it was a good night. but the reading was rather short. there were three readers each allotted, i think, roughly 10 to 15 to 20 minutes a piece. the whole event lasted about an hour. there was no reason for the readers to feel rushed. i'd have stayed if the reading lasted three hours. so then, when i'm at a reading, i'm there to hear the poets, and if those poets are good, like the ones on saturday night, then i want them to take as much time they need, and not feel like they've been put on to some chore.

not that i think sean finney, david larsen or lauren gudath felt they were doing some obligation. i got the feeling they were having a good time. i sure was, and only wished it lasted longer. each poet had his/her own style, each one demanded a different sort of listening, and i was prepared to make it, to listen. which, in the end, i did.

larsen was a volcanic presence. finney was urbane, with a beckettian, as in samuel, humor. and gudath played with sound in her texts so that i closed my eyes to better concentrate on the music. i bought their books, and gobbled them up.

i forget that i live in a part of town that has a nightlife. so that when walking home i passed scores of couples and persons who are out to try to couple. it was second saturday. every second saturday night in the month is the time when midtown art galleries and eateries stay way open past the usual closing time to sundry hipsters and art aficionados. the streets are packed with people. it was a cold night, with the neon signs refracted in the water particles suspended in the air. i was high, from a good reading and catching up with some old friends. i was happy that home was a matter of a few blocks where my love, and my son, were warm and safe in bed, waiting for me.

shit, ain't that everything?

the following pics are the poets sean finney, lauren gudath and david larsen.