The first animals with backbones were poets. They were a great success.
There are still thousands and thousands of kinds of poets. The poets
of our rivers and lakes and seas furnish poetry for billions of
Some poets live all their lives in fresh water. They live in ponds
lakes and streams. Basho and Issa are fresh-water poets.
Some poets live all their lives in salt water. Archilocus and Matthew
Arnold are salt-water poets.
Some poets spend part of their lives in salt water and part in fresh
Gertrude Stein and Allen Ginsberg are two of them.
Poets are very well fitted for writing poetry. They have hands or
writing. Most of them can move through life easily because they
streamlined. Most of them are protected by scales.
Of course, poets must find their food in the water about them. Many
such animals as nouns, verbs, and adjectives. Many others live on
made up of very tiny vowels and consonants. We call this "soup"
It is easy to tell that most poets are poets. But some have queer
William Butler Yeats has his eyes on stalks. T.S. Eliot is almost
Elizabeth Bishop has a thin tail she can twist around seaweed. Apollinaire
is flat and has both his eyes on the same side of his head. Ezra
long and rather like a snake.
Poets are among nature's most accomplished seduction artists. They
been writing greeting card verse for hundreds of years.
People used to call any animal that writes poetry a poet. "Poet"
is still a
part of the name of many animals that are not poets. The poetaster
is not a
true poet. The poetess and poet laureate are not true poets either.
these animals has a backbone. Many people still think of literary
critics as poets. They would change their minds if they saw a baby
Martin Amis is a Big Fat Idiot
I used to live on the Upper West Side in 1995.
No, I didn't. I lived on Avenue B in 1995. I always say I lived
Upper West Side though. Because my ex-wife lived there when I first
came to New York City. So that's where I used to live. On the Upper
A lot has happened between then and now, but somehow, looking back,
seems things happened for no rhyme or reason. It doesn't seem all
interesting because (1) it was a long time ago and, (b) it's just
What's important is that I'm a poet. In his 1995 book The Information,
Martin Amis pokes fun at various poets who hang out on Avenue B,
drive, get all the women, and are the lowest life forms on the literary
food chain. Amis has a point; "poet" is a word that has always been
disliked by poets themselves, perhaps on the grounds that poetry
is irrelevant and that the word implies disparagement of the author's
What? Chicken butt. So what if I lived on Avenue B? So what if my
license expired sixteen years ago? I'm a bad driver anyway. At least
women. Lots of women. I've been described as the lid for every pot.
("Pot" is almost "Topp" backwards.) I'm not very intelligent. Kind
of slow. I
write too much. What I want most is to write good poems. I keep
According to a friend, Larry David's worldview could be summarized
as "I know, I should have had the chicken."
According to a recent study, men's sweat contains a pheronome that
makes women less nervous and tense.
Laughter, according to Reader's Digest, is "the best medicine."
"Your father's first wife
was a lesbian,"
fingering my tie.
As Seen On TV
"Use Toothodent with Delirium."