Last Thursday's Poetry reading

On a similar note to my previous post, I attended the day before the Semi-Finals for CUPSI a poetry reading at the Creative Writing House(? Is that what it was) and had the honor to listen to a reading from two regarded poets, one much more accomplished than the former, but nonetheless both were apparently respected. However, more often than not an honor does not necessarily coalesce with one's feelings of satisfaction, and I, for whatever reason, was not overtly pleased with attending this event. The first poet irritated me. There, I said it, but not so much as a behavioral thing, albeit if it turns out that it might have been that it is only because of how much it permeates throughout his writing. I do not remember much of it 5 days down, yet I could not remember it right after he finished either, because I felt less I was listening to verbal beauty, the crafting of a language to form an architecture with words that would strike its audience with a sense of the sublime, and more to someone who was very self-indulgent. Just a list of complaints or ineffectual observations that conveyed little real depth of thought, and again just self-indulgent to the point where the author might have confused poetry with unchecked bleeding of thoughts onto paper through the medium of a pen very much like a diary. And I was quite bored listening the sexual laments of this man. I did not enjoy this part of the reading, and he was so monotone. I forgot his name.
The second poet was an exponentially better writer, but I had already checked out of the proverbial mental hotel that I wasn't fully receptive of the poetry. She also had this tendency to tell stories in between the poems and she was quite charming, yes, but because of the way her poems were written and how she spoke regularly I ad a difficult time differentiating when the poems began and when the anecdotes ended and would never have caught on lest she had stated the name of the poem before beginning. Overall, it was ok. I liked her poems, but I don't do too well with modernist tepid poetry that is meant to be read silently rather than aloud. Well, I don't do well when it's read aloud.