Each year, USOUNDS selects a poet laureate in order to recount the tales of bravery, debauchery, and delusions of grandeur that are so common to our fleet of Journalists. In the past our laureates have been pale young gentlemen with faux-meek demeanors that belie a core of pretension and rage. This year’s selection, Karim Oates, is no exception. His first assignment was to sub for a drug-addled Lance F. Rockaway and cover the first of two sold-out Interpol shows in Los Angeles…
Poems upon returning to a dirty room after the show, by Karim Oates
***
My Woman’s Heart
is buried in Manhattan
beneath shit-smeared sidewalks
sand, dirt, mud, clay, earth
below the sewers
below the shrieking subway cars
beneath it all
beating, beating, beating
beating, beating, beating
***
Enshrined in fog our heroes await
as crowd grows strong, then weak
again we clap and whistle but still
our cries echo back to us unheard
and at last slick styled suits
arrive on stage
it’s so simple
to make them want you
when they already want you
***
a black headed squid
surges forward under the backstage water
searching preening exploring
tentacles of rhythm
anchored by a monolith drum
pounding out beats that soften earlobes
and slowly shatter plastic windows
even through the ink-black water
***
Here comes the hit and finally
confidence, trust between player and played
is reached
Now we understand each other
I do my thing, you do your thing
Here comes the hit and I’m ready
the bright lights are already on
and we are finally one
***
PROS=the music
CONS=the sound
***
you exhaust me
how much shallow depth can one man take
chinese torture water
shoved down my gullet
drip drip drop
no i dont want you to stop
keep on coming
beat me into submission
beat me out of me
you exhaust me but i want more
i want more
***
You thought that you could
change over night
but you’ve got another thing coming
I remember just 4 years ago, 4 men
and 4-4 beats
I remember bathroom lines
and dashboard credit
I remember when pick met string
and when wood met skin
You thought that you could
change over night
but you’ve got another thing coming
and I like it
I was at that show and while your poet is certainly obstuse, i kind of know what he was saying. The sound did suck.
are bizarro and oates one and the same
cos if they arent….theyd make a helluva comic duo….
hilarious poesy
the kiz
Well if you don’t know– now you know.
Big Poppa was at the show, hittin’ the flow, gakked up some major cracksticks
but that aint cole
bombed out like it was yemen
but it be deck cuz she be lemon
lime all the time grab a bottle of vine
stickin around just to hear
the am of the pine
interpol=suits with names
I just saw them recently, and yes,it’s true, Paul’s vocals are not as great live. If only he had turned down the reverb a tad bit… But i do agree, the music still embodies a wonderful sense of emotion which, unfortunatly, has inspired some shitty poetry; Random words of direction, sentence fragments,and obvious imaginative capacity no longer serve a purpose to a reader, unless you have the beat to back it up.Therefore, I’d have to give Kizzle Bizzle some props. Sorry, Mr. Oates.
-AR
Oh you think you could do better, smartguy? I challenge you to a poet-off right here, right now. Let’s see what you’ve got, punk. I’ll whip your ass from here to next tuesday, knock the socks right off your feet.