California's poet laureate resigns for falsifying resume

Sac Bee ^ | 10/18/02 | Jim Wasserman

[NormsRevenge]

SACRAMENTO, Calif.(AP) - La Jolla poet Quincy Troupe resigned his post as California's first official poet laureate Friday after four months, announcing he had falsified information on his resume for the post.

Troupe, appointed June 11 by Gov. Gray Davis, stated in his resignation letter: "I deeply regret my ill-advised decision to include inaccurate information on my curriculum vitae. While I attended Grumbling College, I never earned a college degree."

[Jeff Chandler]

After Hearing a Radio Announcement

by Quincy Troupe

yesterday, in new york city
the gravediggers went on strike
& today, the undertakers went on strike
because, they said, of the overwhelming
number of corpses
stretched out on tables
in the overworked, embalming rooms
(unnecessarily, they said, because of wars
& plenty stupid killings in the streets
& et cetera & et cetera, et cetera)

sweating up the world, corpses
propped up straight in living room chairs
ensconced at dinner tables, jamming up cars
on freeways, clogging up rivers, stopping up elevators
grinning toothless in stairwells
taking up kids' space in front of tvs
standing in line for bank tellers
stinking up bedrooms
in the gutters, dead as rudders
corpses, everywhere you turn

& the undertakers said they were being overworked
with all this goddamned killing going on
said they couldn't even enjoy all the money they was making
like a bandit, said that this shit has got to stop

& today eye just heard, on the radio, that
the coffin makers are waiting, in the wings, for their chance
to do the very same thing, & tomorrow & if things keep going
this way, eye expect to hear of the corpses
themselves, boycotting death
until things get better
or at least, getting themselves
together, in some sort of union
espousing self-determination, for better
funerals & burial conditions, or something
extraordinarily heavy & serious, like that

Copyright © Quincy Troupe

[dighton]

"Pope, Dryden, and this guy" alert.

[Jeff Chandler]

The man's an artiste!

[Jeff Chandler]

GRAY DAVIS' CHOICE FOR POET LAUREATE

FOR THE CHILDREN

[gcruse]

What seems to be the message here is that an artist cannot be judged by his works, but rather where he has been. If the poet's stuff is good, it and he should stand on his merits. Anything else, as far as art is concerned, is ridiculous. Unfortunately, as long as frauds such as Cornel
West can claim academic plaudits, it is obvious that talent
is more a matter of politics than prowess. Bah.

[sarasmom]

Ir is not publicised in that way, but it is evaluated in that way

Lots of degree holders find themselves unable to obtain gainfull employment nowadays.Something to do with their innate and proven (degreed) status of being a certified disrupter instead of an actual contributor to the workforce.

An employee does not go very far in any work environment with the "smarter than thou" attitude which is for some reason touted by highly "educated" idiots as a strength on their carbon copy resumes.

Life sucks if you have no true marketable skills.This applies to the under-educated as much as it does to the over-educated.Probably more so to the worthless degree holders with no actual work experience.<p.What employer sets out to hire a problematic employee who is devisive and supercilious on the job?

[Jeff Chandler]

...talent is more a matter of politics than prowess...

Bingo.

[mcenedo]

ROTFL

But seriously, did the guy lie when he got his professorship position as a professor of creative writing and American and Caribbean literature at the University of California at San Diego. What are the "standards" needed to achieve the exalted professorship level at UC?

[monkeyshine]

What are the "standards" needed to achieve the exalted professorship level at UC?

Hipness, sway, correct political views and a degree. But you can lie about that last standard because if you got the first three, it's OK.

[SkyPilot]

To steal a line from Iowahawk:

"I know why the purple colored caged bird got her groove back"

[Tax Government]

The fe[de]ral government is prohibited by the Constitution from conferring nobility, including life estates.

A degree is a grant of social class and privilege that is equivalent to a noble life estate.

The government should have no part of the degree-granting process, as it creates government-sanctioned social distinctions that the Constitution, in the language of its day, sought to prohibit.

Any school which receives federal funding, accepts any federal influence on its curriculum, and grants degrees, is anathema to me.

Down with the [ig]nobility. Let them eat caca! (That's some kind of country muffin in Spanish, I think.)

[general_re]

"Pope, Dryden, and this guy" alert.

Personally, it reminds me of John Donne. Or Ewan McTeagle. I can't decide.

SESTINA FOR 39 ANGELS

by Quincy Troupe

there was no screaming to announce hale-bopp comet's second tail,
no screaming when those 39 people left their bodies--
their containers--behind, covered their faces with purple,
silk shrouds, folded triangles, laid down smiling & fell into the steep sleep
marshall applewhite had prescribed for them deep inside that death
mansion in rancho santa fe, they knew themselves as angels,

sleuths at creating websites, cruising internets, space angels
flying on wings of ancient dreams upward to hale-bopp comet's tail,
(& the only way to get there through the invisible doorway of death)
launched through skies of their minds, they willed their bodies
on earth, as people of jonestown did, to be recycled through sleep,
bodies board-stiff & bloated, looking for peace, skin purple,

going black as clothes they wore, covered 39 faces with purple
symbols the color of lenten holy week when jesus rose up to join angels,
39 travellers wore black nike shoes, weaved through 39 catacombs of sleep,
dreamed themselves up like 39 shooting stars to hale-bopp comet's tail
of silver ice, where they would transform their bodies--
18 buzz-haired castrated males, 21 females surfing death's

internet--to pass through heaven's-gate's needle eye--& death
not even a stopover here for these souls to rest dressed in black & purple,
quarters for phone calls, 5 dollar bills for whatever urges their bodies
needed--before flying through space 39 dreams, they would be truly angels
rendezvousing with the mothership hidden inside hale-bopp comet's tail,
live with extraterrestrials there in a sleeve of silver ice after sleep

cut them loose to flow through steep mystery above as sleep
like rocket fuel, fell away over stages, left them asphyxiated in death
after phenobarbital, apple sauce & vodka, they knew the silver ice tail
as a sign they were waiting for to cover themselves with shrouds of purple,
leave behind computer screens--skies--they flew purely as angels
now toward a higher source than conflicting urges of their bodies--

a tangle of websites, conquered & controlled, their bodies--
surrendering the improvisation of living, they swam in sleep,
drifting slowly as motorless boats on the sea, were homeless angels,
took 39 pot pies & cheesecakes for their journey, they kissed death
hard with dry mouths, 39 people down from 1,000, pursed lips of purple
open in wonder, they flew up to enter hale-bopp comet's tail

of ice-silver particles, gaseous bodies grinning there like death
skulls flashing inside sleep, inside where I am dreaming now of purple,
faith flashing bright as new angels inside hale-bopp comet's third tail

[Orual]

I think he lies about his name, too. After reading some of his "poetry", I think California will be best served by naming this Caribbean poet their laureate.

[metesky]

Scans a little better, but you made the major mistake of actually rhyming a couple of times.

You're disqualified.
;O)

[parsifal]

"Why does any state need a poet laureate? "

How can you ask such a thing? Poetry is the music of life. The pulse of human existence. What you need is a good poem, so here I go. . .

In Praise of Poetry

There is naught in Space nor Time
That captures life like a little rhyme.
Without its rhyme, the Star Spangled Banner
Would be impossible to sing in an intelligent manner.

And Roses are red and violets are blue
Could not end with "As sweet as you."
Which would mean that your first pickup line as a guy.
Wouldn't work worth a hoot so you might never try
Again. Which means you would probably settle for some
Guy named Harry, Dick, or Tom.

Without its poetry, I think you could say
The human race would wind up gay.
So you just think of that the next time you say
That we don't need poet laureates. Okay?

And the next time you go to a baseball game
Remember Francis Scott Key by name.
He's the fellow that wrote our national song.
I'm sure your don't want to imply he done wrong.
I'm sure that you aren't unpatriotic,
And want us ruled by folks despotic.

Just remember those lines that go, to wit:
"O say can you see by the dawn's early light
What so proudly we hailed at the twilights last gleaming."
(Which I just noted don't rhyme a bit.)
But let's just ignore this incongruity
And continue to praise poetry into perpetuity.

parsy the slightly confused poet.

[dighton]

SKETCH OF LORD BYRON’S LIFE

“Lord Byron” was an Englishman
A poet I believe,
His first works in old England
Was poorly received.
Perhaps it was “Lord Byron’s” fault
And perhaps it was not.
His life was full of misfortunes,
Ah, strange was his lot.

The character of “Lord Byron”
Was of a low degree,
Caused by his reckless conduct,
And bad company.
He sprung from an ancient house,
Noble, but poor, indeed.
His career on earth, was marred
By his own misdeeds.

Generous and tender hearted,
Affectionate by extreme,
In temper he was wayward,
A poor “Lord” without means;
Ah, he was a handsome fellow
With great poetic skill,
His great intellectual powers
He could use at his will.

He was a sad child of nature,
Of fortune and of fame;
Also sad child to society,
For nothing did he gain
But slander and ridicule,
Throughout his native land.
Thus the “poet of the passions,”
Lived, unappreciated, man.

Yet at the age of 24,
“Lord Byron” then had gained
The highest, highest, pinacle
Of literary fame.
Ah, he had such violent passions
They was beyond his control,
Yet the public with its justice,
Sometimes would him extol.

Sometimes again “Lord Byron”
Was censured by the press,
Such obloquy, he could not endure,
So he done what was the best.
He left his native country,
This great unhappy man;
The only wish he had, “’tis said,”
He might die, sword in hand.

He had joined the Grecian Army;
This man of delicate frame;
And there he died in a distant land,
And left on earth his fame.
“Lord Byron’s” age was 36 years,
Then closed the sad career,
Of the most celebrated “Englishman”
Of the nineteenth century.

-- Julia A. Moore, The Sweet Singer of Michigan.

[parsifal]

Oh You! And your Julia Moore, too! Coinicidentally, I had a vison once wherein Julia Moore appeared to me and left me some more lines to her Byron ode:

And some say that they are tiring
Of hearing about the Lord called Byron.
And they was saying bad things about he.
How he spelt "Child" with an "e."

Oh but we'll go no more a'griping
By the light of the Sun.
For the Lord called Byron
Also wrote "Don Juan."

And even the story told by the Tory
About how Byron was a yellow belly
Makes we not feel sorry
For his friends Percy and Mary Shelley.

They knew that he was brave
And his life he would have gave
For the Greeks so hard upon put.
But for the fact he had a club foot.

parsy the medium.

[parsifal]

Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
Democrats are liars.
And this ping's for you.


parsy.