The Yeast Also Rises
A ditty about vaginal infections was the last straw for a South Street poetry series.
By Daisy Fried
It was the poem about the yeast infection that was the last straw, but it was the story about the pope having sex with the poodle that first made Philip DeGenova itch and squirm.
DeGenova has enough sense of humor about his religion to put a photo of Frank Sinatra above the sculpted head of Jesus Christ in the window of his Cafe Santa Maria, 517 S. Fifth St. But after all, he did name the place after the blessed mom and he did put a couple of mother-and-child paintings on the walls, a statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary by the door, another statue of JC opposite her, plus paintings of Sts. Rita and Lucy (the latter with her plucked-out eyes on a plate) around the cafe and a couple of baby angels in the window.
When DeGenova took over what used to be Ipso Cafe last year he knew he wanted poets to read, and he thought maybe he'd publish a poetry review out of the place. So when Cecily Kellogg and Charlie O'Hay, longtime regulars on the cafe/bar reading circuit who ran a poetry series at Doc Watson's for several years, asked DeGenova if they could install their series at the cafe, he agreed.
That poetry series could never be described as academic. Many of their poets were aggressively performance-oriented. There were serious and resolutely unserious poets, and people who'd scribble on lined paper as they listened to other poets and squint as they took their turns reading to make out what they'd just written, and people who'd shake a tambourine as they read for dramatic effect, and musicians with guitars. Often there'd be a featured reader (full disclosure: this reporter was a featured reader in the series last spring) and then an open reading. A certain neonaivebeat badassness pervaded the open readings.
DeGenova told Kellogg and O'Hay at the outset that he felt uncomfortable with certain subject matters.
"I'm a devout Catholic," said DeGenova. "I go to mass every Sunday. My place is named after Mary. I talked to Cecily about that."
Kellogg told DeGenova she wouldn't invite anyone to read whom she knew to be anti-Catholic or blasphemous. "But I told him we couldn't censor anyone at the open reading," she says.
Everything went swimmingly for a while, though DeGenova didn't expect the "shouting kind of poetry" that he says eventually prevailed. He says attendance at the series, with some exceptions, slacked off and so did publicity, which DeGenova said he wanted Kellogg and O'Hay to take care of. He wanted both to support poetry and bring people into the business, but says mostly the series would fill chairs with people who wouldn't buy anything.
Then, last spring, "people were apparently intoxicated and by the end of the evening there was damage to the racks in the bathroom," says DeGenova.
He says the group also knocked the hand off the BVM statue at the front door. On purpose, he says. "They were mocking her. And I thought, well that's the price you have to pay."
But one day in June, a man read a story that Kellogg describes as being about the "pope fucking a poodle which could be construed as slightly blasphemous," and which DeGenova says had the pope "on the steps of the Vatican, defecating in public, having intercourse with nuns and such nonsense."
So DeGenova asked Kellogg and O'Hay to call it quits for the summer, and get back to him in September to decide if they'd continue the readings. In August DeGenova told
City Paper he would welcome the series back in the fall. "I go with the flow," he said. "I'm a poet myself and I would not judge someone else."
But then, with the series started up again for a month, DeGenova admits, he did judge someone.
Last Monday, Kellogg and O'Hay held an open reading. A poet named Elena "Ed" Decker started reading a poem called "The Way What's Beautiful Turns Itself Inside Out and Ugly In Reference to Dying Lotus Buds and Moldy Clams."
The poem, which consisted of a series of extravagant and revolting metaphors for yeast infections, had lines like:
"My yeast infection/is a squeaky jail cell cot/masturbated on by 1,000/drunk men."
That's one of the nicer parts. The poem ends with "I could win any war/just by spreading my legs."
Kellogg says there were just two customers besides those who were involved in the reading group "and they were both into it and listening."
But DeGenova says it was making his customers uncomfortable. "They were eating dinner. One was a regular who was eating her favorite meal and she did not eat another bite after that."
DeGenova says he asked Kellogg what they should do. "But apparently," says DeGenova, "she wasn't going to do anything. So I turned to the poet and said would you mind stopping and moving on to another poem."
Kellogg says DeGenova "gave a big speech about how he's too sensitive and he's tried but he can't take it and we'd have to leave."
DeGenova says he felt "awful, terrible. I was interfering with something that shouldn't be interfered with. But it's the gratuitous stuff that bothers me. And I watched the customers. They weren't responding well."
Kellogg and O'Hay went to Quarry Street Cafe that very night and arranged with the owner to move the series to that cafe's new basement room. "He promised there'd be no censorship," she says.
The Quarry Street series will begin when Kellogg and O'Hay get back from their honeymoon. They're getting married next week.
DeGenova still hopes to run readings and a poetry review out of his cafe — of a politer kind. "I'm thinking now, I'll take an evening and give it over to art. I won't mix the restaurant with the poetry."
All's well that end's well?
