before the internet i often read books or magazines during breaks and lunches at the office — then i ate at my desk and surfed web pages or placed orders on amazon.com for books i didn’t read and remain in storage.
now i read books and magazines during work breaks and lunches — while someone else in some other office sells his/her x-men comic collection and some other digital fetus in another office far far away buys a x-men comic collection during lunch hour and later sells it because he/her didn’t make time to read it.
I remember when comic books were considered adolescent porn. For all I know they may still be perceived that way. I wonder if the increased interest in graphic novels includes the old Illustrated Classics?
When I was in grade school, my father occasionally bought copies of of the Illustrated Classics. My favorite books were Sherlock Holmes and the case of the hound Of the Baskervilles, Ivanhoe, and The Last of the Mohicans. During high school I started reading an collecting comic books, but not graphic novels. As I recall, graphic novels began appearing with more regularity in the 1990s as a way of propping up poor comic book sales. The first graphic novels I read were collected comic book serials like Frank Miller’s Ronin and Neil Gaiman’sThe Sandman Vol. 1: Preludes and Nocturnes. Reading comic books did not deter me from reading novels, poetry or literature in general. So, again, I wonder if graphic novels will increase reading among America’s youth.
Brief review of last night’s Warren Wilson College MFA faculty reading.
Marianne Boruch read first and from her new book that she didn’t know had been published and available at the book store. Always a delight to hear her read. Poems read include: “Still Life,” “New Paper,” “A Musical Idea,” and others.
Charles D’Ambrosio read a lengthy, intriguing piece that I assume is the opening to a novel. When he finished, I wanted to shout, “What happens next?”
Van Jordan read about a half dozen poems both old and new (from his recent book). His personae poems and eulogies were delightful and haunting.
Michael Martone read one of his “contributor notes” from his book Michael Martone: fiction. You would have had to been there to understand the unique humor of his story. As one amazon.com reviewer put it, “Mind-bending multiple views of Martone’s real and/or imagined lives, written in 2-3 page faux contributor’s notes.” His piece was hilarious and a great way to end a rich reading.
The Maurice Manning lecture this morning was excellent. I still plan to share details later. Presently, I getting ready to attend the Warren Wilson College MFA faculty reading tonight. Here’s who is reading tonight:
I missed the bus last night. Seems like I’ve been missing a lot this week. Work has been a storm of activity. A project, a Weekly Planner, I sent to press at the beginning of the month finally arrived and looks fantastic. But like two weather fronts colliding, the Weekly Planner crashes into another project, a paperback book, and it seems the days and nights wrestle for control of my energy.
I missed The Kakalak Poets on Saturday, but caught the Bernstein and Cabanis-Brewin reading at Malaprop’s on Sunday. Their reading centered around place; specifically Western North Carolina. It was an unusually balm mid-October afternoon and I felt like a stranger at the event even though I’ve been to Malaprop’s dozens if not hundreds of times. It was the way their work spoke of this region; deeply intimate.
Marvin Bell read at UNC Asheville’s Reuter Center Wednesday night. I attend the reading. Arriving early, I found a place in the back and began reading through a copy of the American Poetry Review. It arrived last weekend, but I hadn’t had time to read it. Someone kicked my foot and I looked up to find a smiling Sebastian Matthews who found a seat next to me. That reading was marvelous and the conversation afterwards with other poets and writers was equally nice. I wanted to greet Marvin Bell, but I lost courage and remembered I had to get home and check on correspondence with the author of the paperback book project I’m developing.
Thursday night, after missing the bus, I realized I’d missed my exercise routine all week. I had a 30-minute, two mile routine that I try to accomplish three times a week. So I walked to the Asheville Transit Center as a way to get back on track. It’s two miles exactly. Since I was a block away from Asheville Brewing Company, I popped in for a quick pint of Ninja Porter and a Rocky’s Philly Cheesteak. I think Drinking Liberally was meeting there, but I had to dash off or I’d miss the bus again. I’m glad it’s Friday. I hope I don’t miss the weekend.
Tonight, April 28, 7-9pm The Traveling Bonfires & Osondu Booksellers present Matthew Mulder, Margaret Osondu, Pasckie Pascua, and guest poets. Osondu Booksellers, Waynesville, NC. FREE. For info, (828) 456 8062 or (828) 505-0476.
Okay, my wife called this morning and said they mentioned my name on the local NPR radio station–WCQS. It is in regards to the Arts & Events Calendar–specifically the poetry reading at the Flood Fine Arts Center. I will be reading 6 to 10 poems with other poets–read press release.
So I had my three seconds of NPR fame. Back to your regular activities. But don’t forget–Friday night, 7PM, Flood Fine Art Center.
So, there’s this poetry reading Friday night and you’re all invited. And I think there’s drinks and food available. So, like, I guess I’ll see you there.
Asheville, NC (January 31, 2007) – On February 16, 2007, Flood Fine Arts Gallery will host its monthly poetry reading at 7:00 PM, featuring the following poets:
Matthew Mulder is a senior contributor to an independent monthly newsmagazine, The Indie, a weekly contributor to Write Stuff (a Web log about writing), and had been published in ISM Quarterly, The Blotter Magazine, Rapid River, and other small press publications. His poetry chapbook, “Late Night Writing”, is available from Wasteland Press and Amazon.com. He lives with his wife and children in Asheville.
Brian Sneeden has lived and worked in Asheville for three years. His one-act play, Act of Kindness, is currently in rehearsal for a mid-March world-premier. Brian’s work has been found in Wander, Headwaters, and Eye for an Iris, as well as the spoken word compilation CD, Objects in Mirror. Brian is a recent recipient of the UNC-A Undergraduate Research Grant for Playwriting, and his first manuscript of poetry, Antlers, was completed earlier this year.
Barbara Gravelle spent many years of her writing life in San Francisco’s North Beach poetry scene. There she completed North Beach Women of the Fifties, a series of interviews and discourse with women integral to the Beat movement. Archangel Books published her first full-length poetry book, Dancing the Naked Dance of Love, in 1976. Gravelle is currently active in the local writers’ group, Women on Words, and is completing a new manuscript, The Woman on the Roof.
Audrey Hope Rinehart handed my wife an event card about this poetry reading:
Asheville, NC… On Friday, December 22, 2006, at 7:00pm The Flood Fine Art Center in the River District, will host the first in an ongoing series of poetry readings. Four local poets: Jeff Davis, Josh Flaccavento, David Hopes, and Audrey Hope Rinehart will each read in a round robin format.
Readers from last night’s event were, in order of appearance: Devin Walsh, Shad Marsh, Jaye Bartell and Selah Saterstrom. I wanted to write a lengthy post about it but I have a very busy morning and many creative projects to involve myself.
In brief, the readers read in “three rounds.” The place was packed with a few people standing along the side and back of the gallery–at least for the first round of readings. The second round of readings the crowd thinned a bit for smokes and drinks. By the end of the second round there was a new crowd filling the gallery.
Because I had to be up before 6 AM I was not able to stay for the third round. The event was a good showing and the artwork on the walls seemed to add to the atmosphere of public expression of art and culture.
I’m inspired to write a fictional account of last night’s reading for the sake of being entirely postmodern.
Edgy Mama beat me to it by posting all the details about tonight’s event on BlogAsheville. She plans to attend with her “house bottle of wine.” I’ll bring cheap paper cups.
Really enjoyed the reading by Jon Pineda last week. (I would have written about it earlier, but I had a cantankerous iBook that refused to operate to my satisfaction. Thus delaying this post until today.) Being half Pinoy (or Filipino), Pineda explores themes common to those who have been removed from their heritage. He is now discovering it through poetry. The book’s epigraph sums up his theme: “It’s what always begins/In half dark, in half light” — José Gracia Villa.
He read exclusively from his award-winning book, Birthmark. Poems read included, “Matamis,” “Wrestling,” “Arboretum,” “Night Feeding,” “Birthmark,” and others.
The poem “Wrestling” still haunts me: “At our first match, I wrestled a guy/I had met summers ago at a Filipino gathering, … a few of the boys pinned my shoulders against a tree//while one punched me.”
“I watched the clock as I locked a breath inside his throat.”
I wanted to buy a copy of Birthmark that night but I only had $6 in my pocket and the cover price was $14.95. This displeased me greatly for I wanted a signed copy of Jon Pineda’s book. Why is it that poets cannot afford poetry books? After working on a book project for the last six months, I know that the book (most likely) costs less than $4 to manufacture. This is not the poet’s fault. I recently bought two books at another reading (which is probably why I only had $6 left). One book was a 275-page hard cover book for $18.50 while the other book was a 57-page soft cover book for $16.95. The poetry book was the skinny, expensive book.
Maybe that’s why readers don’t read as much poetry–there’s not much to read for 17 bucks. Forgive me again. This is not the poet’s decision. I understand why this happens. Poetry publishers supposedly schedule small press runs–maybe 500 to 3000 copies per printing. With those quantities, the book production costs range from $3 to $6 per copy–possibly higher. Add mark-up for retail distribution and the cover price is logically $16.95 per copy.
I’d like to challenge that system. If poetry publishers offered a subscription based books program (i.e. an annual subscription offering three to four books), then they could print with more efficiency and pass the savings to readers. As it is currently, poetry publishers risk a lot and have to build that risk into the cover price. For example, if an independant small press offers a poetry book subscription of $39.95 for their annual series of four books, then they could operate with less risk due to the fact that they have a defined audience (i.e. subscribers) rather than a hopeful audience (i.e. retail outlets).
Instead of writing an eloquent report of last night’s reading, I will just post the notes I scribbled into my notebook. Yeah, if you were there, I was the one with my head buried in a notebook frantically writing. Blame it on my ADD tendencies. Apart from running spell check these notes are as they generally appear in my notebook–complete with poor punctuation, abbreviated thoughts and for some odd reason attention poets’ fashion. Right on … here I go …
Chall Gray
Chall Gray
Breaks the ice nicely with a humorous poem about furniture and contrasts it with a poem about a brother and a sister who observe but do not talk about things. He wears a black long-sleeved button down shirt rolled up to the elbow–blue jeans–hair dark, pulled back into tight short ponytail. He ends with a moving homage to his departed father by asking “why.”
Ingrid Carson
Ingrid Carson
Begins with a poem asking what color is the American dream. “What Now” is read second. She wears a black top, wavy brown hair pulled back, framing her face. “What am I going to do now?” she asks and ends; “What am I going to do now?” Her last poem is in two parts; “Still Life” and “My Hands.” She reads, “a violence of flowers…” She reads with purpose and poise and through delicate lips and intense blue eyes as if to say, I know something you don’t know and I have the floor for a few more lines. “You have pushed the mind to the limits…” She concludes that beauty is found in the ugliest of things.
Thomas Rain Crowe
Thomas Rain Crowe
Wearing all black–he tunes up a wooden flute–poet is participant–reads a letter to the editor of a local newspaper in Jackson county–admits he spent a lot of time writing editors. He reads of beauty and uses metaphor–King Kong movie cements his argument to turn corporate development back to nature’s beauty. He next reads an extended haiku written for Steve Earl for some event last year. “What profit? What Price?” he asks. “We can do better than this,” he concludes the poem powerfully. His poem “Peace Will Come” is accompanied by the evening’s featured keyboardist, Steve Davidowski. “Peace will come one day” is lifted over the ambient keyboard harmonics–his reading intensifies. “When peace comes to stay” ends his poem. He steps back, places the flute to his lips and plays–the keyboardist joins the melody which concludes that session.
Emoke B'Racz
Emoke B’Racz
First poem is recited in Hungarian. “Fragmented Life” is about her father who she says is bigger than life–sometimes everyday. “Try not to talk about the time,” she reads. She reads about her father’s internment camp experience: “Now take that.” She shares of the hard life of the punished young men in those camps. “Silently he left.. to give your youth for democracy…taken…” She wears a white blouse, gold necklace with pendant, black suit jacket–1965–“Poets Among Each Other” translated and published in 1970-something (’76?). “This is how we stand my brothers,” she reads her translation. It’s a short work. She rolls her tongue across her lower lip from right to left frequently before saying “I could use some water” then reads her last poem of the evening.
15-minute intermission
Will Hubbard
Reads several poems–long brown hair wrapped behind his ears–as he gazes down upon his papers it rests on his shoulders like a hood–he reads a poem called “Porn” with cynical tones of humor and wry sensibility. “5 for 5 for 3 Straight” is his last poem “and one learns where to leave off” he reads. His left hand casually in his pants pocket, his right hand holds his loose-leaf manuscript. “Saying it how it was originally said…” He reads as one might read a tele marketer’s script.
Rose McLarney
Rose McLarney
She reads a collection of poems concerning the over development of Madison county–lose of land to corporate contractors–overgrowth of urban/suburban sprawl. “Shouldn’t fight … farms let them go,” she reads. Her thin lips clip her words nervously as if she is unaccustomed to public reading. She wears a black sleeveless top with flowing flowery patterned skirt–hair pulled back, leaving dark curls to cascade down the back of her neck. Her last poem: “… the peace of the American South.”
Laura Hope Gill
Laura Hope Gill
She tells of her BMC connections–reads “Ponco” with an eruption of words and demands social justice “when she was the question” referring to the dead old woman under a poncho many Americans saw after Hurricane Katrina–The image of a woman who died waiting for medical assistance in the aftermath of the hurricane that destroyed New Orleans. She wears hoop earrings, thin gold necklace upon her chest, low-cut white blouse and black sweater. She reads several poems of childhood witness “we slept in our bunk beds … spelled out in silk.” She reads about a stallion. She reads with proficiency and like Ingrid has a smile and sparkle in her eyes suggesting a joke that only she knows the punch line. Her speech skills draw several people forward in their seats. Or maybe its the hard wooden seats we all endure. “The wind of their grandfather’s song… ” she reads.
Glenis Redmond
Glenis Redmond
“Enter through the door of war…” she begins after adjusting the microphone. “Grief is an uttering tongue.” She begins with a powerful recitation. She is a performer–practiced in public settings. Her second poem is “Lifting” about the Kenilworth slave cemetery near her neighborhood. “Bid us ride,” she reads. By far she is the most charismatic poet of the evening. “Looking back to the land where courage was born.” Due to the lateness of the evening she says she’ll only read three poems. Her next poem is about Nina Simone: “bitter aint born black.” Her final poem is a recitation: “Every time I hear King speak I feel a rumble…” she starts and concludes, “We shall.”
I’m not sure what to say about tonight’s event. Seven and a half pages in my notebook filled with observations and thoughts of the reading. Though I haven’t the energy to type it all tonight, I’ll post details of the event later.
One thing, of many, did strike me this cool, blue Spring evening. I sat in an old wooden folding chair next to a wall lined with photos by Hazel Larsen Archer. Portraits of Josef and Anni Albers looked over my shoulder. A photo of Josef Albers teaching class displays students’ compositions scattered in the foreground. I know exactly what they are doing because my university art professor, a student of Albers, had his students apply gouche to panel and board in order to create swatches of tint and shade in the same manner. I spent hours painting a dozen variations of blue evenly representing shade to tint (i.e. dark blue to light blue). A whole semester was spent on Albers color theory and related understanding of color.
I examined the students in the photo carefully trying to identify my university art professor Emery Bopp. But I forgot, at the time, that he studied under Albers at Yale not Black Mountain College. Still, I see Josef Albers in that portrait and there is a representative of Bauhaus style. His intensity of gaze from a vintage gelatin silver print hauntingly reminds me of a loose connection to him through my art professor and the hours spent mixing, applying and peeling paint from my fingers. In a physical way, the smell of gouche and the feel of mixing it in trays is that connection to a soft spoken professor, Emery Bopp. And I wonder if he learned his teaching approach from Josef Albers.
Last night was my first time attending the Fresh Air Reading Series at the New French Bar
As always, I had my composition book with me and wrote the following notes during the readings:
Mara Simmons–her series of poems reflect a serious study of the Israeli/Palestinian conflict. Each poem exhibits much research and passion … bringing humanity to news stories which desensitize Americans. The theme is well born out through references in Hebrew and Arabic and native plants and streets. Really inspired by her theme-based poems.
Jeff Davis–the elder poet with long gray hair and soft voice at time almost a whisper … brings a melancholy maturity to the round-robin reading. He offers love poems and poems heavy with nostalgia … he is taller than the other poets and needs to re-adjust the microphone and still he leans down into the foam covered device as if praying … his water poems are most excellent.
Kathy Godfrey–a bawdy poet with spunky, sensual, sensational poems. From what I overheard among the crowd, she teaches poetry at ABTech and many in the audience were her students … ethical question … should a teacher read a graphic poem about masturbation in front of her students … among other poetic subjects include green beans, Tough Man contests
Autumn Choi–slam poet … holds her own … confessional style presentation. Sort of romanticizes the school-of-hard-knocks subject matters … works well in this vehicle of drama.
I left immediately after the readings. I guess that was a bit impolite on my part for several people were in attendance that I knew. But I needed to get away–to think. I walked for several blocks pondering the poems and poets I heard Wednesday night. Why do I write what I write? Do I have what it takes to write poetry on the level of these local poets? Do I have the commitment to follow through with what I’ve started? Or am I merely dabbling in something, which I should leave to professional wordsmiths?
Some of this wondering is directly related to last weekend’s event. Saturday afternoon I found myself at Barley’s sitting across the from a local writer who has received well-deserved accolades for her work. Other local poets were in attendance with comparable merit and distinction. And there was me feeling very much like an outsider or poser.
After reading last night’s notes again at morning light it is apparent that I am partial to poems with academic/intellectual substance. Not to disqualify the other poets mind you. Annie Dillard writes: “The writer … is careful of what he learns, because that is what he will know.” I know what kind of poetry I want to produce. So, I favor and enjoy hearing from poets who seem to exhibit attributes of what I’d like to write in verse.
Just got back from the world’s “second fastest reading” (according to Peter Turchi) at Malaprop’s. Twelve MFA faculty members from Warren Wilson College read from their published work. Each member was given roughly three and half minutes to read.
Last year I attended the first Warren Wilson MFA faculty reading [read here and here.]. This year they scaled it back a bit; from 18 to 12 readers.
WLOS had a camera crew filming portions of the event. I guess Asheville residents may see it on channel 13 tonight (I don’t own a television so I’ll check AshVegas’ blog to see if it was even aired).
Overall it was a good event. I must confess the first reader, whom I cannot recall, didn’t attract my attention and my adult ADD kicked in and I started writing stream of consciously in my notebook. Adria Bernardi read an excerpt from her novel which brought me back to the event and Justin Grotz delivered a fine reading of fiction as well as Peter Turchi.
Somehow the poets didn’t quite do it for me tonight. Maybe I’m overly critical of poets. Maybe the poets didn’t want to be there tonight. However, the second to the last reader, Steve Orlen, read a single poem that worked; and worked well.
After the event, I chatted with a gentleman who hosts Malaprop’s Blind Date with Poetry. He also happens to be one of the members of Eye For An Iris Press. With all the celebrated and award winning poets and writers gathered at Malaprop’s, I spent the most time conversing with this gentleman.
There’s something that has been preventing me from completing my application for the MFA program at Warren Wilson College. I thought it was simply intimidation, but I think it goes deeper than that. I can’t put my finger on it right now, but I intend to explore it later.
The MFA Program for Writers at Warren Wilson College Public Schedule Readings will begin at 8:15 pm in the Fellowship Hall behind the Chapel unless indicated otherwise.
READINGS – 8:15 pm by MFA faculty and graduating students
Friday, January 6 Marianne Boruch, Peter Turchi, Mary Leader
Saturday, January 7 No readings on campus, but come to “The World’s Fastest Readings” by MFA faculty at Malaprop’s, 55 Haywood Street. Reception at 5:30 pm; readings start at 6:00 pm.
Sunday, January 8 Rick Barot, Wilton Barnhardt, Karen Brennan, Antonya Nelson, Eleanor Wilner
Monday, January 9 Brooks Haxton, C.J. Hribal, Martha Rhodes, Kevin Mcllvoy, Ellen Bryant Voigt
Tuesday, January 10 First night of graduating student readings: Scott Gould, Sandra Nadazdin, Tatjana Soli, Rosalynde Vas Dias
Most of the audience in the cafe consisted of poets and writers seeking information from a benevolent editor who accepts or rejects submissions to a literary publication at his good pleasure. Sadly, most the questions were predictable. Any writer who desires to be published in a literary journal and asks questions like, “Should I call the editor to check on the status of a submission?” obviously has not done enough research in the field. Other fatuous questions include: “What are you looking for in a manuscript?” “What turns you off when reading a short story or essay?”
Puerile questions about writers wanting… no… lusting to be published almost drove me from the Café. You might as well tell the editor: “Sleep with me… I’ll bear your children… I’ll do anything… just publish my short fiction for the love of God.”
I sighed, doodled in my notebook and then the gracious Director of the Great Smokies Writing Program asked Marc Fitten to describe the life a manuscript once it makes it to the literary journal’s mail box. I listened.
I listened because Marc Fitten opened my eyes to the possibility that an editor of a literary journal might have a very rewarding job. The dream of all poets and writers is to get published, but another take on that dream is to publish a poet or writer of significance.
After the presentation, I told Marc I was almost persuaded to abandon writing and pursue publishing. With amiable fashion he smiled and said, “Yeah, it’s great.”
If you’ve been to any number of open mic events you are well aware of the anything goes environment. Some people go to perform songs they’re still working on while others go to play a song/read a poem and plug a gig they will be doing later that night/week.
I go to practice, learn and listen. But I have to admit, open mics sometimes completely defeat me. Open mic crowds are accepting only because someone else is eager to have their 15 minutes. The applause is pleasant but forced.
Literary events on the other hand jive with energy. People attending these events want to be there. They want to listen and learn and commune at the table of wordsmiths. There is an honest response to the poet and writer.
I didn’t attend last night’s Beanstreets open mic because I had much writing to accomplish. There’s a zone I get in when I write (whether it be sitting at the kitchen table or on the futon). Last week I wrote several sketches and a poem at an open mic… but this week I wanted privacy to prepare a manuscript for an upcoming poetry/music gig. When I organize a reading I want the poems to communicate a theme or motif. I’ve been at literary events where a poet reads a random collection of poems. But I don’t want to deliver randomness… I want to deliver purposeful poetry.
For inspiration I went to the The Academy’s website and read this:
In the days leading up to October 7, 1955, postcards circulated in San Francisco inscribed with the slogan, “6 poets at 6 Gallery.” The Six Gallery was a run-down art gallery… and the six poets were: Philip Lamantia, Michael McClure, Philip Whalen, Gary Snyder, and one unknown poet from the East Coast, Allen Ginsberg.
Organized by Ginsberg and his good friend Jack Kerouac, the poetry reading became one of the most notorious literary events of the 1950s. Wine flowed freely from jugs and crowds cheered during the reading. It was in this energized atmosphere that the 29-year-old Ginsberg, having published little up to that point, unveiled an early version of his poem, “Howl,” to a mesmerized audience whose relentless cheers of “Go! Go! Go!” brought him to tears by the end of the performance.
That was a literary event. Not an open mic. I still enjoy doing open mics, but I get real jazzed about poetry gigs.
Just got an email today saying that the organizer of a poetry gig (where I’ll be performing) was distributing flyers and posters, which I designed. Two weeks to go. Am I read? Time will tell. Hopefully I’ll have my chapbook available for the event.
FRI (3/4), 8-11pm. — The Traveling Bonfires’ “Vagrant Wind 2005 Road Journey” kicks off in Asheville, featuring the poetry of Nina Marie Collins, Matthew Mulder, Pasckie Pascua, Riley Schilling, and the music of Dashvara and Tim McGill. Bearly Edible Cafe, 15 Eagle St., downtown Asheville. FREE.
A review of the “World’s Fastest Readings” featuring faculty of the Warren Wilson MFA program. Jane has been diligently requesting a review the event. I’ve been telling her to wait because I’m waiting to hear from a very nice, overworked editor if his magazine would like to publish my review/commentary of the event.
It hasn’t been two weeks yet and I’m getting impatient or obsessive. Every five to ten minutes (okay, maybe it’s not that bad) I catch myself clicking the “mail” tab on my Hotmail account hoping to see something beside a “JC Penny Winter White Sale” web banner and a “Meet Sexy People on Passion.com” web ad.
I don’t think it will hurt possible freelance efforts if I post some of my notes from the “World’s Fastest Readings.” Here ya go:
– Malaprop’s cafe very full, people standing outside café area
– sitting mid-section near condiments counter
– Malaprop’s staff member reads last lines of each writer’s book as a tribute
– Pete Turchi – dark blazer, red button down shirt, glasses, salt and pepper goatee
– 20 writers reading for two minutes from their work
– Rick Barot began with his poem “study”
– Kevin McIlvoy read “the complete history of new mexico”
– Steve Orlen reads his poem “blind date”
, 
, and 
and Neil 
. Reading comic books did not deter me from reading novels, poetry or literature in general. So, again, I wonder if graphic novels will increase reading among America’s youth.
read first and from her new book that she didn’t know had been published and available at the book store. Always a delight to hear her read. Poems read include: “Still Life,” “New Paper,” “A Musical Idea,” and others.
read about a half dozen poems both old and new (from his recent book). His 
read one of his “contributor notes” from his book 
lecture this morning was excellent. I still plan to share details later. Presently, I getting ready to attend the Warren Wilson College MFA faculty reading tonight. Here’s who is reading tonight:
Coffeehouse Junkie 