There is really no one I hate more in the poetry world than Ted Kooser. For the moment, he is the poet laureate of the US, if you were lucky enough never to have heard of him. Seriously, every time he recommends a poem or opens his fool mouth I just want to pinch him really hard. I swear, if I have to curse his name one more time…
Good thing he feels the same about me.
That’s right, I STEAL from other writers by writing about things that didn’t directly happen to me. FUCK YOU TED.
I mean, fantastic poetry is right out, then, isn’t it? Writing about things that never happened to anyone? That’s like killing a three-legged kitten, right there. Oh wait. I forgot that The Ted would probably not deign to read anything that didn’t involve cancer, settin’ on the porch a spell, or cats, or settin’ on the cancerous cat a spell.
And the idea that courage is more important than skill in making art…? Well, Kooser doesn’t really know anything about art judging from the flaccid tripe he continually chooses to spotlight in his column, so let’s hope he knows something about courage.
Oh my god, this guy makes me so angry. He’s like the artistic and poetic representation of everything wrong with this culture right now.