Chatter,Chatter, Chatter

Chatter is what the chattering class does, and does rather exhaustively and extensively. Chatter is what I hear, none of it scintillating, none of it original, but most of it incredibly gossipy and, at times, a bit mean-spirited. Yes, I'm talking about adults, and not those that are under four feet. It's fascinating to me how so many conversations are centered around others and not ideas-- no never ideas. Why is it that people with leisure time spend so much of their time obsessed about others? What I find so endlessly amusing is how all of this talk is, in the end, so circuitous. X is doing so and so, said by Y. Then X will discuss how Y is doing so and so to T. T will then tell Y how X is doing so and so. You can see what I'm saying, right? It's a bit like the algebraic equations that made my life a living hell in 8th grade. And in the end, each person will get discussed by the other to one of the other in the group, thereby making a perfect circle if one could diagram the talk. I suppose this is more geometry than algebra, both of which made my life absolute hell. I won't get into what Calculus did to me or that ridiculous AP Physics class. It is a bit Dorothy Parkeresque, if only any of them had ever read Dorothy Parker.

Anyway, I'm not claiming to be above the fray since I'm usually X or Y, depending on the circle. But rather, I'm just alarmed and dismayed that this circle of talk seems to occur more often than not. This chatter doesn't occur with all my girlfriends. I do have a few, those that are keepers on the friendship shelf, that can, and do have conversations about so many other topics other than people, or people we know in common. This chattering seems to reach a crescendo pitch in certain communities like churches, schools, sororities, secretarial pool (is there such a thing anymore since all secretaries are now referred to as assistants), English departments, any place where people spend an inordinate amount of time working, believing, supporting, and socializing. And with my penchant for joining groups, I find myself involved in lots of chatter.

I'm not a poet by training, although that is a secretly held dream of mine. Yes, my husband would surely be upset now since we know how much money poets make in this world. I mean, everyone reveres John Ashbery, well, language poets do anyway, but how many people actually buy his collections, right? Or know who John Ashbery is for that matter? And like I had said about chatter in English Departments, albeit a rather eloquent chatter, poetry workshops were notoriously contentious and mean-spirited. I heard from many poets that the rooms would divide between language poets versus narrative poets, all in the fight to death about which form is the valid form. All funny stuff, really, but very serious to the participants.

Nonetheless, I have started to write a poem or two. Nothing grand, nothing publishable. But this chatter to which I was referring was something that was the genesis of a poem I was recently working on.

I will share here...please bear with me as it is many drafts away from being ready.

Whispers, secret glances, flowing hair huddled together.
Why do we pretend we are all friends?
Why do we keep up social graces?
Keeping up the charade all is perfect.
As whispers gather, each utterance about someone we know
The cumulus of deceit darkening our pristine houses.

Whispers, secret glances, shoulder blades jutting together.
Invitations extended and rescinded.
Words now louder
Gusts of gossip, careening through our sedate streets
Overturning sedans, uprooting the ficus tree.

Whispers, secret glances, hands clasped together.
Competition to be Queen Bee
Now a thundering stampede
The ground quivering under the weight of such busyness
Toxins seeping into our water.

And so we say we are all friends.
Glasses clinked in celebration.
As one more heart is savaged.
Another Queen Bee's coronation attended.