From the Archives: Hayden Carruth, 80th Birthday Tribute, October 17, 2001

This is part of my "From the Archives" series, which consists of texts from e-mails I sent to friends describing my experiences at poetry events. I may have taken some small editorial liberties with these texts, and I have included related pictures and hyperlinks, but these are all BBB (Before BillyBlog). Remember, for me readings are enjoyable for two separate reasons: the love of poetry, and the mania for collecting. I am who I am. Enjoy!


Subject: HAYDEN CARRUTH
Date: Thu, 18 Oct 2001 12:20:49 -0400

Well, as a reading went, it was successful. As a signing, not so.

I am now a member of the Poetry Society of America, by the way. Woo hoo! The reading started late, about 15 minutes so, and everyone came out but Mr. Carruth, who then emerged very slowly, shuffling with a cane. He did not look good. It was an interesting exercise to compare him to Richard Wilbur. [I had seen Wilbur read earlier in the month at the Guggenheim.] They are both 80 years old, but Wilbur acted 10 years younger and Carruth acted 20 years older. It did not bode well for signing.

The reading commenced with some words from Alice Quinn. Then David Budbill read. He was very funny and animated. Then Marilyn Hacker. She was good, but nothing to write Toronto about. Then Sam Hamill read. Sam is HC's publisher at Copper Canyon Press (they'll sell you signed Carruth broadsides, by the way, for $45). [Not anymore. But you can still buy Copper Canyon broadsides here]. Sam was rather dull. Then Galway Kinnell read and he rocked. He talked about the only time he and Hayden had ever had a tiff, when Hayden visited a few years back and "he was chainsawing like crazy in my apartment. HA! Did I say chainsawing? I meant chain-smoking! Although, in Hayden's case, chainsawing wouldn't be out of the question,." At this point, the audience was laughing and Mr. C, who was pretty much immobile, shook with laughter. It was the first sign of emotion, nay, the first sign of life, he showed since taking the stage.

Then, Joe-Anne McLaughlin-Carruth read. She's Hayden's wife and was extremely eccentric. She had what can best described as a "squeaky" voice and she read a poem she had written about Hayden's two previous wives. It was just so off the wall, I don't think anyone got it. Bizarre! She had fire red long hair and wore this weird outfit with long opaque sleeves. Then Grace Paley, who didn't come, didn't read. The Adrienne Rich told anecdotes and read. She was swell. Then Jean Valentine read from Hayden's letters, namely letters he had written to Jane Kenyon when she was dying. They were truly marvelous. The high point for me at least.

Then Hayden got up and shuffled slowly to the podium. There was a long ovation. He responded by taking the two microphones and bumping their heads together in applause, then remarked on how they looked like alien antennae. He then rambled a bit, somewhat coherently, about how old age had made him forgetful and said, "Can you imagine, coming to a reading at a place like this and forgetting to bring a book?" He then turned around to beseech his friends for help. He got a book from Galway, The Norfolk Poems of Hayden Carruth. "A rather pretentious title," remarked Mr. C. He then a read a poem about Adolf Eichmann that was very very good. Then he apologized for his voice, which sounded like a chain smoker's voice, because his throat had been damaged by a heart attack he had a few years ago. He then proceeded to read a second poem, then stopped, I think, midway and apologized that he could not go on because of his voice. That was that.

People applauded, and stood. I said to [my friend] Pam [who had accompanied me to the reading] that Hayden would probably not be signing, especially as I noticed that as he read, his hands shook terribly.

Then it was showtime and there was chaos. I can tell you this, Adrienne Rich disappeared without a trace. Not bad for a woman who has difficulty walking. People went up on stage and Janet [my other friend who had joined me] prodded me to go up there. It didn't look initially like he was signing, then it did. But I made a call that I would later regret. I figured if he's up there, he's not going anywhere fast, I'll save him for last. Despite the presence of a lovely helper, it was a challenge. I had 21 books for 7 people, and I tried to divide the labor effectively. I approached David Budbill first, and he signed The Best American Poetry [BAP] '89. As he finished, who should be on stage with him (I was below the stage on the floor), but El Doppelganger, smelling much better than Sunday (or not smelling at all, I should say), and he introduced himself to Budbill as "Frank". I prefer Doppelganger. And yes, he wore a baseball cap. I then got Galway Kinnell to sign BAP 01. Meanwhile, Pam was waiting to get Ms. Hacker. Doppelganger was hot on my heels with Galway as well. I kept going back and forth between my bags and the stage so as not to confuse myself. Pam got Marilyn H to sign (not inscribe and date) the Ploughshares. Then I got her to sign BAP 95 and 98, and the Academy of American Poets 50 yr anthology. We then figured on getting on stage for Mr. C. We waited and waited. Jean Valentine walked by. Doppelganger was four or five people ahead of me. HC signed some things, but I saw no other dealers there. Then he posed for photos and then Sam Hamill said "Sorry, we have a dinner to attend. No more autographs." Doppelganger looked disappointed, but packed up his stuff. I figured as much. Then I saw Sharon Olds with Gerald Stern and Grace Schulman (I felt so knowledgeable). I got a slight consolation prize as Sharon signed her page in BAP 01. "This is a nice pen!" she exclaimed. I would have had shots at Stern, but my master list killed the printer paper at R, so I didn't have it to tell me Stern was in Jorie Graham's Ecco anthology, which I had with me. A cursed book, it seems, as I missed Galway on that score too. I also missed that Olds was in BAP 99. Meanwhile, Pam was getting Jean Valentine's signatures in my BAP 89 and 96, and in [my friend] Brian's Poets for Life. We somehow missed Hacker in that book too. Sorry Brian.

As we left, HC was in the lobby with Sam Hamill, who was being very protective. I heard him say sternly that Hayden was not signing any more because he was tired. I would have taken a shot, but I was intimidated by the fact that Sharon Olds, Marilyn Hacker and Gerald Stern were standing by and I didn't want to look like a scoundrel. Brian, on the other hand, I explained to Pam, would have not cared and succeeded in either getting everything signed, or having Sam Hamill chase him from the building angrily.

All in all: here's the score sheet. Out of 6/21/28 (6 poets, 21 books, 28 signatures possible), we hit on 4+1/8/9+1. The +1 is Olds, as a bonus. But Rich and Carruth were goose eggs and accounted for 15 of these signatures and 9 of the books that went untouched.

But, what's important here is the poetry, and the fact that I may have witnessed Mr. Carruth's last appearance, most definitely in NYC. It would not surprise me if the next time I hear his name in conjunction with a reading, it will be for a tribute at the 92nd Street Y.


As a postscript, Mr. Carruth is a lot sturdier than I thought. God bless him for that. He celebrated his eighty-sixth birthday this past August 3.

Here follows a review of the event from the Poets & Writers website:

HAYDEN CARRUTH AT 80:
POSTCARD FROM NEW YORK CITY

postmark 10.19.01

An audience of over two hundred people attended a birthday tribute to the poet Hayden Carruth on October 17 in Manhattan. The event, which was sponsored by the Poetry Society of America, Poets House, the NYU Creative Writing Program, the Academy of American Poets, the YMCA National Writer's Voice, and Copper Canyon Press, was held at the Great Hall of Cooper Union on the corner of Twelfth Avenue and Seventh Street. Carruth, who turned 80 in August, recently published Doctor Jazz: Poems 1996-2000 (Copper Canyon, 2001).

Marilyn Hacker, Galway Kinnell, Joe-Anne McLaughlin, Adrienne Rich, Jean Valentine, and other friends and peers of Carruth read his poetry, which is collected in nearly 30 books published during the last half-century, and shared memories of their personal relationships with the poet.

"The only way to pave a road is to pour asphalt," the poet David Budbill remembered Carruth saying, in reference to the work ethic of a writer. Poet and founding editor of Copper Canyon Press, Sam Hamill, captured the range and quantity of Carruth's poetry by noting that it moved "from the epigrammatic to the epic."

Jean Valentine read from letters that Carruth had written to Jane Kenyon in 1994, a year before her death from leukemia, in which he describes the joy of watching a rogue mushroom grow in his house-a pleasure, he noted, surpassing that provided by many an abstract painting.

After reading a selection of his poems, Adrienne Rich spoke of her connection to Carruth: "I don't know how I would have written poetry without a sense of Hayden as a reader."

From the stage radiated an undeniable warmth, and the real celebration was not so much about any particular Hayden Carruth poem, but rather about the intertwining of individual lives as the result of a sense of community nurtured by poetry.

In fact, no poems were read from his newest collection, and when Carruth finally stepped to the podium he thanked his friends for "reading these poems of mine, most of which I didn't remember." Then, realizing he had forgotten his own books and had nothing from which to read, he turned to Galway Kinnell and borrowed a copy from him. The simple act captured perfectly the way these writers had sustained one another for many years.

Of course, in New York, events are still shadowed by the tragedy of September 11, a point acknowledged by Galway Kinnell who said, "For me, in these sad and difficult weeks, this is a bright moment."

-Andy Carter

And finally, read a post here from earlier this year about the poster I had brought to the reading to be signed, and how I did get it signed, but not at the reading.

From the Archives: Larry Rivers at Lord & Taylor (April 17, 2001)

This is part of my "From the Archives" series, which consists of texts from e-mails I sent to friends describing my experiences at arts & literary events. I may have taken some small editorial liberties with these texts, and I have included related pictures and hyperlinks, but these are all BBB (Before BillyBlog). Remember, for me these events are enjoyable for two separate reasons: the love of art/poetry, and the mania for collecting. I am who I am. Enjoy!

The following is a recap of an event I attended on my lunch break, where the artist Larry Rivers was celebrating the launch of his relationship with Lord & Taylor Department stores. I went primarily to see Rivers due to his association with the New York School of Poets (Ashbery, Koch, Schuyler, O'Hara) and it sounded like it would be a cool event. And, it was during working hours, so I could run over during a lunch break. No baby sitter required. Rivers died sixteen months after this event (New York Times obituary reprinted here). The poster below, from the event, depicts "Straps and Belts Can Make a Turban, 2001". This is, I believe, the only place on the web you can see this piece, at least based on my humble estimation.

I normally post these way back at the start of BillyBlog, in chronological order, but this one's an amazing little story, and quite funny too. The e-mail was sent to my friends Brian and Hubert. Brian was my mentor who taught me much about book signings and author events.

From: "Bill Cohen"
Subject: A Little Brian in all of Us
Date: Tue, 17 Apr 2001 13:44:10 -0400

So.

Larry Rivers actually designed part of this collection for Lord & Taylor. Pretty funky. I get there at 12:05, 25 minutes early, and there's a jazz trio set up, playing bebop, Larry's in there somewhere as maybe two dozen L&T employees and people who think they're important observe. And a line. A line of maybe 40 people, mostly septuagenarians and older, dabbled with rich New York City housewives.

I get in line, some old couple falls in behind me, the dude cracking awful unfunny jokes forever. No dealers in sight. I have come with a Lord & Taylor bag with pants bought at Lord & Taylor and an actual L&T receipt. Oops! How did that bag of books get in there?

12:30. Showtime. A muffled announcement from the front. Unintelligible, a woman with a L&T badge and a smirky smile weaves back....."In case you couldn't hear the announcement, Mr. Rivers will meet everyone and you can get a poster, but he will NOT be signing autographs."

Nobody around me seems to care. The old guy says he'll sign my poster for me. I think, well he might not be signing autographs, but he sure will sign a few books! A forlorn looking tall man comes back with a Larry Rivers coffee table book the size of Altadena, and speaks to his wife, several feet ahead of me. My eyes bore into the back of his head.

And so it goes. Creep creep. Larry's at a table with maybe thirty people hanging our watching. I formulate plan B (plan A, of course, is that he signs all 6 items I've brought with me). I prepare myself. Big book guy puts the book down in front of him, it looks like Larry is signing, but I can't tell. The universe doesn't come crashing down.

It's my turn a few moments later when some pushy broad (the correct term in this case) cuts in front of me and starts hugging old Larry, who, by the way, don't look so hot, sorta trembly and frail, with hearing aid, etc. He gets up and says something to the band. She's still there. "Well I gotta meet all these people," he says to her dismissively, she backs off. The spotlight falls on me.

I step forward, raising the books in front of me. "Hello Mr. Rivers..."

"I'm not signing those books!" he says, gruffly. But I detect that he is distracted, perhaps confused, and I am, after all Mr. Innocent.

In an uncanny move, that impressed even me, my Brian-honed signing mechanisms kicked in and I did the only thing I could to guarantee survival: I pretended I didn't understand a word he said.

Meanwhile, his body was acting independently of his words. He picked up a sharpie pen (sorry Brian) that he had with him, and I said, "I just have two books (I didn't want to push it)."

[Note: My apology to Brian stems from Brian's mandate that books not be signed with Sharpies. He maintains that the ink bleeds more than other pens, and that it also fades faster than others, as well. This has not stopped authors from using them, however.]

Perhaps the curiosity factor kicked in, perhaps he was merely confused, I sensed tension around me, I was waiting for some cheery-cheeked nymphet to swoop in and cart me off to Security for harassing their guest.

"What's this?" he said, pen in hand.

"This is the David Lehman book about the New York School." [My selfishness revealed! I do

declare this to be one of the coolest books in my collection, as it is inscribed by Kenneth Koch and John Ashbery, and signed by David Lehman, Jane Freilicher, and now, Larry Rivers "Rivers"]

"And this is...." he blank-signed the title page (not inscribed on the half-title as you [Brian] had desired) of Some American History, the June Jordan collaboration you [Brian] mentioned). I would have gone for the O'Haras too, but pushy woman had reinserted herself at the table with the poster for the event begging Larry to sign it for her. He kept saying "No autographs, no! I can't do it!" as the ink dried on my two freshly-signed books. I had to interrupt the poster girl to get a poster, as she was too caught up in the gentle argument unfolding at the table.


I fled, passing the big book guy who leered at me as I smiled sweetly back.



Success? Perhaps. A gentler soul would have faired much worse, but I justified it with the idea that if I'm going to stand in the lobby at Lord and Taylor during my lunch hour and listen to mediocre jazz played over a tinny sound system, I was going to get something out of it other than a poster and a fleeting memory of an aging artist seated behind a folding table.

From the Archives: Ted Berrigan's Sonnets at St. Mark's

This is part of my "From the Archives" series, which consists of texts from e-mails I sent to friends describing my experiences at arts & literary events. I may have taken some small editorial liberties with these texts, and I have included related pictures and hyperlinks, but these are all BBB (Before BillyBlog). Remember, for me these events are enjoyable for two separate reasons: the love of art/poetry, and the mania for collecting. I am who I am. Enjoy!

In a search of an e-mail in 2012, I discovered this bit from November 16, 2000, embedded in an e-mail from 2007. A search of my journals showed I did not paste this e-mail into a physical book.

Amazing.

One of the best readings I've attended. Viking Penguin has just republished
Ted Berrigan's The Sonnets, so this event (on the late poet's birthday)
commemorated that feat.


At first I was worried. I am not very familiar with Berrigan, so when they
announced that the new edition of eighty-plus sonnets would be read in
their entirety, without an intermission, I worried. This is going to be a
long night, I thought. However, as the who's-who in New York poetry list
passed through the book, it was more and more joyful and entertaining.

In order, they read: Dick Gallup (very good), John Ashbery (intense),
Maureen Owen, Larry Fagin, Anselm Hollo (phenomenal), Sandy Berrigan
(Ted's first wife), Johnny Stanton (looking more like a goombah from Bay Ridge
than a poet, he brought the house down), Lorenzo Thomas, Lewis Warsh,
Alice Notley (Ted's 2nd wife and editor of this version of The Sonnets), Ed
Sanders, Edmund Berrigan (Ted's oldest son), Anne Waldman (amazing), Jim
Carroll (surprisingly excellent), Ron Padgett, and finally, David Berrigan(another son).

One of my favorites to share:

Sonnet LIII

The poem on the page is as massive as
Anne's thighs    belly to hot belly we have laid
Serene beneath feverous folds, flashed cool
in    our    white    heat        hungered        and tasted    and
Gone to the movies        baffling combustions
are everywhere!        like Gertrude Stein at Radcliffe,
Patsy    Padgett    replete    with    teen-age belly!        every-
one's suddenly pregnant and no one is glad!
O wet kisses, the poem upon the page
Can tell you about teeth you've never dreamed
Could bite, nor be such reassurance! Babies are not
Like    Word    Origins and cribbage boards        or dreams
of correspondence!        Fucking is so    very lovely
Who can say no to it later?


****
Anyway, it was fabulous, and I must admit (Brian, thou confidence in me is
well-founded), the reception/signing went exceptionally well. I aimed
myself at St. Marks with one bag o books. Target: 13 poets, 17 books, a
possible 40 signatures combined. I'll break the bad news first, I only
scored 87.5%, getting all but 5 signatures. Ashbery whined (I do not
exaggerate) when I asked him to sign 4 things (can you imagine if I had
brought 10? He would have wept openly. He was one of my first targets, for
a lack of a better word, and I would have pressed him, but he was limping
and whining and if he'd caused a scene, we could have called the whole
thing off. So, he only blank-signed Brian's copy of Self-Portrait......
The other failing was I caught Ed Sanders on the way out and he said I'd have
to settle for 2 of the 4 items I had for him.

Otherwise, much better than I expected. I was rewarded by several
factors:
1) nobody left immediately; 
2) Brian's foresight was right, his copies of
the New York Poets anthology, The St. Mark's Poetry anthology, and Big
Sky Issue #9 impressed the pants off a lot of people, and they enjoyed seeing
these books in hardcover and in such good condition; and finally, 
3) During the reading, I took notes, writing down physical descriptions--not only
what people looked like, but what they wore (often, a reader has glasses
only while reading, they are later removed). When dealing with obscure
poets at a large ensemble reading, this is key. You can thank my notes
for snagging Larry Fagin, Maureen Owen, and Lewis Warsh.


So, I won't give specifics (i.e. placement, inscriptions, etc) but here's
the final tally:
1 signature each in my Best American Poetry anthologies 88, 90,
93, 94, 96 and 97.
3 signatures in my Exquisite Corpse anthology
8 Individual signatures in poet's books (Ashbery-1, Jim Carroll-1,
Anselm Hollo-4, Ron Padgett-2)
3 signatures, including editor Padgett's, in Brian's NY Poets
anthology
6 signatures in Brian's Big Sky #9
and the coup de grace, but for John Ashbery's whining,
8 signatures in the St. Mark's anthology (including editor Waldman's)

Brian, please remember me at Channukah this year.

Visual highlight of the event: Once the reading concluded, Jim Carroll
running over to where Ashbery was seated, asking him to sign his copy of
The Sonnets.


All for now.
~~~
My friend Brian replied:

by the way, bill, when/if you get a chance I would love to hear a little
more detail on the reading itself. You mentioned that Hollo was
'phenomenal' and others surprisingly good,etc. I'm sure hubert is interested also. How
was Notley? and warsh, thomas & fagin?
brian
~~~

To which I responded:

I don't know what more to say about the reading, I parenthesized comments
about various readers, their presence was felt much more than the others.
Lorenzo Thomas, Warsh and Fagin were okay. Fagin had a lisp. Dick Gallup was
mentioned, as was Padgett in a lot of the sonnets, and that was fun,
especially since I was sitting near them and got to see them reacting.
If I don't comment it's because they were unmemorable, but by no means bad,
they just didn't stick out. Hollo has a deep, resonating voice, and he
enunciated very clearly.  Anne Waldman just knows how to throw a poem down
and lets the audience know she enjoys the poems. Ashbery would have been
unremarkable until you remember his stature as a poet, and you appreciate
him more. The 1st Mrs. Berigan was wholly unimpressive, but Notley had some
of the juicier, meatier poems (the one I included was one) and she was
pretty good, too. Not much to say otherwise, other than me chasing down
Hollo because I thought he was leaving, and he assured me he was just going
to the bathroom and he'd be back.

bill

From the Archives: Success at Columbia (Meeting Kenneth Koch, December 2, 1998)

This is part of my "From the Archives" series, which consists of texts from e-mails I sent to friends describing my experiences at poetry events. I may have taken some small editorial liberties with these texts, and I have included related pictures and hyperlinks, but these are all BBB (Before BillyBlog). Remember, for me readings are enjoyable for two separate reasons: the love of poetry, and the mania for collecting. I am who I am. Enjoy!

The following is an e-mail to Hubert, a friend and fellow book enthusiast in California.

Hubert,

Just had a nice little encounter with Kenneth Koch up at Columbia University.


Stopped by during his office hours and was very polite. He was quite surprised, "no one's ever come to my office before to get books signed."

He was meeting with a student when I arrived, so I waited. He poked his head out and called me into his office, would've loved to go through those books in there!

The person he was meeting with packed up as I stood around. Then he asked me to have a seat while he made a call to his barber to set up a haircut appointment (Friday 4:30). Then I handed him books, a couple I picked up today because [my friend] BGM advised not to go with just anthologies. Sound advice, indeed.

He inscribed Straits (poems, 1998) and Making Your Own Days; The Pleasures of Reading and Writing Poetry (1998, and a rather nice little nonfiction poetry book/anthology---check it out). He inscribed both "To Bill Cohen with best wishes Kenneth Koch New York 12/98"

Then I gave him the Lehman book [The Last Avant-Garde: The Making of the New York School of Poets] and above his portrait on the title he drew a balloon and inside it wrote "Hello, Bill Cohen" and signed it with NYC 12/98 just below the portait. Very cool. Very very cool.

Then he signed my Contemporary American Poets anthology which is looking more and more amazing (everyone on one page).

Then I asked him if he wouldn't mind signing his pages in my Best American Poetry anthologies, prefacing it with some poets object to doing so. He assented and signed on his page in 5 of those anthologies. He asked why some poets objected to signing them, and I kind of grunted and said "Because they think I'm a book dealer. Those guys ruin it for the rest of us who just enjoy getting autographs from poets we admire." That seemed to satisfy him. I will admit that since I started reading Lehman's book, my appreciation for both Koch and Ashbery has expanded greatly.

I thanked him profusely and then departed. He asked me if anyone was waiting for him in the hallway, I said "No," and he laughed and said "Thank God!" and started to pack.

Then, at the elevator, a young woman came up the stairs, saw me and stopped. She asked me if I was Professor Koch. Ha ha.......I wish.

Anyway, rather productive little jaunt....possibly seeing Ashbery on Saturday at a little dive in South Manhattan. Wish me luck!

Bill

From the Archives: Geraldine Dodge Poetry Festival, 1998

This is part of my "From the Archives" series, which consists of texts from e-mails I sent to friends describing my experiences at poetry events. I may have taken some small editorial liberties with these texts, and I have included related pictures and hyperlinks, but these are all BBB (Before BillyBlog). Remember, for me readings are enjoyable for two separate reasons: the love of poetry, and the mania for collecting. I am who I am.


[Note: It is interesting to contrast this e-mail from 1998, with my recap from the 2004 festival here. You can really sense a difference in the approach, as well as the experience from six years of signings. In 1998 I was much more taken by the surroundings whereas, in 2004, Duke Farms doesn't score much time in the description. The difference between being on the East Coast for only a year and a half and experiencing Autumn for the second time, and the same outlook six years later.]

Here's the e-mail from Monday, September 28, 1998:

Hi, this is a mass mailing for those interested. On Saturday, I attended Day Three of the four-day biennial Geraldine R. Dodge Poetry Festival. The festival was featured in the Bill Moyers' PBS special The Language of Life several years ago.

On Saturday, I left the house at 6AM, and by 7:30 was on a bus to Stanhope, New Jersey and the tiny historic village of Waterloo. Arriving at 8:30, I ran over to the church and caught the last fifteen minutes of Marge Piercy.

Then I wandered. What an amazing place! The leaves are just beginning to turn. It was a mild day in the low 70s, and the hazy sunshine dissolved into brilliant blue skies by 2 pm.

I wandered around until 9:30, during which I ran into the poets Mark Doty and Jane Hirshfield, who was literally thrilled when I pulled a "Poetry In Motion" subway poster out of my bag for her to sign. She was quite lovely and kind. The poem on the poster, "The Groundfall Pear" in its entirety reads: "It is the one he chooses/Yellow, plump, a little bruised/on one side from falling./That place he takes first."


From there I attended a discussion entitled "Poetry and Politics" featuring Chilean Poet Marjorie Agosín, renowned Chinese dissident poet Bei Dao, Malaysian poet (and UCSB professor) Shirley Geok-lin Lim, supertranslator Eliot Weinberger, the marvelously gifted W.S. Merwin, and the reigning dean of American Poetry, the 93-year old Stanley Kunitz. 'Twas a fascinating discussion and I was the first audience member to ask a question. I had with me a copy of my friend Brian's book Poetry and Politics: An Anthology of Essays, which featured an essay crafted from a lecture Kunitz gave in 1970. I asked him if he still felt it was no longer possible for someone to be both "a reactionary and a poet". The moderator clarified for the audience by verifying with me, "So you're quoting Stanley Kunitz to Stanley Kunitz?" And Mr. Kunitz, responded well in kind, not only remembering the lecture, but quoting directly from it. Quite a marvelous panel!

Afterwards, I was sitting in a shaded area nearby and Ms. Lim approached me and we discussed more of what was said. We chatted for a good 15 minutes, and when we were talking about "reactionary" vs."revolutionary" poets, I brought up Bukowski, and Ms. Lim, not what you would expect in a Bukowski fan, showed me a poem in one of her books called "Romancing Bukowski".

Further wanderings allowed me to meet Lucille Clifton, Denise Duhamel, and Alicia Ostriker.

At 11:30 a.m., I sat down against a tree overlooking the scenic Braw Pond, complete with geese, and a breathtaking view of the Fall foliage. It was a bit secluded as I jotted in my journal as the acorns rained down with each breeze and a couple of curious chipmunks busied themselves nearby.

At noon, I heard New York poets, Denise Duhamel, William Wadsworth, and Samuel Menashe read their work. Quite fun.

Watch: Denise Duhamel reads
"Kinky" (excerpt) (1.5 MB)
(QuickTime required)

Samuel Menashe reads
"Salt and Pepper" (2.1 MB)
(QuickTime required)

More wanderings, more meetings. Karl Kirchwey, another New York poet, ventured to sign a couple of anthologies for me while his three-year old daughter climbed his legs and struggled to put a large rock in his jeans pocket.

At 1:30, Bei Dao read with Eliot Weinberger. Wonderful to hear the poetry of a foreign language in its true form.

Just before 2:00, I caught Amiri Baraka leaving the restaurant and chatted him up briefly. His reading was PHENOMENAL! The way he mixes music and poetry is earth-shattering and he received a thunderous standing ovation from the crowd. Always great to see a living legend in action. [This was four years before his controversial recitation of a post-9/11 poem at the Dodge Festival.]

Watch: Amiri Baraka reads
"Wise, Why's Y's" (Africa section)
(Real Player required)



After a brief break with the Paul Winter Consort Musicians, Galway Kinnell and Sharon Olds had "A Conversation in Poems" during which they movingly alternated reading theirs and others' work.



From there I went to an open reading and read my beloved own poem "My Ballet Class In Heaven":

MY BALLET CLASS IN HEAVEN

is the title of the child’s drawing

above a co-worker’s desk.

It strikes me as odd.

My morbid mind runs amok

in the dense foliage

of twisted possibilities.

I picture a boulder crushing

a schoolbus

filled with screaming ballerinas.

Or

St. Peter calls

and says, “The Big Guy

wants to be reminded

of the simple, joyful things

in life.

Can you spare a few hours

to do the Nutcracker

for all the Angels?

Or

is it just

a bunch of kids

eating ice cream

from bottomless schooners

and grinning

fantastic

chocolate-smeared smiles?

After reading that to a receptive crowd, I caught up with W.S. Merwin again. And then broke for dinner.

Then, I sat and watched Coleman Barks recite Rumi with Paul Winter et al. They were rehearsing for the reading later in the evening.


At 6:30, I saw Kurtis Lamkin performing with the kora, a twenty-one stringed West African harp-lute used by troubadours to accompany compositions.

Watch: Kurtis Lamkin performs
"jump mama"
(Real Player Required)

[The photo on the right is not Lamkin, but does illustrate a musician playing the kora.]


At 7:00, Jane Hirshfield read, although she was a bit disappointing. Too serious, too intense, too homogenous in her reading. [I have since come to appreciate Ms. Hirshfield more, as indicated in my dispatch from the 2004 Dodge festival.]

Watch: Jane Hirshfield reads
"The Poet"
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At 7:45, Galway Kinnell read superbly.

Watch: Galway Kinnell reads
"After Making Love We Hear Footsteps"
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At 8:15, Adrienne Rich, wonderful to see her finally.

And at 8:45, Coleman Barks read some new Rumi, with the Winter Consortium.

Watch: Coleman Barks reads
"New Year's Day Nap"
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At 9:30, the festival ended and everyone went to a wine and cheese reception. I ran into Samuel Menashe (who I heard at Noon). He was a bit drunk, but we chatted for a bit.

At 10:15, I wandered over to the Gazebo where there had been open readings all day. The bus back to the city left mysteriously at 11, instead of 10 or 10:30. I met a nice couple from Hoboken and two other poets, and we sat around, talking story, and at their request, read my controversial "Casual Sex Fridays" much to their delight. [Inappropriate poem for BillyBlog, but I will share with anyone who is interested, just e-mail me.]

The bus left at 11. I was exhausted. I arrived at Port Authority at 12:15 a.m. And the trains finally deposited me in Bay Ridge at about 1:30 A.M. What a day!

You all know I collect books and signatures, so it will not be a surprise if you learned I went with a few books. More precisely, 17 books in all (plus a poster). I did not think I'd get everyone to sign everything, so I was thrilled to succeed almost entirely. I had 13 anthologies with me,
which made it a bit easier. In all, I had items in which 16 poets appeared. All but one, Robert Pinsky, signed for me, and I accumulated a grand total of 43 signatures in all.

Yes, Mom, your Marge Piercy book was the first one signed.

Even without all the signing, the festival was sensational, and I will never forget it. I recommend to all who are interested to start saving now for the next one in September 2000. I know I'll be there.