I’m not just another pretty face, hired on to dress up the page and attract more female readers. That’s not to say I’m not a pretty face, but my talent is much broader than that.
I’m not just another compelling columnist, hired on to fascinate you with really interesting insights into utility deregulation and insurance loss ratios.
No, I am larger than life, a sensitive artiste bursting with the kind of creative energy it takes to write corporate annual reports that insist “employees are our most important asset.”
My interests are broad; my writing soars beyond the pedestrian boundaries of such things as business journals. That’s why I should be chosen as the Poet Laureate of Hartford.
I imagine that you nose-to-the-grindstone business types don’t even know that the city has its very own fancy poet. Well, in fact, as of this writing, Hartford is the Dead Sea of poetry. Much to its embarrassment, Hartford has no Poet Laureate. The shame. The shame.
In a secret session of the City Council, conducted last month in an underground bunker, the matter of establishing a Poet Laureate position, complete with a $2,000 honorarium, was referred to the Operations, Management, Budget and Culture Stuff Committee for consideration.
I want that job. I deserve that job. Even putting aside the fact that $2,000 would triple my lifetime earnings at the Hartford Business Journal, the job would allow me to spread my literary wings and break the chains of column writing about tax assessments and zoning commissions.
I fear that the city might opt for some stuffy academic type, but that would be a tragic mistake. Have you ever read poetry written by guys like that? It doesn’t rhyme. It’s not about anything.
What follows are a few samples of what you will read when Cohen becomes Poet Laureate of Hartford:
There once was a mayor named Mike
Who Everyone Seemed to Like.
And then along came Eddie
Who seemed to be ready.
But you know what happened. Yike!
It’s often a shot in the dark
To successfully market fine art.
It’s hard to get people to come see ‘em
When the museum’s name is “Atheneum”
Because patrons can’t pronounce it and don’t feel smart.
We always seem to get cocky
When someone mentions professional hockey.
We had the Hartford Whalers and we yawned
Which prompted them to move on
But we sort of want them back, which is shocking.
The Front Street development is ongoing
Although there isn’t much for the showing
The conventioneers are befuddled
For fun, they must be shuttled
You sort of have to know where you’re going.
The free jazz in Bushnell Park was a blast
You sort of wish the season wasn’t over so fast.
Let’s stick up the corporations for donations
And do stuff in the park for all occasions
The potential for fun is quite vast.
The traffic lights in Hartford are funny
They give you a knot in your tummy.
If you run one red light
You can get from here to there all right
Otherwise, the traffic patterns are crummy.
Wallace Stevens was a famous Hartford poet
Even if he didn’t always show it
His stuff was oblique
Feel free to take a peak
You’ll come running back to Cohen; I know it.
Laurence D. Cohen is a freelance writer.
