An Open Letter to Harold Bloom
Dear Mr. Bloom,
Screw you.
In the Spring 2000 edition of the Paris Review
You were quoted saying “I can’t bear these accounts I read in the Times and elsewhere of these poetry slams, in which various young men and women in various late-spots are declaiming rant and nonsense at each other. The whole thing is judged by an applause meter which is actually not there, but might as well be. This isn’t even silly; it is the death of art.”
The question I have for you is, why?
What makes you entitled to declaring a form of poetry lesser
Who gave you the title of poetry master
Why do you believe it is nonsense and the
“Death of art”
To many people of all ages slam poetry is a release
A way of being
Expression
Slam poetry is releasing the pent up emotions in a beautiful form
Liberating yourself to an eager audience hanging on to the every word
That falls from your lips
Slam poetry is passion
Not bounded by the structure of traditional poetry
It’s taking a leap of faith
Bearing your soul to a crowd
And getting hooked on the high
Not just the applause, no sir
No
We are hooked on the rush
When someone thanks you
For putting into words the things they’ve been too afraid to say
When a stranger hugs you
When they tell you they’re proud of you
When you bring tears to eyes and smiles to face
That sir, is called connection
Maybe you’d know a thing or two about it
If you opened up your mind
And listened to the millions of people
Finding their voices
MadHatter Poetry 