that a lot of muses are mere extensions of their creators’ egos, and therefore not considered to be the higher beings you sugge—Hey! Are you listening at all? I said ‘my every brain fart’, not ‘my every fart’!

TATI: No. I don’t sleep.

TONY: Huh?!

Tati shakes her head, as if to clear it, then continues to give the door, clock and window her full attention.

TONY: See?! You’re not listening!

TATI: Not at all. Pardon? Oh, of course, you have my undivided attention.

TONY: Are you sure? I’ve been talking to your nape for the last bleedin’ hour!

Tati sighs.

TATI: I only wonder if we can talk about something else…

TONY: Okay. Fine. What would you prefer?

There’s a knocking at the door.

TATI: Wait! Do you hear that?

TONY: You bet your sweet bippy. I wonder who it can be?

Tati starts to fuss around a bit. She goes to a cupboard and pulls out some slippers, then runs to the kitchen to brew some tea. When this is done, she brings out a huge pile of fresh newspapers and tosses them on the table.

TATI: Okay, could you get the door, Tony? I think that may be for me.

Tony answers the door. A huge, glistening penguin wearing a monocle and biting down on a pipe enters the house, brushing past him like he’s not there. It waddles towards the kitchen, its pipe leaving a trail of soap bubbles.

TONY: Oh, of course. Now I understand who serves whom, my Dear Genius.

TATI: Hush! Don’t piss off the Muse!

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2018

BUT IS IT ART? // Toast of London

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TATI: “Hup, hup!” I remember this one, Tony!

TONY: You do? I guess that means you like it, huh?

TATI: Yes, I do! I even remember we wrote a little silly poem for this picture. Do you remember it?

TONY: “Three little Soldiers stand in a row,
Two stand straight and the other bends low.
Along comes the Sergeant and what do you think?
Off pops her halter, quick as a wink.

Bless them and their tiny bazooms,
Their strap-on guns and primed vavooms.
Four little Soldiers ready to blow,
To make sweet jiggy and war not sow.”

TATI: Hee hee hee… exactly. Well, now I’m going to be deadly serious. Where are their epaulettes?

TONY: Eppa—what? I’m not sure what you mean.

TATI: And I’m not sure about ‘bazooms’ and ‘vavooms’.

TONY: Well. Erm. Ahem. Why don’t you just google those, Tati?

TATI: So google ‘epaulette’ and don’t ask questions!

TONY: Okay! Okay! Yeesh…

TATI: Have you served in the military?

TONY: I’m relieved to say that I haven’t.

TATI: I won’t blame you for that. Neither have I. What inspired you to draw this image? Why soldiers?

TONY: There’s a British sitcom that I absolutely adore called Toast of London. It has an opening title sequence that features marching girls, and it’s such a striking visual that I wanted to draw my own version of it.

TATI: Do you consider military girls sexy?

TONY: Generally, no. I don’t have a weird fetish for them or anything. I just like these particular military girls. There’s something undeniably sexy about the way they march across the screen in their bearskin hats and brief bikinis. And there’s something oddly compelling about their flat chests too.

TATI: Poor bears! I protest!

TONY: Well, you have a point there. Those hats are made from the skins of real American black bears. It’s a bit cruel to be sure.

TATI: A bit?! It’s outrageously cruel!

TONY: Yes, a poor choice of word on my part…

Tati runs away, leaving a thick dust trail behind her. Tony blinks in confusion.

TONY: I’ll never understand this flighty girl…

Tati rushes back with a piece of paper and shoves it under Tony’s nose. He blinks some more.

TONY: Erm… what is this?

TATI: A petition! Sign it! Now!

TONY: What’s it for? To get more flat chested women on telly?

Tati hits Tony over the head with the petition. He gives her a confused look.

TONY: What?! It’s a worthy cause!

TATI: Will you sign it or not?

TONY: Fine! Razzin’ frazzin’…

Tony begrudgingly signs the petition. Tati then snatches it from his hand and rushes out the door. He calls after her.

TONY: So… can I post my drawing on our blog?

Faintly, Tati’s voice comes from far away.

TATI: Not on your nelly!

Tony smiles to himself.

TONY: Did she say more flat chested women on telly? I think so. Excellent!

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2018

BUT IS IT POETRY? // Horn-rimmed glasses

Just jabbering. Beating a rhythm. Messing with common sense.

Murdering a language… grammatically semi-dense.

A holy fool…

Allowing unallowable. Well… omissible… fuck it!

Set punctuation marks! Correct my torn jeans and my sanskrit!

A holy fool…

Don’t listen to me, please! Don’t call my bluff! Don’t yield to my magic!

It’ll not be my blame if you hear something essential and tragic.

A holy fool…

God forbid! Something that you were always afraid to say.

Oops… me and my potty mouth… I put my foot in it… hey!

A holy fool…

Healthy people shrug shoulders… a set of words isn’t usable.

Are you sick? Do you think that my words are excusable?

A holy fool…

There are people… they hear perfectly… how a heart talks to a heart.

Well… Putting on my horn-rimmed glasses. Just wanna look more smart…

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TONY: Well, I have no idea.

TATI: Well, why am I not surprised?

TONY: Jabbering. Holy fools. Glasses. What does it all mean?

TATI: The thing that you sometimes put on your nose is called ‘glasses’. ‘Jabbering’ is talking in a rapid, excited, and often incomprehensible way.

TONY: And ‘holy fools’?

TATI: ‘Holy fools’… Hmmm… Foolishness for Christ. Are you familiar with this term?

TONY: Of course I am. I used to engage in such foolishness. I just wasn’t sure if this is initially what you meant.

TATI: Yes, this is what I meant.

TONY: Okay, so is this poem ‘Horn-rimmed glasses’ a commentary on religion?

TATI: Of course no! I used ‘holy fools’ in a figurative sense.

TONY: So who are the ‘holy fools‘ in this poem?

TATI: People, who aren’t afraid to be themselves. Who aren’t afraid to express their feelings and thoughts openly. Who aren’t afraid to go against the mainstream.

TONY: Ah, I see! These are the people that are thought of as ‘holy fools’ by the rest of society, and all because they refuse to conform.

TATI: Yes, but it isn’t aggressive provocation. It’s not an open protest. They just can’t live any other way.

TONY: Which is what you mean by the line: ‘There are people… they hear perfectly… how a heart talks to a heart.’

TATI: Yes. Empathy. Compassion. Acceptance.

TONY: Wow. I’m reading this poem again and… well, it makes so much sense to me! Tati, this might be one of your best!

TATI: Really? But you said it has no sense.

TONY: I think I was just a little too dense to get it at first.

TATI: Maybe it was me who was too messy in expressing my thoughts?

TONY: Perhaps that’s the point. By being messy you were sidestepping all the rules of conventional poetry, and forging a path all your own. You were being a ‘holy fool’. So cool!

TATI: Do you praise me? Oh my!

TONY: Totes! I wanna be your acolyte!

TATI: Okey dokey. It’s easy. Take these glasses and tell me what you’re thinking. Try it now.

TONY: Erm…

TATI: Come on! I haven’t got all day!

TONY: I’m thinking!

TATI: Think out loud!

TONY: I’m thinking that these glasses make me look like Elton John, and appear smarter than I actually am!

TATI: Hmmm… Are you sure you put the glasses on correctly? Not upside down?

TONY: Well, isn’t upside down the correct way to wear them? It means I’m doing things differently then, which is entirely the point of your poem!

TATI: No… see, that’s the tricky part. Pride. Hubris. Have you felt sometimes that you’re better than other people?

TONY: Shamefully, yes. But only sometimes.

TATI: So, put the glasses on the right way. Don’t try to be better than the others.

TONY: Oh wow! Now I look like Bono! Is that a good or a bad thing?

TATI: Are you saying that Bono is merely Elton standing on his head?

TONY: I’m not sure what I’m meant to be saying.

TATI: See? You’re getting it!

TONY: Am I?

TATI: Don’t strain so hard, Tony. You do not need to take yourself seriously.

TONY: But…

TATI: Don’t blame me if you hear something essential and tragic. It’s your choice, not mine.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2018

BUT IS IT ART? // Unsung Beauty

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This was supposed to be another ‘But is it Art?’, but it didn’t quite turn out that way.

As always, Tati came to the party in a pugnacious mood, ready to smash Tony with her witty questions. And, boy, did she ever! They discussed women’s bodies and women’s rights. They even discussed Greek mythology and Tony’s childhood. (One could almost say that these sound pretty similar, at least whenever Tony talks about his childhood.)

During the discussion Tati called Tony ‘a misogynist creep’ and Tony called Tati ‘a good egg’. They used the word ‘fuck’ one time, and the word ‘breast’ three times. Tati even taught Tony a new word. Yep. ‘Litotes’.

Well, anyway…

The post was ninety percent ready, but then suddenly this pain in the ass that is called ‘Tati’ declared that everything discussed so far was bullshit. She claimed that actually there was nothing to discuss and that they were wasting their time. Tony nearly broke down crying. (Okay, he actually did.)

So, what did Tati then do? She scribbled a short poem and ran away. When Tony finished blubbering and dried his manly tears, he read the poem…

…then cried some more. Such beautiful sentiments! Tati did have a warm, beating heart full of emotions after all! Aw! Tony decided to run this on the blog anyway. (And began to plot his revenge for the next ‘But is it Poetry?’ discussion.)

ВензельMedusa (asps lick her tears away)

a comb has lost its cuspids
a myth has lost its essence
a maiden is stuck between
youth and senescence
Вензель_нижний

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2018

BUT IS IT POETRY? // Sunhibitionism

Midday bends
over a city
thoughtlessly,
sun nipple
slips out of cloudy brassiere
shamelessly. It’s hot.

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TONY: Wow. This poem’s as hot as I feel!

TATI: Really? Kewl…

(Tati sniffles. Her nose is very runny and red.)

TATI: Ahhh… ahhh… AH CHOO!

(Tony wipes himself off.)

TONY: Lovely. All. Over. Me. Thanks for that.

TATI: You’re welcome, Tony.

TONY: Could you maybe sneeze upwind in future? Anyway, let’s discuss this poem of yours. It’s called ‘Sunhibitionism’.

TATI: Yea… AH CHOO!

(Tony wipes himself off again.)

TATI: Sorry. That was upwind this time.

TONY: Good freakin’ god. It’s like sitting next to a sprinkler.

(Tati gives Tony a helmet.)

TATI: Will you ask me after all?

TONY: About the poem?

(He puts the helmet on.)

TONY: If I can just get a word in with all this projectile snot flyin’ about then yes, I will ask after all.

TATI: And…?

TONY: What made you think of equating weather patterns with the imagery of a woman bending over?

TATI: It was a cloud. Its shape reminded me of a bra… ah CHOO!

TONY: Thank the very Christ for this helmet.

(Tony wipes his visor off.)

TONY: So, do clouds often make you think of women’s undergarments, Tati? Are you some kind of pervert?

TATI: What? Of course no! If a cloud looks like a teddy bear, will you accuse me of liking bestiality too?

TONY: Well, I don’t know what kinkiness goes on inside your head.

TATI: Tony, are we discussing the poem here, or are you trying to fish out my hidden desires?

TONY: Oh, so you do it with fish now? What a sicko…

TATI: Are you going to discuss poetry after all, you freaking pervert? What about my use of imagery, metaphor, and meter? AHHH… CHOO!

(Tony wipes his visor off.)

TONY: You’re sneezing on me on purpose now, aren’t you…

(He takes off his shirt and wrings it dry. Tati sniffles.)

TATI: Dear Readers, because Tony is being extremely objectionable today, let me take up the reins.

TONY: Says the woman who sprays everything with mucous.

TATI: It’s a shadorma.

TONY: Is that what they’re calling it these days?

TATI: What’s that?

TONY: Snot. Shadorma. Must I spell this out?

TATI: Oh, hell. No! It’s a poetic form. Not what your sore fantasy suggests. And if you dare to call yourself a poet, you had better learn some theory!

TONY: Theory? Damn. Then I guess I’m no poet after all. I hardly know any theory when it comes to writing my poems.

TATI: AH CHOO! By the way… do you know? Whenever you say something and someone else sneezes at the same time, it means you are telling the truth.

TONY: I guess it’s confirmed then. I’m a hack.

TATI: Oh. Don’t you want to say, “Bless you?”

TONY: You’re like a cat, Tati. You always manage to land on your feet no matter how far you fall. I’m pretty sure you don’t need a blessing!

TATI: Sunhibitionism.

TONY: Are you sneezing again?

TATI: No, it’s a broad hint.

TONY: To talk about the actual poem, yes?

TATI: Hallelui… ah… ah… AH CHOO!

TONY: Good grief. Okay, so if the sun is like a nipple, is that why we’re often dissuaded from looking at it? It’s too rude, so we might go blind if we do?

TATI: Of course. It’s so mushy little boys like you, Bubby Tony, can continue to play with their toy soldiers… and don’t hide another issue of Playboy under your pillows.

TONY: Are you saying I’m too immature to appreciate your poem?

TATI: Yes, I think so. You’re focused on details and don’t see the whole picture. It’s like you giggle at the nakedness of Venus de Milo, or David. Or poke your finger at Madonna Litta. Ahhh… ahhh… AH CHOO!

TONY: So, is this a commentary on society’s collective shame regarding sexuality? Is that what you’re referring to here? And since when did you begin comparing your poems with the works of such masters? Not that I’m saying your poems aren’t worthy of scrutiny…

TATI: Oh my god! Really?! Was I able to drag you back to the main point of our discussion?

TONY: Hey, I’m perfectly capable of have an intelligent conversation y’know!

TATI: Says the man with a helmet on his head, and sprinkled all over with mucous shadorma!

TONY: Excuse me all to hell then! I’m off to have a much needed shower…

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2017