I was reading a bit in my hometown paper, the Charlotte Observer, which was to be a review of an arts exhibition at UNCC, my alma mater. The author began by describing a ritual of dress, which included dressing all in black, including a black French beret. He seemed to want to indicate that there was something inherently difficult about this, or maybe distastefull or painful, and then he came out with it: whatever the fashion faux pas such dress might lead to, whatever ridicule he might incur, he risked it gladly, because he was a poet and this was his uniform.

Ahem.

Firstly, you dink, EVERYBODY wears black now, ESPECIALLY the hyper-trendy, because THAT IS THE CURRENT TREND. Secondly, the people who wear the MOST black are those who work in ADVERTISING, and ADVERTISING IS THE EXACT POLAR OPPOSITE OF POETRY. Thirdly, WHAT YOU WEAR DOESN'T MAKE YOU A POET, and finally, if you're writing in the Observer, you can't be any good, since the people at the Observer wouldn't know good poetry if it was plastered on a billboard, and wouldn't know a good poet if one came up and bit them (true story).

I have a set of clothes that I rather informally assembled in my mind: blue t-shirt, blue oxford cloth button down shirt, blue jeans, blue socks, blue sneakers, blue cloth cap. I plan to wear it should I ever find myself doing a reading opposite this guy. Wish I could remember his name.

Anyways. About the poem: I've always hated Archibald MacLiesh's "Ars Poetica," strictly becasue of that corny last line. Some years back I realized why: For a poem delivering that particular message, it does a hell of alot more meaning than being. My own take might be a little on the corny side itself, but I think it does what I wanted it to do. Besides, it gave me & Doc Nagel the opportunity to make alot of Ars jokes, my favorite of which was "Get off your Ars & get to work!"