What’s the point, really? Here I am, Jack Superblack, pondering the abyss—aka the meaning of life—while watching “After: Poetry Destroys Silence”. Directed by someone who probably wears black turtlenecks, the film tries to prove that talking about your feelings with poetic flair isn’t totally barbaric after some historical atrocities.
First off, let’s talk about these poets. We’ve got Alicia Suskin Ostrich and Edward Hershey—no relation to the chocolate, sadly—defending poetry like it’s their rebellious teenage kid. They're directly jabbing at the camera like it owes them money or something. The featured poets toss words around like confetti, which is pretty but gets everywhere annoyingly. One poet, Paul Ceiling (yes, that’s not his real name, but who cares?), delivers his ‘Death Fugue’ in an old recording that's creepier than my desire to be a ghost just to see if anyone would miss me.
Then there’s this Brooklyn guy, Taylor Chili, mourning his first wife in verse. Honestly, the poem was touching, or maybe that was just me touching my own cold, unfeeling heart trying to see if it still works. This poem-spewing fiesta claims that we need poetry to remember and address trauma. I don’t know about you, but the only trauma I’m experiencing right now is from this endless existential dread. But hey, let’s chant rhythmic metaphors to keep the dark thoughts at bay, right?
So, is poetry after tragedy barbaric? Maybe. But maybe life’s just a tragic comedy, and we’re all just waiting for the punchline. Speaking of punchlines, I’ll probably die alone, but at least my ghost could get some peace and quiet—unless those poets start reciting in the afterlife too.
Based on the original article "‘After: Poetry Destroys Silence’ Review: A Study in Trauma".
