LOS ANGELES (AP) — Poetry readings have always been a blast for S.A. Griffin, but the tour that the venerable Los Angeles poet plans this spring may be his most explosive.

This time the author of such collections as “Unborn Again” and “One Long Naked Dance” will be packing his poems inside of a Cold War-era bomb and taking them on the road. The idea is to create the constructive from the destructive.

“I’m taking one of the most iconic images of destruction of the 20th century and turning it into something positive,” says the strapping Griffin, who at 6-foot-3 is nonetheless dwarfed by the gun-metal gray performance-art companion that rises more than 7 feet tall when tilted on end. He found the dummy bomb, which contains no explosives, on the Internet and bought it for $100.

His plan: bring the bomb to a city near you, dropping rhymes and free verse by the hundreds on audiences everywhere from Atlanta to Montana, Oregon to North Carolina and points in between. His aim is to get people to wake up to poetry.

“What I’m really doing here is like publishing poetry in a journal,” says Griffin, who is also coeditor of the 1999 journal “The Outlaw Bible of American Poetry,” a sprawling opus of 720 pages that contains the works of everyone from the beats’ Allen Ginsberg and Gregory Corso to modern-day writers like Luis J. Rodriguez and Jimmy Santiago Baca.

“But when you publish poetry in a journal, usually the only people who pay any attention to it are other poets,” adds Griffin, 55, a member of the so-called outlaw generation of American poets that followed Ginsberg, Corso and the other beats of the 1950s.

Oregon-based poet Scott Wannberg, who has sent along a submission inspired by the bomb, agrees it’s likely to get more attention than any of the work he’s had published in nine volumes over the years.

“What’s more devastating, a good poem or a good bomb?” Wannberg asks with a laugh.

Griffin has spent decades attempting to bring poetry to the masses, placing poems on the sides of buses, on billboards, in beer bottles. Several times he’s crisscrossed the country in a vintage Cadillac convertible with a loose-knit group of fellow poets called The Carma Bums, giving readings at coffee houses and small theaters around the country.

He plans to go on the road for five weeks beginning in April, making more than a dozen stops around the country, but with just the bomb in tow this time.

He has collected more than 100 poems so far, many penned especially for the tour. They range from Wannberg’s whimsical “Sorry About That Bomb Falling On Your Head” to Ellyn Maybe’s gentle anti-war lament, “Someday Our Peace Will Come” with these opening lines: “One day poetry dropped from the sky/and the animals grew iambic pentameter tails/and the people breathed in stars.”

“I think it’s inspired, a really beautiful idea to transform something like that into something poetic,” said Maybe, cited by Writers Digest as one of 10 poets of the millennium to watch.

Anyone, poet or otherwise, can send Griffin a poem and it will be included. He plans to take poems from the bomb and read them to people along the way.

All submissions must be delivered by snail mail, not computer — “I want to see that people made an effort” — and be no larger than 8½ by 11 inches.

Griffin isn’t sure what the Poetry Bomb Tour will cost him. He says he’s raised about $3,000 in contributions over the Internet so far, but spent $6,000 just for the 1995 Ford Econoline van he plans to travel with the bomb in. He may sell the van when he returns home.

“If I break even, I figure I’ll have come out ahead,” he says.

Over the years, Griffin has supplemented his poetic life with work as a character actor, appearing in scores of films and TV shows as everything from a cop to a drag queen. He was the hoodlum Arnold Schwarzenegger beat up in “Twins,” the Marine war hero whose wife Patrick Dempsey’s young Lothario romanced in “In the Mood” and one of the evil cowboys Clint Eastwood killed in “Pale Rider.”

The bomb’s previous owner, Robert Demott of Huntington Beach, acquired it nine years ago from a Hollywood movie prop house that was going out of business. For years he kept it in his front yard, in L.A.’s bohemian beach-front Venice neighborhood, just to shake up people.

Its provenance before the studio got hold of it isn’t known, but Demott likes to think it could have been stolen from a military base where dummy bombs are dropped for target practice. It appears to have been an old MK series “dumb bomb” that was popular with the U.S. military during the Korean and Vietnam wars.

By the time Griffin is done customizing it, the bomb won’t look all that deadly. He plans to paint it a flashy color (he hasn’t decided which one yet), pinstripe it like you would a classic car and install a portal with a window under its nose.

“If I get pulled over by the cops I want them to be able to stick their heads in there, look around and be able to see just what it is, an art object.”

Already, he has drawn some concerned reactions, particularly when people have ignored his instructions and mailed their poems to his post office box with the words “The Poetry Bomb” on the envelopes.

When he showed up to collect a stack of poems at the post office, an angry postal worker told him they “don’t like stuff with the word bomb on it.”

“After I told him what it was, he was cool with it,” Griffin said. “He laughed.”

Reviewer: JoSelle Vanderhooft

Of all the things I review for Pedestal, spoken word CDs are my favorite, both because of their rarity (few poets, after all, have the resources to put one together) and the ingenuity with which they blend visual art, music, and, of course, poetry read aloud. The best of these CDs blend all of these disparate elements to make something that is neither music nor poetry but which uses the common roots of each to create something bold, new, and frequently difficult to categorize, save for the term “performance.” Indeed, the successful spoken word poet is one who does not just read his or her work, but performs it as if it were a stand-up routine, a monologue, part of a “Happening,” or simply as something meant to live beyond the confines of the page.

Ellyn Maybe is a poet who knows how to do just that. Not only a strong poet on paper, she is also a consummate performer with a warm, full voice that is as friendly and inviting as it is delightfully quirky. Few poets—indeed, few performers of any stripe—have the personality, honesty and, yes, unabashed geekiness which Maybe displays in her readings of the ten poems on Rodeo for the Sheepish. Her voice is not only entrancing but unforgettable; indeed, I would very much like to hear her perform live someday.

Happily, Maybe’s poems are not only uniformly strong, but also lend themselves to being spoken so readily that they appear to have been written with performance in mind. Maybe begins the CD strongly with “All My Life I’ve Wanted a Great Love,” in which she enumerates ideal qualities for a lover that are just as unusual as her voice: “Someone who cries at least once a year,” and “Someone whose eyes are not remembered by color, but by every film he’s ever loved.” Maybe then caps this inventive lift with a line that is every bit as wistful as it is funny and ultimately heartbreaking: “Ever since junior high, I thought this person existed. Now I believe more in cows jumping over the moon.”

Maybe skillfully and wittily dissects the struggles and joys of her profession in “Being an Artist” and pays a touching, illuminating, and off-beat tribute to Sylvia Plath in a long poem named for her, and in which Maybe tackles not only the horror of Plath’s treatment at the hands of a sexist culture, but also the importance of her work to young artists, whom she still touches “through tin can lines we walk through.” But my favorite pieces on Rodeo for the Sheepish were the three in which Maybe speaks of women whom U.S. society frequently casts aside or overlooks because they are overweight (“Picasso”), quirky and intelligent (“There Were Two Girls Who Looked a Lot the Same”), or, as with the subject of “City Street,” just lonely, socially awkward, and perhaps depressive. While the poem is best read and listened to in its entirety, these stanzas are some good highlights (rendered in prose-poem format):

She dreams in psychedelic colors, fuschia and periwinkle. When she sleeps, the voices stop. Her voices are loud today. It’s the you’re not normal alto blended with the you’ll never find love baritone. This is her morning coffee. This is what wakes her up.

Today might be different. She whispers words of encouragement but because her ear is bruised from this lifetime, instead of hearing love she hears of and instead of hope it’s nope.

The girl looks at her finger. There was a diamond. She got it when she was 6. Her grandma said no matter what the world thought of her, she deserved beautiful things.

Someone shouted hey baby. It momentarily distracted her from the symphony of lonely conductors playing in her brain.

…

When asked where she’s going she says the library. Her friend smirks and says you need to get out more…books can’t give you an orgasm.

She responds you aren’t pressing right then. Books have a double life. Just like readers.

While I don’t want to spoil the experience for listeners, the poem does end with a sort of transformation for the subject which is at once moving and exhilarating. Suffice it to say, then, that this poem spoke directly to me as someone who has often felt alone and several steps behind the pacing and concerns of the world around me. I dare say the poem will resonate with several women who have felt the same—whom I assume to be the silent majority of women.

Maybe’s choice of subject matter is not the only thing that makes her poetry sing. She is also profoundly skilled with language. Note above the succinctness and muscle of her lines and her tight control over them (“Her grandma said no matter what the world thought of her, she deserved beautiful things.”). Note also that the poetry in this excerpt uses such tools as metaphor and simile sparingly. Instead, Maybe gives her poetry force through pithy dialogue (“Books have a double life. Just like readers.”) and through powerful, unexpected imagery (“the symphony of lonely conductors playing in her brain.”) This succinct quality makes her poetry ideal for speaking aloud and also beautifully conversational and down-to-earth, two qualities which also make it enormously accessible and relatable—not in the sense that Maybe “dumbs down” any of her subjects, but that she manages to tap into such truly universal feelings as social awkwardness and isolation.

For the most part, a spoken word CD is made or broken by its musical accompaniment. Here, Maybe is extremely fortunate to have found ideal partners in Harlan Steinberger (who also produced Rodeo for the Sheepish) and Tommy Jordan (who doubled as art director for the CD booklet’s striking black and white photographs). Steinberger and Jordan’s instrumentals—of saxophone, drums, guitar and amplifier, to name but a few— complement Maybe’s voice, underscoring rather than overwhelming her words in such a way as to bolster the poems’ themes and ambiances. The trombone, drum licks, and harp of “City Streets,” for example, give the poem an even more awkward and unusual feel, which helps evoke its strange, sad protagonist. The steel guitars in “Sylvia Plath” likewise evoke the sorrow of the poem, just as the electric guitar wails and drum beats in “Picasso” evoke a mood of sexiness, appropriate for a poem about the beauty of large women’s bodies. Interestingly, sometimes Jordan (who provides the tracks’ vocals) will sing a line from the poem during intervals between words or a refrain that, while extraneous to the text, nevertheless complements it well, as the refrain “City streets criss-cross inside me” does in “City Streets.” Together, poetry and music create a unique experience that neither could achieve by itself. While the most obvious name for this experience would be theater, for some reason I find it much closer to visual art, if only because the mental images evoked for me by the words and music of Rodeo for the Sheepish were so bright and vibrant.

Fans of spoken word CDs and lovers of slam poetry with a nerd-girl edge should seek this CD out as soon as they finish reading this review, as should anyone curious to see the highs to which this blended art form can aspire. I cannot recommend Rodeo for the Sheepish enough.