I like Buddy Wakefield a lot.
My introduction to poetry readings was interesting. A few years ago my life consisted mostly of copious amounts of Oxycontin (among other opiates), extreme alienation and reading poetry. I used poetry to cope with the loneliness and agony when the opiate ration wasn’t enough to distract me.
I wanted to hear live poetry for a reason I cannot remember now. Google showed only one poetry reading in Orange County. It happened to be right down the street from where I lived at an independent cafe named “the Ugly Mug”.
So I went not expecting much, not knowing much about who was reading and high on 5 80mg Oxycontin pills I chewed up.
A handful of torturous open mic readings started the night. The audience remained quiet after each open reading except some weird bald guy sitting near the front who would clap his hands excitedly.
The drugs kept me fairly placated, otherwise, I think I would have walked out immediately. A small woman walked up and started reading poetry about a conversation she had with her niece. I liked the poem but didn’t hear who she was. Or maybe I did and I just don’t remember.
The host announced Buddy Wakefield was up next and the weird clapping bald guy rose from his chair and walked to the mic.
Buddy seemed really animated like a hummingbird on coke. I watched him jump around and talk oddly and kept thinking ‘who would look at a little baby and name it buddy?’
Buddy started performing, gaining momentum with each poem and the audience was getting rowdier and interacting with him. I wasn’t sure what was going on. I yelled out ‘show me your tits’ , without hesitation Buddy lifted up his shirt, bared his luscious pink nipples and went right through with the recital.
His last poem was interrupted by a college kid yelling ‘flock printer’. Buddy stopped, thanked us for the interruption because he was feeling more like ‘flock printer’, and I sat confused wondering what the fuck a flock printer was.
The poem was really good. Started out slow and peaked like an orgasm. I listened intently and stared a little.
Despite the sadness, the insomnia, the numbness, the opiates, Buddy’s poem let me feel emotion, something I did not think I was capable of any more.
Most of his poetry has a philosophical feel to it and challenges the listener to ‘live life’. I thank him for it and suggest people see him once in their life. His tour dates are posted at his website
Here are a couple of his performed poems: