Notes from the Recent Excursion


John DeStefano looks a bit like Ezra Pound, and much less frail than I’d imagined him. If Canary Books ever gets running, we'll be knocking on his door.

Mark Bibbins is a very nice guy. He said he liked my poems.

Back home and much going on here, or nothing at all. I cannot tell. Eugene is a little island in a big sea of bad hope.

The Cannery looks swell.

I met and briefly became faux-infatuated with blogger Gina Meyers this Friday.

Robyn Schiff showed up too. I was most pleased.

Erica Kaufman was there, but sadly, we didn’t discuss Kobe Bryant at all.

Eddie Berrigan is also very nice. And very tall.

Amir Kenan is a most charming individual. He played some really great and funny songs, and joined me in an all day Philly exploration on Saturday that began with twin cheesesteaks at dueling steak vendors Geno's and Pat's King of Steaks, and ended on the steps of the by-then closed Philly Museum of Art, the same steps up which Rocky ran in prep to fight Apollo Creed. Salvador Dali's face was painted on the steps. Josh was at work but museum guards would not let us in, as the musee closes at 5:30, which seemed early to me.

In Philadelphia, one cannot buy beer at the regular store. One must
either buy beer in New Jersey, or buy it from the pizza joint. You can
buy beer by the case at the pizza places, but not at 7-11.

Sunday night, ate delicious Ethiopian food at a University City (Phil.) restaurant called Abyssinia. Afterward, tense poker match with some Penn MFA painter-types. I almost took all their money. Almost.

I haven't written a poem in a very long time.

I missed my friends and MLC when I was gone.

In Portland, before the trip, Kathy and Julia and I ate a fantastic meal at Fife. We had hanger steak, pork roast, sage and nut-crusted roast chicken, crab cakes, quinoa salad, some lovely pate, and, of course, the side dishes that came with our hunks o' meat entrees--potato cakes, sauteed greens, cheese grits, and so forth. And a tasty bottle of wine. And deserts: blood orange cheesecake, currant sorbet, and dammit, I don't remember what Kathy had.

I might like to live in Philly were it not for the weird beer rules.

All the poems I read were dedicated to people, mostly people in attendance.

Nobody walked out during my reading but it seemed like many folks wanted to.

Brandon Downing was at first very nice, but then turned rather odd. That's okay, though. His new book is called "Dark Brandon," so maybe I was experiencing some of that darkness. His reading was pretty good and fun and animated. He did not disguise his distaste of both bloggers and academics, of which I am both (though barely the latter).

The "big event" of the night seemed to be Rachel Zucker's reading of her poem from the Canary, "What Dark Thing." People LOVED it.

I made David Kirschenbaum laugh with my poem about being diagnosed with various John Donne lines while the doctor makes me cough, which must have been a feat, since he didn't even crack a smile during Amir's fantastically funny songs, played upon a five-string guitar. ("No sevenths," said Amir.)

I was really hoping that Erica K. and Amir would speak Hebrew so I could try out my skills.


McDonald's cheeseburgers in Manhattan taste the same as McDonald's cheeseburgers everywhere else.

Drinks in New York are very expensive.