Three days ago, without developing it, I mentioned in passing an odd statement about drama that happened to get stuck in my craw. As it turns out, I find some of the most absurd assertions made by playwrights—even successful playwrights—themselves. Such as:

"The whole point of good theater is to give voice to those who don't have a voice and to articulate whatever is in the air in that society at the time."

This is wrong on several counts; but again my purpose is not to elaborate a rebuttal, merely to note and register in passing the phenomenon. The statement was made by José Rivera whose play Another Word for Beauty is now receiving a dismal production at Chicago's Goodman Theatre.

There is no way to properly evaluate a script after director Robert Falls gets his hands on it; he is renowned for a production of Shakespeare's Measure for Measure in which a wholly captivating hydraulic stage transposed the setting to 1970's New York, with the play ending on a high musical note and the abrupt stabbing of Isabelle, one of the main characters, sans foreshadowing, reason, or justification.

In the city where King Lear is presented as a comedy, expectations should be kept low. Que sais-je?

To see you pass me in the cold,
A gracious smile displayed obliquely,
I knew that I am growing old
And only in return smiled meekly.

You did not stop or slow for me,
Your youth to other quarters urging,
Politeness making show for me
Because our separate paths diverging.

​If I had made attempt to bolt
Along your course, to chat or stall you,
It surely would have brought revolt
As would annoy if not appall you.

​Yet if our paths might cross again
I hope your smile will shine less cautious,
And let the day breathe warmer then,
My soul alert, old age less nauseous.

A sentence that has been rolling around in my head since I first read it: "As a playwright, I am basically a professional character developer". This strikes me as a novel idea, and completely wrong. But who am I to say? I record it here merely because I want to be able to return to it, if not its source.

As a concession to current usage, my plays always include a first page which lists names under the heading "Characters," but it has never set well with me. "Persons in the play" might be a better description, or "roles," but definitely not "characters" which presupposes a reality behind the names, or the parts. (It may be part of an actor's technique to create a character, but certainly lies outside the purview of the playwright.)

As Montaigne said, Que sais-je?

Recently I read Mongrel by Justin Chin. I had not heard of him before reading his obituary late last month; I had hoped to find his books of poetry, which were spoken of with high regard, but our library only had the aforementioned book of essays. "Essays" is rather straining as a descriptor; the book was even more fractured and haphazard than my own recent foray into literary criticism (or something approaching thereto).

He dealt in the genre known as "slam" poetry. Although I was in Paul Carroll's poetry workshop around the time Marc Smith was inventing the format at Chicago's Green Mill, I was never a follower. The milieu escaped me. When it comes to writing—as distinct from oratory—it is hard to fathom what value can come from the ad hoc spontaneous (or extemporaneous) judgement of a gaggle of one's peers. Chin wrote, not without insight, in what I take to be the best passage of the book:

Assessing his compilation, "[T]hese pieces... are so tied to the time that they were written in", he wrote modestly in conclusion: "Perhaps this is a book that will not age gracefully, but at least it will be one that entered into its time kicking." He wrote with self-awareness, and with awareness into the form.

Since reading Mongrel, I've had occasion to reflect about the nature of "slam" poetry (or perhaps even "poetry" deserves quotation marks), and at last figured out what it is. "Slam" is not—as I have often heard suggested—a variant of rap for people who lack the talent to rap. Rather, it is a verbal form of karaoke. Whereas karaoke mimics songs originally performed (and recorded) by others, "slam" mimics rhythms originally invented (and written) by others. Like karaoke, its function is essentially social, a sort of literate (if not literary) pastime for communal gatherings.

Chin's untimely death is undoubtedly a tragedy—I don't know the details—as well as a loss to the community of "wordsmiths," as I believe "slammers" designate themselves. Though not of their crop, and only familiar with "slam" in the most cursory way, reports of his demise reached me through many acquaintances; although I did not know him, or know of him, I could not but feel regret at his passing.

​May he rest in peace.