Is that a poem in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?

If you’re reading this on Thursday, April 29, you’re in luck. Today is National Poem in Your Pocket Day! You won’t get a day off. You likely won’t even have a BBQ. But it’s an important day anyway.
To be honest, when I first heard about Poem in Your Pocket Day, I rolled my eyes. Ugh, I thought, another cheesy, over sincere attempt to force poetry relevance down the poetry doubter’s throats. But you know what, after reading some of the Poem in Your Pocket celebration suggestions, I’ve changed my mind. It’s actually kind of anti-establishment, and I like it!
Before I get into the why, how about a little history? I make a lot of noise about the importance of language, the adherence to tradition and respecting the classic form and style of the poem – all things most modernist poetry and slam is sadly lacking.
I’ve written a lot the past couple weeks about what poetry should not be. It is not about some guy shouting at you at a coffee house. It is not about hating your parents. Or a starving artist. Or being shocking. Or vampires.
It’s bigger than that, and whether it’s classical or modern, the poem’s the thing. The great masters don’t actively try to be different. They just are different. Above caring. Poetry – the really good poetry that makes you change your life – is like that.
What I do like about modern poetry is its spirit. The best slammers – like Jack McCarthy who is well known in New England, or Sierra DeMuldar from St. Paul – are theatrical, yes, but there’s a spirit in their poems that elevates the work beyond the individual. They give over to the language – it’s like speaking in tongues, a
delirious surrender to meaning greater than the everyday world. That’s why it matters. Blake did it. And Whitman. Eliot, Frost and Atwood.
Their work simply overshadows the writer, and that’s where the Poem in Your Pocket celebration comes in.
It’s actually so ridiculous, so giddily insane that it elevates the art form.
Here’s the conceit. Pick a poem you love, carry it in your pocket, then randomly share it with strangers. Just whip it out and read it on the street. Today, on your way home, stop at the 7-11, pull out your poem and read it to the guy behind the counter.
My only suggestion would be to pick short poems so you can get out of there before the cops come.
Some further suggestions for celebrating Poem in Your Pocket month are equally bold.
For example, urge businesses to offer discounts for those carrying poems. This is fantastic! The heck with Health Care, this is real Socialism my friends – paying for your coffee with a poem. If somebody read me a poem out loud, on the street, apropos of nothing, I’d buy them a coffee too.
Here’s another: project a poem on a wall, inside or outside. Multi-media! Of course, in Manchester, only graffiti gets to stay for any length of time on a wall, everything else is immediately painted over, so that might not work.
One more: text a poem to friends. I’m going to do this. No explanation, no warning. All my friends are just going to get the following message – “So much depends upon a red wheel barrow, glazed with rain water, beside the white chickens.” Let them figure it out! Fun, right?
Happy Poem in Your Pocket Day my fellow rebels. Feel the power!