hahaha

Must. Read. One. Word. At. A. Time. What a bonerkiller.

Absolutely. I wasn't paying attention momentarily, and was like, why is this pastor praying in the cadence of poetry slam? This is terrible...

Dear god that was fucking terrible.

Poetry, Oh Noetry!

The only thing worse than Poets are Preachers.

Shoulda had Obama read it.

The problem with reading poetry aloud is that most people put on their, "I am gonna read a poem now and it is going to be serious business."
Kind of like that guy Stuart McLean on NPR who makes me want to jab pencils in my ears.

The poem didn't blow my mind, that's for sure. The images of Americana neared cliche (the bus stop, the kitchen table and so on), and she didn't give the best reading, disjointed delivery, the off-rhythm cadence of a nervous poet. I expected a lot more, although when she said "let us sing the names..." I did get a chill. We have come such a long way as a country, and I only wish that Obama selected a poet who captured the same spirit and promise that he has.

On the other hand, how the fuck do you follow Obama?

At least she, out of everyone else, had the courage to call for equality in love. She specifically called out that married love and love of parent for child or citizen for nation should not be the only loves sanctified or accepted by society. In short, she very clearly called for your right, David, to love Jake.

@9 , you juggle chainsaws.

However, new flash, the pastor giving the benediction was pretty goddamn awesome.

Well, at least there's one writer making money in this administration already. Amirite!?

we should name sage francis the presidential poet. now *that* would be entertaining.

For boring it was a tossup with the quartet (which sounded like watered down Charles Ives).

Typical John Williams schmaltz, in other words. Putrid. The poem was godawful, and the woman can't read. All in all, this inauguration was WAY too imperial for me.

The reading was horrible, but the poem wasn't that bad. Better than the clunker Robert Frost wrote for JFK's. (Luckily, he couldn't read what he'd written down due to the sun, and instead recuted one of his older, better poems from memory.)

I thought it was a beautiful poem and I'm not a big poetry person. I teared up when she referred to those who pick cotton (slaves) and those who pick lettuce (migrant workers). I want to hear it again.

Wasn't so much a poem as a journal entry of sorts.

You know what's really boring? Memoir. We get it. Your life was so hard and you're so clever and SHUT UP ALREADY.

That wasn't poetry, Dave, that was a bunch of musicless flailing.