A day full of words, outside and in
What wonderful places! What oasises, what inspiration, what a bubbling, singing, laughing, crying cacaphony of creativity and life! Seattle is beating with a warm pulse, and I can feel my own adjusting.
At the Richard Hugo House they give away books for free. Swapping is welcome, but not required. I found a volume of Ginsberg’s The Fall of America, poems of these states 1965-1971. Oh joy!
I am coming back, for sure.
The tea comes in big wide mugs, with interesting spices, and costs a dollar twentyfive.
I want to live in a place that can encompass me
and the likes of me
I want soulmates, dissidents, fresh ideas, challenges
I want to feel each day that I am alive and that it is good, real good
I want people to reach out, connect and love
I want people to recognize sex as a powerful, joyful, good force
and not to be – never to be – ashamed of their sexuality, whatever their orientation or desires
I want not to have to worry about how I am perceived by other people
not to be afraid of other people’s motives or their random abuse
silver blades in pockets
I want to live in a big place with a warm pulse
I want to live in a city of poets
I was to go to a poetry slam tonight, but there had been some kind of misunderstanding. I had read ads about the slam at the Bad JuJu Lounge both in Seattle Weekly and on the net, but once there, having ordered a beer and sitting reading Rimbaud and sipping it by the bar, nothing happened. Then some other guys came in asking about it, and the people there didn’t know anything about it! Well, the bar was nice, and old lady was reading poetry to two young girls to my right, the bartender was cute. So I finished my beer in my own pace, then decided to try to head for Elliot Bay Book Company, where there was to be an open mic. Of course it had already started, and I was in another part of town, but I gave it a try.
I didn’t find any buses, so I started walking down Pike. It took a long time. By the time I reached Elliot Bay, they no longer were letting people in downstairs. Oh well. I had walked by a jazz place where I had seen a live band playing. The place looked nice so I went there and made my beer last for more than an hour. The music was good, people were really getting into it.
A spontaneous jazz evening
live band and all
the music drew me in
from the street
A single couple in a slow dance
between the tables
Then a sudden samba breaking off
and hips are swaying on seats
feet beating air around
Classic tunes sung along in the minds
of the guests of the New Orleans
Spontaneous applause after every solo
and compassion in the air
Eyes meeting in understanding
with a discrete nod of the head
The drummer has a voice like James Earl Jones. No wonder they let him be the presenter.