Day 43 Night - A Wonderful Poetry Reading at the Home of Friends and W. H. Auden's Forgotten Poem

Wow! Last night, something beautiful and quite unexpected happened. My neighbors Gavin and Heather had me over to their home for a poetry reading. They had heard a few of my poems, and they wanted me to do a reading for them. Gavin and I had a very funny time texting back and forth before the reading as he told me that he could not find a podium, and I mentioned that I did not need one, but what about my honorarium. He asked if I would take a credit card, and I told him that like any poor poet, I preferred cash. Finally, we decided on Paypal, but I never did get his account number. Alas, I suppose this is the plight of poets: Always to be asked and never to be compensated. Gavin mentioned that they might invite a few other people, but I truly was surprised when I entered their apartment.

They had set-up a huge spread of snacks and wine for their guests, and they told me that they had invited several more guests. By the time everyone arrived, about twelve people were sitting in the living room, waiting to hear the reading. Since I have read poetry before in front of large groups in cafes and at private readings, I was not intimidated. Rather, I was incredibly grateful that they thought so highly of my work that they would invite so many of their friends. It was such a sweet complement, and I wanted to do well and get out of the way of the poems. Taking a deep breath, I began to read the poems I had assembled, including a long performance piece at the end that is called, "Things That I Fear." The whole reading would take almost an hour so I told everyone that if it was too much, we could skip the longer piece at the end. Let's just see how it goes...

Well, it went exceptionally well. I read the first fourteen poems, and nobody moved. I was amazed that during the entire reading nobody got up to get some more wine or stretch or go to the bathroom. Beyond taking care of the puppy who is a big fan of poetry, but has other priorities as well, nothing interrupted the flow of the reading. After the first batch, when I asked if they wanted to hear the longer piece, the whole room responded with enthusiasm and kindness, telling me it was not even a question to ask. After the piece, nobody moved beyond a few people standing up and actually clapping. I never expect anyone to clap at a poetry reading so it always surprises me when it happens.

Rather than getting up, several people asked me questions about the work and my background. I told them stories about Robert Lax, my mentor on the Greek island of Patmos (more to come), and the genesis of several of the poems. After about ten to fifteen more minutes of talking, the reading ended and people came over and thanked me and started to leave. The first woman to leave texted Gavin as she was on her way home that the reading was definitely the best ticket to have in Los Angeles that night. It was such a wonderful experience, and it reminded me who I am and what my true value is in this world. It is so easy to forget and vanish from myself. But that is another blog coming.

Instead, here is a poem by W. H. Auden that I found in a forgotten book in college, and I have never been able to find it again. It is arguably my favorite poem by Auden, but I do not know the actual title, and  it is not included in any of the compilations of his work. I could say so much about this poem and what it means to me, but I think I will let the work speak for itself. Here it is...

You hope, yes,

                                    your books will excuse you,

save you from hell:

                                    nevertheless,

without looking sad,

                                    without in any way

seeming to blame

                                    (He doesn't need to,

knowing well

                                    what a lover of art

like yourself pays heed to)

                                    God may reduce you

on Judgment Day

                                    to tears of shame,

reciting by heart

                                    the poems you would

have written had

                                    your life been good.        

                                                             — W. H. Auden