Poetry Week

I went to two poetry readings this week. Poetry Santa Cruz, organized by my pal Dennis Morton, is really quite an enterprise, with readings by some terrific poets, local and nationally-recognized, taking place at least monthly. Every time I attend readings, I get inspired by the amazing talent in Santa Cruz and the drive of so many people to work in a genre that doesn't exactly rake in the big bucks.

The first reading at Capitola Book Cafe: Gary Young, David Swanger and Joseph Stroud, three local poets with national reputations. My daughter Gwen, not the biggest fan of middle-age parents, paid them the highest tribute: "I want to be a middle-aged man!" What I think she was responding to--what I responded to-- was their self-awareness that rang with humor and insight into the human condition. All three were such generous readers -- to the audience and to each other. I loved seeing men being so encouaging and appreciative of other men, hanging on to each other's words.

Joseph Stroud, author of "Country of Light, "among other works, struck me as the most classically imaginative. Here's the blurb from Amazon: Whether trekking through Mexico or Vietnam, living in the High Sierras, or "painting paradise" in the voice of Renaissance painter Giotto, Stroud's lyrics, prose poems, elegies, and odes articulate a journey of uncommon attention and startling perception.

David Swanger read from his newest book, "Wayne's College of Beauty," which I was eager to hear since it was inspired by the beauty college on the corner of Walnut and Center Sts. I think only the walking dead could pass by the building and not be inspired in some way by the mirrors, swivel chairs, mannequin heads with wigs and white-robed young women who spend their days with hair dyes and curlers and pedicure clippers. I didn't think Swanger's title poem was the strongest thing he read (maybe because my gut reaction to Wayne's is so different than his). But overall, I loved his humor and strong imagery. His short poem about visiting his son in Tassajara (Zen Buddhist retreat center where I've spent many countless, silent hours)cracked me up.

I attended the reading primarily to hear Gary Young, who was Gwen's poetry teacher at Kirby last year and who remains an inspiration to her. Most recently, Gary, who is also a master letterpress printer, helped Gwen put together a gorgeous book of her photos as a gift to a friend. This was my first time hearing Gary read and I fell in love with his ability to say so much with so few words.

Coincidentally, the second poetry reading this week was a Community Read, where various people (this time in Davenport) were invited to read a poem that is particularly meaningful to them. My friend Peggy picked a Gary Young poem that she keeps by her computer at the local newspaper. Peggy talked about how the poem speaks to her as a journalist, whose work is ruled by the disasters of life, rather than by the simple, profound everyday occurances.
I also now have this poem by my computer, a reminder to keep my eyes and heart open.

Two girls were struck by lightning at the harbor mouth.
An orange flame lifted them up and laid them down again.
Their thin suits had been melted away.
It’s a miracle they survived.
It’s a miracle they were ever born at all.