Der Zuschauer

A Journal of Essays and Reportage on Drama, History, and Literature

Archive for September 2008

Strike in Chaos

with 3 comments

Some of us here on Guam are fascinated to see the flagship of the US 6th Fleet off Poti, Georgia, in the Black Sea. It all seems a lot more hot-button techtonic-plate shifting than wondering about whether John Ashbery, John Updike, or Joyce Carol Oates will publish even more before the termination of their constant, quotidian efforts to destroy the forest-stock of the next generations’ efforts to get a word in edgewise.

We few, we poets and dramatists, have often looked awry at the endless, upchucking, and yakking, of contemporary novelists and their spew of “O, I had another orgasm,” or, “a thought,” or even “a ripe rift of world-wide web research, which will bitch out my newnanno Werk to Gravity’s Rainbow proportions.

Novelists are windbags. They write too much; they say too little, their vanity and ego are appalling.

Now, as for contemporary dramatists, their only subject is disfunction: how I became this obese, crude, twinkie-feaster; this no-neck monster grown up to Pulitzer Prizes and “I go from nice to bitch in 2.5 seconds.”

There is an unhinged-from-history aesthetic which drains the humanity out of idiosyncracy, and turns it into eccentric, disfunctional rant. “The Dark Knight is Illiadic.” Or, is it Samuel Beckett rendered raw bar dialectic? Constipated hoccum? Probably all of the above.

Windfucking is done by real poets; windbaggery is carried on by the diarrhea drones who are intoxicated by their own self-esteem incense.

What happens to all these writer’s necks; where do they go?

We believe plays and certain poems allow the writer to keep his nose appropriately trim, and, to maintain a long-lived, and attractively svelte neck.

There is a great spiritual difference between a piggy-poet and a wart-hog.

In the coming weeks we hope to address such topics as academic peer-review, the use of hyphens and the Google/Microsoft attack on inflected, robustly punctuated language.

We would like to avoid the Francophone elevator music monotone.

We also would like to sugggest a topic for further speculation. Is it possible for any male erection to obtain to dignity as such?

The Editors