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Michael Grover interviews himself |
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Michael Grover: So how are you?
M.D.G: What are you talkin' about? This is ridiculous. You know how I am.
Michael Grover: How did you get into poetry?
M.D.G: It started when I was born. I have always been a writer. My father noticed my interest in writing and started passing me down his old books. Ginsberg's "Howl", "The Communist Manifesto", James Kavanaugh, stuff like that. I grew up in South Florida which is a really oppressive place. I kept my writing to myself or started zines and published myself. When I moved to LA in the late nineties I started meeting real poets that really performed their stuff with a lot of passion. I went to the same readings as them and started working hard so I could perform beside them. I got into underground publishing around the same time, and here I am.
Michael Grover: Tell us how Covert Press got started.
M.D.G: I started just publishing my own chapbooks on it. Then a man who I consider one of the best poets alive, John G. Hall of Manchester, England asked me if I would publish and edit a collection by him. I couldn't refuse. Since then I've published another chapbook of my own and John Dorsey from Toledo, Ohio who's kind of an underground press legend. We are planning on publishing Dorsey's second manuscript on Covert Press.
Michael Grover: What are your influences poetically?
M.D.G: I'm more influenced by the oral poets that use sound as much as they do written word. Poets like Bob Kaufman and Amiri Baraka. I'm also very influenced by hip-hop.
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| Submission Date: |
| 15 Mar 2008 |
Category: |
Poetry
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In Podcast and Chap-book
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currency
As a Poet I understand
The value of words.
I don't waste many;
Not that conversational.
Some people call me
Unfriendly.
Some people they
Talk about nothing
Just to make conversation.
They talk and talk
About absolutely nothing,
Never have a clue
Of the words they're wasting.
Eight-thirty this morning
Landlord rings the doorbell,
Wakes me from a sound sleep.
I tried to go back
But the dog started barking.
I got up and let him in.
He's a nice guy
But he talked and talked.
All I could think about
Was the currency that was escaping
From his big fat mouth.
here lies confusion
Here lies confusion,
Confusion corner.
Big roundabout,
One of the biggest landmarks
In this lazy southern town,
One of the only places
You can taste chaos around here.
Bells ring,
Red lights flash,
Train horn blows,
Cars stack up
Around the curb,
Train lumbers on slow.
There are some days I say
This small town livin' is saving me.
But who wants to be saved?
Most days it drives me crazy,
Leaves me jonesing for the energy
Of any big city,
Anywhere but here,
Sitting on confusion corner
Watching the cars go through.
new mexico
Cross country across the ten
Jacksonville to LA
Escaping bondage
That drugs me down
Finding my own
Way to freedom
PBJ meals in the front seat
Sunset to sunrise over big Texas plain
Sleeping three hours a night in rest stops
I decided I needed a real meal
Stopped at a Denny's in New Mexico
Wearing the same clothes
For two thousand miles now
Cute punk-looking waitress
Takes one look at me
"You're going to California"
"Yeah" I answer
"Where’d you drive from?"
"Florida"
"I'd like to move to LA sometime
I've been saving my money"
I think of the road I've driven
Look her in the eye
"What's stopping you
You're practically there"
I order a moon over my hammy
With no ham
Which translates to
An egg and cheese sandwich
On toasted sourdough
She brings me the check
And wishes me the best
Envies my freedom
While she is so close
Trapped in a dead end
Truck stop Denny's in New Mexico
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