The version on youtube of TS Eliot reading his own work, The Love Song Of J Alfred Prufrock, is painfully uninteresting. There are a few other interpretations by various people. Only one, a young, high-pitched voice, has the kind of edginess I imagine J Alfred to be; but the verses are chopped up by an infantile video interpretation.
It doesn’t take much to turn a great dramatic monologue into a bore, but it does take intention and integrity of the deliverer to bring out the essence of a poem. Last night at the Sacred Grounds we had such a treat, when the featured poet Greg Pond received a standing ovation (a rarity) after his reading.
Besides his own poems, Greg chose to present the work of his friends. He clearly worked on each poem to bring out the drama and music. Greg personified the romance of Steve Mackin, the satire of Garrett Murphy, the mysticism of Jehanah Wedgwood, and the angst of Don Brennan. He read our poems better than we have read them. We were all giddy, after discovering a “side” of our poems that we had never imagined. We swore to improve ourselves as we chattered non-stop like school children, walking out into the night.
