Tipplers, beware! Drunk Poets’ Society is when Lauren Paredes goes to bars, magnetic poetry in hand, looking for poets who don’t know it … yet.
I don’t know why some drinks lead the imbibed to become more philosophical than others. Like, for instance, the comped beverage I receive from the charming bartender downstairs at Russell House Tavern while I’m out for this week’s column. I take my prized freebie to a high top where Luna and I contemplate the gesture more than is probably necessary.
Luna entertains my questions like What made that nice man do that? and What is the taste of ‘free’? I feel as though I’m doing my part to set the poetic mood while she picks out the most intriguing words in the tin.
She notes how some of the words look up from the pile like they are begging to be used.
“Like ‘symphony’ for an example. It’s saying ‘Use me, pleeease?’ And I’m saying, ‘No, I know you’ve been around the block too many times.’”
I find this incredibly profound, and for a moment the man in the blue sequined shirt (who has been eavesdropping on our discussion) agrees with me.
Luna and I discuss the lack of punctuation in magnetic poetry sets. “Without question marks it is hard to sound interrogative,” she says, “But the ampersand exists in conjunction with the ‘and’, and it’s nice to have that choice here.” Our thoughts meander to the idea of having conversations through poetry.
“I have a weird obsession with speaking in second person when I write. But I don’t know who I’m addressing exactly.”
Ah, yes. The ever-shifting someone; this is one of life’s central quandaries, and I am sure we are exploring it at this point. We both laugh at the words ‘man juice’ that are paired quietly on the table. It’s a phrase that knows that it doesn’t need to beg in order to be noticed.
And suddenly we are back to being two buzzed twenty-somethings at a bar on a school night.
