geof huth has the energy of a teenager. he had a very early, very, very early morning flight, fought the good fight with california traffic, and still had plenty of fuel to burn hanging with me till nearly 11:00 pm. and it was a school night. we both had to be at work the next day. i could've talked all night, sometimes i do, but needed to go home to anna and nicholas.

i cannot add to his very generous post of our meeting. we hit it off, i think, and talked of poetry, poets, mental illness, the life of family and the life of writing: poets with a mortgage, both in the art and in house payments. bohemia is left for the young(er) and/or foolish, i think. the garrett is overrated, but so is the guggenheim. best to make a life, roll up the sleeves to write, read and publish, and be published. geof gave me a thick collection of chaps and ephemera mostly from his micro-press, dpqp. all are beautiful, esp. the piece of birch bark with the word birchth written in silver ink on the inside white of the bark. we also agreed that james dickey's poem, 'the sheep-child', is a great poem.

what was the highlight of the meeting was watching him work. he showed me where he stashes his drafts on the 'net, and how he begins to compose a poem. it was amazing also to see how he read. back at the hotel after dinner, which was at zelda's pizza, a hole-in-the-wall renowned for good pies and shitty service, he fired up his laptop and pointed his browser to the dedication poems of marton koppany. i watched how his eye scanned the poems, his fingers tracing the shapes. it was full-bodied and with all his mind. i can't emphasize that enough, for from my perspective he was totally absorbed, and yet controlled, meticulous, scrupulous even, in his reading. i had never a doubt that he also took the greatest pleasure from it, too.

a perfect end to a frenetic weekend. and without much further ado, below is a photo of mr geof huth waiting patiently for the grub at zelda's.