A Confession

So now that we are friends and quite familiar with each other, I have decided that in the spirit of the inevitable degeneration of blogs into self-indulgent confessional statements, I will now make a major confession. I could offer that it is this kind of thing that feeds my poetry—that keeps me grounded in society, that allows me to make art that Whitman would appreciate—not the real Whitman, but the cliché Whitman who embraces the masses and who seeks to find the sublime poetics of everyday existence. Truth is that Whitman, like Wallace Stevens, is a poet that does not give me goose bumps even though I understand that both of them are seriously defining American voices that excite American writers greatly. I have taken to lie and say “I am not really fond of Stevens” just to get a rise out of largely white American male poets between the ages of twenty-five and fifty-six.

This act is sometimes as risky as when, for a while, I took glee is declaring to South Carolina folks that I really can’t stand grits. The difference is that I really can’t stand grits. The difference, also, is that my grits aversion is treated as a sickness, a sign of my pathetic character—a sad ailment that with much help, a careful examination of what kind of grits I have had and with what fixins and at what time of day and whether it was a humid day or a dry day. Grits lovers pity me. The give me recipes, offer to bring good grits to me. Stevens lovers think I am arrogant, disrespectful and deserving of an intellectual (if not physical) beat down. But I have still not come to my confession.
So here it is. I really, really like the Steve Harvey Morning Show. Yes, I have said. I listen to the Steve Harvey Show every morning on the Big DM 101.3 here in Columbia. Used to be, I would listen to Morning Edition on NPR faithfully, and sometimes I would catch News and Notes (if I had an errand to run in the mid-morning) which is black, really, and you know, NPR. But NPR is now reserved for the evening or anytime after 10:00 AM. Steve Harvey has simply won me over. He has because of his humor, yes, but because he has around him the funniest and sometimes silliest group of people who are actually brilliant at what they do, and have mastered the art of come so close to the edge of what is decent on the air and what is not. They also quarrel with each other on the air, and they are led by Steve Harvey who never fails to wear his feelings on his shoulder.
Bottom line is that the show is just funny. I actually laugh out loud again and again with this show. This morning Nephew Tommy, who is Steve Harvey’s actual nephew, did his daily tips. He has this great bit that he does about his friend Corey who has a bunch of sexy lines that Tommy declares, “That ain’t deep, Corey, that’s just stupid.” Corey’s gift is his capacity to create some of the most absurd and outlandish similes to describe his love or lust for a woman. The gem for today was Corey declaring, “hey baby, I am like a bounced check, maybe it did not work out the first time, but why don’t we just give it a second chance and slip it back in.” Which falls flat on the page, but is funny as hell on the radio.
I am a radio person. I really like talk radio, especially. I remain convinced that the best radio is in Jamaica. Jamaica has come a long way with television, but one still senses the technical differences in quality between the major US networks and what is produced in Jamaica. But Jamaicans have mastered radio. In a real way, the radio is well suited to the Jamaican temperament and way of life, the interest in talk, the act of speaking in long stretches and not always having to offer ideas in short media bites, the way we live outside on the road, the poetry of cricket commentary which is almost always better on radio, the pleasure of labrish that quintessentially Jamaican version of gossip which is not about scandal but about the pleasure of telling and enjoying a tale, and that Rastafarian tradition of reasoning in which people at all levels of life discuss political, social, religious and philosophical issues largely for the sake of doing so. Talk radio allows Jamaicans to vent, and the hosts are able to harness this energy in amusing and engaging ways.
While driving long distances, I prefer to listen to talk radio rather than to music. As a result, I find myself flipping from channel to channel as I lose one signal after the other. Sometimes I am able to follow a signal across a few counties, but often, I am abandoned by a thread when the static just gets too much, and I have to pick up another thread. Here in the South there are some fascinating programs, from car programs, to horoscope based programs, and programs that are rooted in explorations of the supernatural in helping people. There are the gospel talk shows, the political talk shows, the gardening shows, the real estate shows, the two women who think they are so sexy who are talking about nothing and everything shows, and there are the sermons, the sermons, the sermons—all kinds of sermons cutting across this country. I love to listen to it all. For a long stretch in the middle of Tennessee one afternoon, all we could get was a droning voice reading passages from the Old Testament, chapter after chapter. It was all fascinating, and entertaining. I preferred that than to listen to music. This is, of course, odd for someone who really is serious about his music. But when I am driving I want to hear people talking. It keeps me awake. But more important, it makes me feel as if I am traveling, as if I am actually moving from one region to another region, from one set of people to another set of people.
Despite this, I am truly glad that Steve Harvey is spreading his love to station after station around the country. Steve Harvey’s show has kept me awake and alert on some long stretches of road. Of course somewhere in a poem Steve Harvey, Shirley, Tommy, Carla and Eugene will find some home. Maybe I will use those names for the characters of a verse drama I have been threatening to write. But I don’t need all of that justification. I just find the show funny as get out. Sue me!